Three Cheers for the Holidays

Wow!

I haven't even had the chance to post another note up here to encourage you all to donate to my millet grinder project, and -ouiza!*- it has been fully funded! What?! My family and friends are the best in the world? That must be it. I haven't gotten the official notice from PC/Washington, so I don't have your names yet, but when I do, you'll get some love.

Thanks to all of you who donated, despite the difficulties the PC site may have presented to you. And if you didn't get a chance to throw your two bucks in, there is another chance to help out the people of Tamtala - and this one's for the kids! I'm working on a budget, but for now I am putting out the call to anyone and everyone who has a functional but out-of-use 35mm point-and-shoot camera lying around: send it to me! A volunteer out in Zinder and I are organizing a cross-cultural arts (specifically photography) workshop for our village kids, and we need easy-to-use cameras. For more info on this, see the sidebar.

For those of you thinking that teaching a photography class isn't the best use of my time in a place where most everyone is malnourished, I offer this: I struggled with this idea too. But I concluded that arts education is just as vital to sustainable development as most anything else. We cannot leave the arts for when there's enough time and money to spend on it, because they will be lost, and priceless parts of history and culture will die. We are in danger of this in the States, too. So yes, people need food, but they also need outlets for self-expression! ... And we'll have snacks at art class.

Thanks also to the several of you who resurfaced at Christmas and sent me letters & cards, and even more thanks to those of you for whom the "Christmas" letter/package to Niger was just one of a bazillion you've sent all year. I hear there is more waiting for me in Gotheye, so if I haven't thanked you personally yet, I should soon! Seriously, it was so great to hear from so many people. And if you haven't written me yet, it's not too late. Make a New Year's resolution to get on that.

Many of you heard about the shaky security situation here. For those who didn't, a cursory overview: a few weeks ago, land mines exploded near Maradi and in Tahoua, both in the central/eastern part of the country. The explosions coincided with a big "Republic Day" festival being held in Tahoua, so Peace Corps took some precautions. All PCVs were ordered to stay put immediately and avoid all travel until further notice. For me, this meant staying in Kate's village, to which I had walked early in the morning to work on a radio show to be presented the next morning.

We had to postpone recording the show, send a bush note to my village cheif, cancel my women's group meeting, and cross our fingers that our cell phone batteries would last until PC told us we were able to move again, because the one source for charging phones in Dembo (the chief's mini-moto battery) was broken.

So we sat, and speculated, and stretched our food supply (I'd brought no food and very little money; Kate had been at post for weeks and was so broke she only had enough to get her to Niamey - and she was running out of almost everything). Luckily, in Niger, your guest is your god, and her chief's family loves me (what's not to love? I speak Tamasheq!), so the children dutifully brought us millet mush and sauce every night. That stuff is delicious! Seriously, I hated it when I showed up, now I miss eating it when I'm in Niamey.

Maybe I've been here long enough.

But no! We were a little worried we'd be evacuated, because the imagination tends to run wild when you're stuck in the bush with no contact with the outside world (her villagers hardly even listen to the radio! They had no idea this was going on). We did not want to leave Niger. Our work is not finished. This is a good way to feel at this point in your service!

I had such fun with Kate - we studied Tamasheq, taught the schoolkids some English, wrote weeks' worth of radio scripts, planned a road trip, decorated her moringa tree for Christmas (this meant coloring plain white paper with red and gold crayons, cutting it into strips and making a chain without the assistance of tape or staples), did yoga, explained sumo wrestling to her villagers, and made lots of lists (mostly about food, and a little about eco-villages**).

After about a week in Dembo, though, I'd run out of malaria medication and we'd gotten word that we could travel, but only on foot, away from the road, and back to our villages. No problem for me - just a three-hour scurry through the bush back to Tamtala, and I was home. I'd wanted to be back for Tabaski.

