Spring go ka, insha'allah, and with it something new.

2.17.09

Cross Country Excursions and Why I’m Homeless



I was picked up at the hostel last Monday to make the trek out to Hausa land with Chris, the PTO, Bawa the new education APCD, Souley, the health PTA, and Amadou our driver. Unfortunately, my cell phone slipped out of my pocket right as I was leaving so I spent the week away from texts or calls. It ended up a refreshing escape from the previous two weeks in Niamey of seeing friends and meeting new volunteers as they streamed in and out of the hostel in the usual Niamey PCV traffic.

We went through Dosso, Konni, slept in Maradi, continued to Zinder, stayed there one night, spent the next night in Laura’s village, the next back in Zinder, and the following two in Maradi before making the long drive home getting in late Sunday night. Spending 12-14 hours a day in the car, and covering a good 2,700 km in total; we felt we had earned our exhaustion by the time we finally fell asleep back in our respective Niamey beds. Along the way we stopped in different PCV villages doing site-visits so the CYE (community youth education) volunteers could meet Bawa (their new boss). It was great to see so much of the East. I feel like I’ve lost all my Zarma and picked up a lot of ‘sannu-sannu.’

On Friday, Mary (the country director) sent word that she had met with the embassy and had news on our consolidation status. Before I learned the finer details on Monday morning I was told that the 11 of us consolidated were being given three options: 1) COS-close of service early and go back to America. 2) Return to our villages after agreeing to a new set of living and travel regulations. 3) Relocate to a new village somewhere and start over. I planned right away to go back to my village, until I saw the extent of the new regulations (which would potentially stay in place past the end of my service). Essentially because the embassy is most worried about the safety of traveling, they wanted to give us the option to stay in our homes while minimizing the amount of time we spent on the road. That translates into us being able to leave our villages only once every month or two, not being allowed to work on group projects in order for there not to be multiple PCV’s in the same place at the same time, and no visitors allowed to our sites except for occasional exceptions. Not to mention that if we got sick we would have to take care of ourselves in our huts with extra medicine we would stock up on since we’d have much less access to the med bureau. And in addition to all this, daily phone calls with our APCD’s to ensure PC Headquarters we were still alive. Also, once we are done with our service, PC plans to completely close our cluster, so no new volunteers will continue the projects we start. As you can probably imagine, the circumstances felt sub-par in terms of living conditions, and far from productive in terms of successful PC projects. Especially for those of us who are newer to country, it makes much more sense to start from scratch in a new region where we have more free reign to work with other PCV’s, and have access to Niamey for project proposals, etc.

I should interject here that I still feel largely numb to the bulk of what has happened. I love my village, I love my neighbors, I love my house, and I am completely unprepared to up and move. I haven’t told them anything yet because I simply don’t have the words to say, “not only am I leaving, but due to safety problems in the area you will have no future volunteers to help fix your grain bank, get new potato seeds, and work and your tree grafting projects. Good luck.” As of right now, PC doesn’t even want us to go back to say goodbye or pack up our houses. They want to send public cars out without us and toss our stuff in the back. It is not pleasant to imagine someone else, rushed, packing all your belongings while your heartbroken neighbors stand watching.


*I got sidetracked in the midst of everything that’s going on: One Week Later…

2.24.09

City Living



I have been living in the Niamey hostel for about a month now, save my trip east and a quick two nights in my new village.

To recap major events as objectively as possible:

I’m moving to Kiota. Kiota is a city. I will have electricity. Still no running water. I am switching from an agriculture volunteer to an education volunteer. I will be writing and performing weekly radio shows in Zarma and French called “Practical Life with the Peace Corps.” Tuesdays from 5-5:30: they will quick sensiblizations through skits and conversations on subjects like AIDS, nutrition, family planning, health, women’s rights, etc. I may also be working on teacher trainings, English clubs, literacy classes for kids not in school, and other related projects. I don’t move in until March 30th, after our inter-service-training (IST), which is only sort of relevant to me now as it is the Agriculture and Natural Resource Management IST.

Kiota has one of the most important Sheikhs in all of West Africa. (Read more about him and his mother (mamma) here.) People come from all over the place to visit him and be in his presence. I will sort of be considered the sheikize, the sheik’s daughter. This is probably the most religious and conservative place in all of Niger. I am to wear long skirts and cover my head at all times. I have a hard time with this, and in the 3 days I went and stayed there I already wore pants and didn’t cover my head a few times, but I will get better.

As I am writing this my phone rings. It is my neighbor from Winditan calling to see when I am coming home. I tell him I will come Thursday to see everyone. He is so happy. He says we have been waiting so much for you to come home! I realize PC must not have called them yet to explain I am not going to be living there anymore. I have told them twice now that I can’t come back for good, that Peace Corps doesn’t think it is good for me to stay there because of the white people who got stolen, and they pretend they don’t hear me and say see you soon.

So to back up again, Thursday I will go to Winditan to say my goodbyes and pack my stuff. Friday my boss will come and collect my belongings. Saturday I will come back to Niamey. I am the only one out of the 5 of us being relocated allowed to go say goodbye. I live closer and on a safer road. I hope I can prevent myself from crying in public. My neighbor had a baby boy while I was gone. I’ll get to see him for the first time! It will be hard to see the way my neighbors will stoically accept, the way they do with all the hardships in their lives, that something like the help of a peace corps volunteer was of course too good to last. That if God wills for their friend to be taken away, and their chance of getting money to be taken away, then so be it. We will not waste time talking about how unfair this whole situation is for everyone. There is no unfair in Zarma. It will just be, ‘kala ni kayan, insha’allah.’ ‘God-willing, see you when you come.’ And I will not be allowed to come.

I watched Milk. Great movie. I’m excited to move to San Francisco. The hot season is starting. I have bacteria again, thank god for Cipro! I’m learning new ways to look great in a head scarf. I’ve thought about buying a camel instead of riding my bike. There are palm trees on my new road. I will have PCV neighbors less than 10 km away. I might have to travel east again to stay with some CYE PCV’s and learn a little bit about my new job. I have to learn French. I am trying to tell myself everyday, you can do this, you can be great at this. Some days I know that’s true, some days I am just so tired. I have met wonderful people while traveling around this country, and I have made some great friends. I know I need to at least try this next step.

Hope everyone back home is doing well! Sorry this post is so jumbled; I unjumbled it as much as I could. The stuff in my head is all a little disorganized right now. Kala suru. Thank you for letters and phone calls. Missing you.