This blog post is obviously a few weeks out of date, but I didn't have internet access when I was expecting it. Blog update about how the immersion went plus more! coming soon.
Yesterday marked the momentous 5 week mark in training. The excessive typos I just found in my previous post have not cowed me--I am back and updating, probably with just as many typos as last time. Last week, we made our acquaintance with Niamey. All the trainees are like the country mouse in the city, getting giddy about an hour of molasses-speed wifi and the prospect of a cold beer. For almost all good things in Niger you must wait a very long time. Cheese pizza (oh my, cheese?!)? 2 hours after ordering. Beer? well, 1 month. Alcohol in Niger, as in most Muslim countries, is highly stigmatized. The few men who drink do so au cache-cache, scampering off to another town to imbibe. In the Nigerien “Cheers,” sometimes you wanna go where nobody knows your name. Women who drink are presumed to be prostitutes, as are women who smoke. Western women are mostly exempt from this assumption in the cities, but it would be very poorly advised for a PCV to drink at all in her village.
I must not forget to mention that at the tail end of the awful bus ride from Maradi after Demyst, I saw a group of wild giraffes nibbling on some trees outside of Dosso. I can check that off my Niger to-do list, now.
I can also check off eating grasshoppers, intestines, esophagus, stomach, kidneys and liver, as well as seeing rams being sacrificed, (these are the things you add on to your to-do list, though, after you’ve already done them just so that you can check more things off, shhh..). Last week was Tabaski, a two-day long meat-eating celebration of Abraham’s near-sacrifice of Ismael. For the families who can afford to, they sacrifice a ram. One third is meant to be for the family, one third to share with friends, and the last third to give to the poor. Again for those who can afford to, kids get new Tabaski clothes, and the women henna their feet and paint their babies’ eyebrows and foreheads. Many of the kids got Obama shirts the like of which I have never seen in the U.S. There is even Obama fabric, which people use to make their skirts and Nigerien garb—where does it all come from? Tangent: also puzzled by ubiquitous AIG jerseys. Have heard tell of markets where clothing donated to Niger from America is sold, so called “Dead Man’s Market” because why else would someone get rid of their clothes? Have yet to confirm with own two eyes... Anyway, For Tabaski, we had delicious couscous and onion tomato meat sauce, a special treat mainly because it wasn’t rice and sauce. My uncle and little brothers sacrificed the two rams, skinned and eviscerated them in about an hour. They splayed the carcasses above coals and smoked the meat for several hours. In the meantime, they started deep-frying the intestines. I actually only have a vague idea of just which organs I ate… They cook ram all day long to preserve the meat for many weeks to come (is anyone still wondering why Peace Corps Niger boasts highest rate of dysentery in Peace Corps?) On the second day, kids go around with trays of meat on their head to share with their friends and neighbors, and the children from the Quranic school come around begging for meat which is gladly offered. Surprisingly, other than this excessive meat eating, Tabaski was just like two days off of language training.
My garden is going well—I have several tomato, pepper, eggplant and lettuce plants, as well as experimental peanut and cassava plots. I have also started my tree nursery with moringa, tamarind, acacia, baobob, and gum arabic trees, plus orange trees for rootstock. Some fellow plant nerds in my stage claim that the moringa tree fixes nitrogen because we found mychorrizal (sp?) nodules on its roots, (think Alnus). Exciting discovery, however none of the dusty literature we have around here can back this up. Does anyone have any information about this? If you aren’t familiar with the moringa tree, wikipedia it—all the agroforestry development workers get stars in their eyes just at the mention of its name.
The anticipation grows as the date of site announcements draws nearer. My only requests for my site are: being able to do beekeeping and being within a half-day of another volunteer. I will likely be either in the Maradi or the Zinder region, both a very long bus ride from Niamey. I have heard that Maradi’s PC hostel has a great library, second to Zinder’s. Tomorrow we split up into small groups and go on language immersion in the bush for two weeks, which will vastly improve my Hausa and likely also drive me crazy. We’ll see, and above all, I will “sai hankuri,” the Hausa mantra to be patient. After that we only have about two weeks left of training before swearing in.
Cold season is upon us, and I am so amused by the Nigeriens who complain about the cold, wear winter jackets and hats in the 90 plus degree heat in the morning and just after the sun sets. A few nights ago, my host mother Biba was making fun of me for thinking that the weather is hot, so in response I went to grab pictures of my parents’ home after a Chicago snowstorm. There is no word for snow in Hausa (no surprise) but they were floored, and I pretty much blew their minds. Biba relented, “okay, okay, at your home, it is cold.”
Yesterday was Thanksgiving, a bittersweet occasion to have a true feast. Turkey (sub chx), cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie were the only alimentary staples missing. Thanksgivings away from home are like a consolation prize, but especially in a country like Niger, I’m more conscious of for what I am thankful. You know, like horseradish cranberry sauce.
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