FYI - Republic Day is always December 18, but Tabaski follows the Muslim calendar, not the Anasara calendar, so it changes every 'year'. Thus, its coincidence with Republic Day and Christmas is just that. Next year it'll be mid-December (This applies for Ramadan as well, which means that some years, Ramadan happens during hellish hot season and Muslims can't drink water in the 125-degree April heat. Thanks be to Allah this is not the case in Anasara year 2007).

With one day to go before the hoopla, the young women in the village fixed me up, dying my feet with caustic black henna and ever-so-gently yanking my filthy hair into cornrows (my hair cannot be freshly washed or conditioned if it is to work, apparently).

The biggest party I've seen so far erupted the day after Republic Day, when dozens of male sheep and goats were slaughtered (um, sacrificed) in every corner of Tamtala (and in every village in Niger). I hid in my concession until I was pretty sure I wouldn't have to watch the actual throat-cutting, then went out, thinking this would be a good way to curb my appetite for the afternoon. All over the village, men were cleaning guts and stretching each animal's body over an X of wooden posts, and leaning the X over a crossbar between posts over a bonfire. The neck gets tied to a separate post with an intestine (which of course has to be squeezed empty first), the head gets fried and boiled in sauce ("the best meat of it all"), the testicles are cooked to perfection.

All afternoon, the sheep and goats cooked slowly over the bonfires, protected from the east wind by woven grass mats purchased for the occasion. And the next day, when the meat is done, villagers bring their friends bits of meat, so those too poor to buy a sheep get some. In fact, everyone gets some - even the American vegetarian, whose protests are futile. My neighbor Saouda (who knows me well) wouldn't hear of me not taking - and tasting in front of her - some leg of some animal. Everyone gets dressed up and cavorts around the village looking fancy, dancing and banging on whatever's available as a drum, and wishing their friends a happy new year (more or less): "May your feet walk next year!" - "See you this time next year!" - "May Allah show us blessings next year!" etc.

A bit perplexed that I hadn't bought something to sacrifice like everyone else ("What, you have no ciimsi sheep? But you are rich!"), I spent both afternoons madly popping popcorn and delivering it to every Tamtalan. This was a horrible idea. I killed a kilo of popcorn, most of my salt (Nigeriens love salt), but, most dearly, a $10 liter of olive oil. Children and adults alike scrambled for their handfuls. A few women who had been to baby-naming ceremonies in Niamey had tasted it before, and it was uniformly loved by all. Then I ran out.

Crap! I searched my food trunk, then my medical kit. Bingo! I mixed up the last of my Gatorade in a small bucket and brought it around with a tiny plastic cup as a consolation prize. No problem, they loved that too. And by the end of the two days, I was exhausted, having "ka-yeesi'd" all 850 people in my village. So. Blessings for the new year.

A day or two later it was time to walk, yet again (still not supposed to get in a bush taxi) to the Gotheye side of the river, pick up my bike, and ride into Niamey on the 23rd. Christmas goes by unnoticed almost everywhere in Niger - can't blame them - they don't do the "Christ" thing - so I figured my first one away from home would be best spent with fellow PCVs.

Usually one of my favorite days of the year, December 23rd is my daddy's birthday, and I was excited to get to Niamey so we could talk on the phone. The trip was on a laterite road, bumpy and dusty, with two monster dunes to overcome. Luckily Kate, Alex, Alison, Rachel and I stopped often to rest. we were having a wandiyey wangarey time until we realized that 80 kilometers is just too damn far for most of us to go in a single day. When an NGO truck offered to pick us up after 65k, I couldn't turn it down. My butt, knees, sunburn were all screaming for a rest. We arrived at a hostel full of merry PCVs who sang Happy Birthday on the phone to Wisconsin.

