Catch-up: all of October...

So. About that catching-up. Rather than leave town before I let you all know what's been going on in Niger (really, how could you live without it?), I'll give you a cursory overview of the events of the past few months.

Since mid-Ramadan:

The Director for Peace Corps worldwide came to visit Niger while we were celebrating 45 years of uninterrupted PC service here. Because of my illustrious film background, I was selected to follow him and his entourage around for four days of touring. During this time, we spent a night in the bush, where the director danced with village kids and tried his hand at pounding millet; we chased giraffes in Koure with my PCV friend Barbara; we attended the swearing-in of the newest stage; I passed out from heat exhaustion/dehydration on a sack of cement while visiting the awesome gardens of Winditan; the director got an attack of bacteria in his intestines; we toured the National Museum in Niamey; we attended the 45th Anniversary Open House at the bureau; we watched PCVs play ultimate frisbee on a riverbed... it was crazy nuts. I have 12 hours of film I've only now begun to look at again.

Kate and I set up a training for Tamashek, which is spoken by Tuaregs (Buzus in Hausa) and Bellas. Five days of cramming 18 PCVs' heads full of weeks' worth of language training and we are all now fluent in Tamashek! Not really... but it was fun. And my villagers congratulated me on my effort.

I arrived back in Tamtala with only a couple days left of Ramadan, only mildly prepared for the "Jingaryan" (praying) party at the end of the month, during which everyone put his or her finest, newest outfit on and paraded around saying "ka yeesi!" which literally means "come new year!" We brought each other food, everyone went out to pray in a field east of the village (the whole morning reminded me of Easter at the Lake Geneva Manor, except hotter), and children scurried around trick-or-treating in their new outfits. A dozen or so little girls from Balleybongu, a Fulan village about 3 kilometers away, came into my house at midday, all sparkly and shiny to the point they blinded me with the glitter on their face and in their hair.

Having spent so much time in Niamey, though, I'd drained my bank account. I really had to budget for a while. Then my stove broke. Peace Corps provides volunteers with a gas stove and a canister that's supposed to last us a year. Well, seven months into my time at post - seven months I spent very carefully conserving my use of resources - my gas sputtered and died while I was trying to cook Maimouna some bread in a frying pan in celebration of breaking the fast. I'd been planning on being in the bush for a while, so in order to eat, I spent a day or so mooching off my neighbors, and then constructed a three-rock stove. Three rocks make a triangle inside which you build a fire, upon which you stick a pot, and that's your stove. It works okay, but eats a lot of wood, and Peace Corps encourages its volunteers to teach our villagers to constuct "improved cookstoves" - essentially a three-rock stove inside a little mud case, which is good for insulation and thus, conserves wood too, saving trees and money.

Anyway, building the improved cookstove was a curiosity to the villagers - several women came to watch my progress - and hopefully it sparked enough interest that they'll want to do it for themselves when I come back.

At one point I walked three hours to Gotheye and four hours back to buy pasta to cook on my stove, because it was cheaper there than in the village or at the Kokamani market. When I got into town, Kurt and Matt kindly fed me all day. Krut made tea, peeled oranges and sliced coconut. Matt made my favorite, a vaguely Thai dish called gad-gado, for lunch. Matt, what am I going to do without your gado-gado!? I didn't feel guilty eating piles of it, because of all the walking.

During this time as well, Kate and I began traveling up to Tillaberi to talk on the radio (This involved me walking to her village, which takes 3 or 4 hours as well. Hey, it's keeping me in shape!). We've now, along with our three new volunteers in the region, done a few broadcasts on Peace Corps (we are volunteers, not doctors), wood conservation (don't cut down your trees), and nutrition (a balanced diet includes more than just millet mush and sauce).

This coming Tuesday we're recording a show on HIV/AIDS, which, as you all know, is a huge problem all over Africa. The official numbers for Niger are low compared to the rest of the continent, but the fact is infection rates are definitely underreported here. The practice of going on "exode" - when young men leave the village to go to Nigeria or Ghana to look for work - often leads to infection of wives in the village. And most Nigeriens living in the bush never go to the doctor. So every volunteer in this country, regardless of sector of specialty, spend some time doing "SIDA" sensibilizations.

Two weeks ago, a group of Gotheye volunteers organized a "SIDA Party" in a mining town nearby. I, of course, was along as videographer. We brought volunteers, professional educators, and a hip-hop group from Niamey to the village of Kongo Moussa, which had been renamed "CFA Moussa" - because everyone there is looking for money.

