Vrai Hot Season, Vrai Irony

Well, I took that fabulous weave out. It was time. My real hair is so soft! And don't worry folks: even though my post-weave hairdo would've been a perfect starting point for dreadlocks, I have not taken that step into the void of Real Hippiedom.

Bigger, more important news: The millet grinder is up and running! It thumps away every day from late morning until dusk (thereby not disturbing my sleeping - smile, smile). Tamtalan women are congratulating and thanking me still, which makes me very, very uncomfortable, but they are super excited to show me their hands. Pounding grains by hand creates calluses that would be envied by ballerinas, metalworkers, and everyone in between for their utility. After a few days of not pounding from morning until night, my neighbors calluses are starting to "yuut-tu" - fade away, get better, etc. The need for the giant eucalyptus mortar-and-pestle set has not come close to being eliminated: there are many steps to making delicious howru (dinner) that still need these tools. But the really hard work is now done by a machine ("like in Amerik," says my friend Medina, "where machines do people's work for them.").

I finally received the list of folks whose generosity made the millet grinder possible, so they will finally be receiving official "Sakina Thanks You" notes - insha'allah - very soon. For now, TANIMERT! from the bottom of our Songhai Bella hearts here in Tamtala.

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"This year's hot season," I wrote in my journal just last week, "doesn't seem as bad as last year's. The neem tree flowers smell so good I want to bottle their scent and carry it with me." Butterflies and sparkles and happiness and relief at the idea of not suffering this April as much as I did last year. That very night, mere hours after that fateful entry, I woke at 2am with that old familiar feeling: a pounding headache and desperate thirst - despite the fact that I'd drunk nearly 16 ounces of water right before bed. The still, devilish morning confirmed my dread: it's now that hot. Back to sweating 24 hours a day for three months. Back to bordering-on-dangerous dehydration.

I went to the doctor two days ago for my mid-service exam, and he said I am days away from having kidney stones. "Brittany: drink lots of water, right now!" It's nearly impossible to stay hydrated, and I try to conserve water in the bush, like the rest of the village does. I've weaned myself off carrying a bottle around constantly. By now, though, I'm up to "footing" a bucket a day, to bathe, drink, etc. Last year my feelings toward pumping water alternated between amusement and annoyance, but by now it's just a part of the routine.

Also last year, I noted here that I don't hate lizards - after all, they eat ants. Well, my feelings have changed - because they also eat my moringas! I have made several pastes to keep them away - one with neem leaves and ash, one with tobacco leaves - but they don't care. I hate hate hate them. We are locked in a battle of epic proportions, with them skittering around my concession and me shaking sticks, throwing rocks and yelling at them. But I will not put chemicals on my little trees whose leaves I want to eat.

Some of you may know about the "Three Moringas in Every Concession" campaign (I've probably written about it). Slowly but surely, there are trees popping up in concessions around the village. My friend Djamila's mum has had much better luck than me (perhaps she has more 'wani' (knowledge/experience) than I have). She doesn't seem to have a lizard issue, but she did have a problem with frogs. On her own (no outside-world prompting here), she made a tobacco-and-ash pesticide to keep the pests away, and her trees are thriving! I am so proud of her. Last week I gave her more seeds. The news is spreading, and the other women in her concession have planted teeny trees too. We are on our way.

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In other news, Kate and I went to a meeting at Union Dabari, a development organization run entirely by Nigeriens. Fantastic! Since our goal as PCVs is to work ourselves into obsolesence, it was great to see the place held up entirely by brilliant, motivated, educated local folks. The meeting was for stakeholders in communities all around Tillaberi, mostly village cheifs and women's leaders. Our presence was endlessly entertaining (of course). They loved listening to us speak Zarma. My favorite ironic moment was when I was talking with UD's president about the importance of education, and he was telling me about the residential school they run - taught in Zarma as well as French. "It's an imported language," he was telling me, "We teach in Zarma here so our own language will not die. Why would we teach our children a foreigner's language, a colonizer's language?" I am nodding and agreeing, and smiling... because this whole narrative of his was conducted in French.

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Switching gears here: important news that I hope has reached American ears and eyes: For myriad reasons*, we in Niger are in quite a bit of trouble this year, food-wise. During our Mid-Service Training (three fabulous days of -again with the irony- overfeeding my stage in Hamdallaye), we had a session on the "World Food Crisis" hitting this year. Unrelated (or seemingly so) global causes abound, creating what Chris calls "the perfect storm" of food crises.

In Niger, last year's harvest wasn't as strong as people had hoped (the rains stopped early in many places). Food is running out already - and we haven't even started planting for this year. This time of the agricultural calendar, called "hunger season" in Niger, is always a bit thin. In bad years, the World Food Program and other NGOs come through with sacks of famine-relief grains. But programs like that are strapped for such things, and for cash, and they have had to ration their aid this year.

I've spoken to village men about it, and they do little more than agree: "yes, this year is bad. Already a sack of millet is 13,000 CFA in the market." My cheif sold one of his bulls a month ago, and already the money is gone. His family goes through a sack of millet every two weeks, and he only got 22,000 CFA for the cow. Animals are like money in the bank for bush people. What do we do when they're gone? When I explain to the men that the whole world is feeling "hunger season" this year and that those white people in white SUVs might not be coming with handouts this time, I am met with blank looks, or, at best, "yes, we heard that on the radio."

Ah, the radio. Kate and I are busy at work in Tillaberi, every other week recording two shows, so that people from Tera to Ouallam can hear our funny accents in Zarma every Thursday afternoon. We've gotten popular - everyone in Tillaberi knows us when they hear our names. And some people even repeat their favorite parts of our broadcasts back to us on the spot. We've recently been talking about conserving food and money, and about enhancing the nutritional content of a family's diet using peanuts and -yes, again - moringa. Our radio work has gotten a boost from a Peace Corps-sponsored training held a few weeks ago for volunteers and counterparts nationwide. The conference also served to underscore several Big Frustrating Cultural Differences that make it difficult to work in Niger (as if we needed the reminder). Ironically (yet again!), it is with the educated Nigeriens that so many challenges and misunderstandings abound. I find it's much easier to convince villagers that, even though I am young and a woman, I am serious and smart and have a few ideas worth heeding. This is muuuuch more difficult with fonctionnaires in general. There are exceptions to every rule, of course, and our Radio Tillaberi counterpart is one - he's great, patient, and has gentle manners. We are lucky!


Well, there's more to talk about, but I'll save it. As some of you may know, I'm coming back to the States for home leave - I board Air France in two days! So - we'll talk then!



*I'd love to expand on this with anyone interested in hearing about it. Be warned, though, I might drop some strong hints about becoming a vegetarian.