Christmas in Niamey was wonderful. I was worried about being homesick, but there was little time. On Christmas Eve, a few of us girls and guys sewed 31 stockings to be hung with care on the porch doors of the hostel. Seabass's mom, in from Vermont as Christmas Mom, oversaw the making of a cauldron full of chili (and a smaller pot full for those of us vegetarians not broken by Tabaski). She brought a bag full of balsam needles, which we agreed - upon smelling - made it really Christmas. We made specialty cocktails (busted the bank on these!) and threw an all-night dance party in the living room, not unlike Thanksgiving Eve's. Elves filled our stockings sometime between first prayer call and dawn. In the morning, we had pancakes and watched Christmas movies as we opened our goodies (cell phone cards! doodles from Santa! a ring from Ghana! maple syrup candy from Vermont!).

Note on food: We also had scrambled eggs dyed red and hash browns dyed green. The eggs were curious-tasting, and I put quite a bit of cheese (yeah! someone had invested in cheese!) on them. Delicious! But when I walked into the kitchen and Jimmie saw me eating just the green hash browns, he said "oooh, I'm sorry Boo, I didn't make you any eggs without bacon!" ... Well, that's okay, I didn't know there was bacon in the eggs... most PCVs would kill for bacon... Uhhh... good thing I ate that goat last week.

After all the eating, we went over to the Burns house for cocktails and cheer. Jimmie dyed himself green and a handful of us put little ponytails on top of our heads - the Grinch and the Whos from Whoville. We decided to walk, which provided much entertainment, as everyone on the street who usually gawks at us for our whiteness now had even more reasons to stare, comment, run away in fear, etc.

Boxing Day brought more festivities, as there's now an Englishman in our midst. Her Majesty the Queen sent him with a case of Biere Niger, each with a Christmas Cracker Joke tag attached. Brilliant. Why don't skeletons go to the prom? - Because they have no BODY to go with! Bra ha ha ha ha ha!

The next night we made s'mores - kind of - digestives instead of graham crackers, Haribo brand marshmallows, and imitation Nutella instead of chocolate bars. Incredible nonetheless.

The past few days have been consumed with a nice solid work reason to be in Niamey - Gum Arabic training for PCVs and villagers. It is now high time to be tapping your Gum Arabic trees, and we had some funding from Rotary International (I'm a huge fan, really I am) to bring our counterparts and most-kokorante villagers into Niamey for three days of lectures, pruning practice and grafting lessons. I managed to bring both my chief and Maimouna, because she's the women's group leader. PCVs from as far east as Guidimouni (past Zinder) came in with their counterparts, but Maimouna was the only Nigerien woman. And she rocked! She asked questions and swung that machete with the best of them. No shame. Most of you reading this won't be able to grasp what a big deal this is and why I am so proud of her, but if you spent any time in Niger, you'd begin to get it. She even signed her name on her transport receipt without any help. Wonder of wonders.

We are no longer forbidden from traveling but are being careful. I feel as safe as ever, so, if this unfortunate news from Niger happened to reach you, please know there's tons of great stuff going on too, and that Tamtala remains a peaceful place to grow and learn. Everyone is better fed than they've been in months, although we're looking at another year before many of them eat meat again. Lucky for me, it's (cold) veggie season, and I couldn't be happier. The other day I had a SALAD. Lettuce, tomatoes, carrots, etc. A moment of silence in appreciation for a salad, please people.

.

Thank you.

Now if only I could so much as see a strawberry or a red bell pepper. But let's not get asky here.

Today I'm tying up some loose ends and getting the doctor to look at some wicked sore on my ankle (I tried to climb a table... oh, never mind). But there will be more news in a few weeks, as I'll be back in town to celebrate my first year in Niger, toast to Danielle's birthday, welcome a new stage, and arrange some visas for a trip to the promised land, aka GHANA, where I am going to watch crazy amounts of soccer and sit on the beach for several days with Castel Milk Stout and friends.

One more big thanks to the millet grinder donors, one resounding Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all you blog-readers. If you're still in a giving mood after all your holiday cheer, check out the sidebar.

Love love love - Sakina

*Ouiza, or weeza, means "therefore, it seems that, evidently" - usually with an element of surprise. It's a crowd favorite.**I may have found my life's calling. More on that as it develops.