The whole place gives off the feel of a refugee camp, or what I imagine one would be like. It was eerie - I've lately been considering what I'd do after Peace Corps, and one option attractive to me is teaching at a refugee camp (strange as that may sound). So there I was, getting a taste of what I might be looking at in a few years, albeit without the war/genocide/etc. Adults and children alike, wandering around listlessly, prostitutes, an obvious lack of a sense of community, no school, people from as far away as Benin and beyond... the place had a strange vibe. But the spectacle of a bunch of Americans and a whole lot of noise from our Niamey Rasta band attracted crowds of them, and hopefully the presentations about risky behaviors, condom demonstrations, skits set in the doctor's office and songs about SIDA had an impact. At one point I interviewed a group of girls during a break in the music, with just simple questions - where are you from, have you gone to school, how long have you been here - and I was left with the sense that if I thought my villagers had it bad, I was wrong. Wow. And it gets worse than that?

Immediately after the SIDA Party, it was back to Niamey and beyond - I took my first trip to Hausaland for a training on moringa, known as "the miracle tree" because its leaves have more calcium and protein than milk and tons of vitamins. We had a great, informative, laid-back lesson and discussion about how to plant the trees in our villages, and went on a tour of a moringa plantation near a volunteer's post. We also took the time for a little Halloween party at the Konni hostel. More on that as the pictures come out!

To get back to Niamey (where there is now HOT WATER in the hostel! WOW!), it's about a six-hour bus ride. I headed to the station one early morning in my pajamas and without the sharpness of mind brought on by food, bathing, and/or coffee. Lacking the ability to converse in Hausa, I was getting frustrated trying to order an egg sandwich (one of my favorite foods) - who would've thought that pointing to eggs and bread, miming and saying "omlette" wouldn't work? - when an angel saved me.

The angel was a French-and-Zarma-speaking rich guy from Zarmaland who now occupies an important enough post in Madaoua that he has a chauffer and driver in TWO cities. He snapped his fingers and his chauffer dashed out into Konni, coming back with an egg sandwhich. How could I not sit next to this guy on the bus ride into Niamey? We chatted, and clarified some cultural differences - the first being the reason why he helped me: he can.

At one point, I took out my mp3 player, which has headphones (of course), and he explained that using that is totally rude. He showed me his cell phone, which plays music from a speaker - because, as he explained, you shouldn't be enjoying your music when no one else can hear it - that's selfish. Ohhhhh... so that's why Nigeriens blow their speakers out at all hours of the day and night - they want everyone to hear the music and be happy too. I laughed my way through trying to explain that this was totally the opposite in the States.

During a standard discussion about Nigeria and why I'd never go there, he mentioned that America is dangerous too, though, right? I admitted that yes, he had truth. Some people there do have guns. And he said, well, so does he. Right here in his briefcase. Do I want to see it? So the angel had a gun. Eek.

I made it back to Niamey in one piece and prepared for the next videographing adventure - this time, the Young Girls Scholarship Conference. I scooted up to Tillaberi and helped one of our new volunteers bring three girls to Niamey for the five-day show. Five other girls from Zarmaland who are at the "College" level (aged 13-17) and have received Peace Corps-sponsored scholarships came in from the bush with their volunteers to hang out and be inspired.

I can't say how cool it was for these girls to get a chance to see what they did this week. They went to a school and watched other girls their age playing basketball, they visited the TV station and the School of Public Health, they spent a day shadowing professional artists, journalists, doctors and other women with good jobs in the city. We PCVs and bureau staff delivered sessions on self-expression, study skills, and of course, HIV/AIDS.

At one point during the professional women's panel, when a doctor, an assemblywoman, and a professor were telling the girls their stories, it hit me just how much the odds were stacked against them. The women were not exaggerating the hardships they endured to get where they were. Even with the scholarship, these girls are facing an uphill battle. The very fact that one of our sessions was based around skits in which an Al-Haji (rich man who has gone to Mecca) tries to get a girl to drop out of school and marry him - the fact that that was necessary - was so sad to me that I made a mental promise to contribute $200 a year (the amount of a scholarship for one girl for one year) to the YGS Fund once I get back to the States.

It should be noted that school and marriage are not mutually exclusive (contrary to popular opinion), which was another point we tried to drill home to the girls. Once they get older, they don't have to discontinue their studies to have a husband and children - but they must make sure they choose a man wisely, one who will support his wife being educated.

This scholarship-conference story is a good segue to my departing note, as I am finally, finally headed back to the village. Today I am supposed to get approval for my millet grinder proposal, just in time for the Season of Giving back there in the States. Insha'allah, I'll be able to post a link so those of you who've been following my trials and tribulations on this site and wondering how you can help will have a place to direct your energies and money! In the meantime, if you haven't already signed the petition for my friend Matt and other veterans-turned-PCVs like him, please do so. The link and story are below.