December

The 12th

This morning I went to church with OZ (‘O-Zead’), which was a strange experience on many accounts. He gave me a Hausa bible, which is currently wedged into my bookshelf right next to the Quran/Koran in English and Arabic. There were only 5 adults, including me and the pastor, and as we sang in Hausa my mind wandered. Churchgoing is comforting, no matter what you believe. It’s nostalgic and I’ve kept away these past few years to avoid hypocrisy, because I’m not sure what I believe anymore, (typical 20-something I am), but even if it’s just going through the motions…

Most people here are fanatically fervent in their beliefs and expressions of faith (praying 5 times a day?! That takes dedication!), and I feel of late I’ve ascribed to the American disillusioned intelligentsia anti-religion school of thought, distancing myself from any sincere expression of faith. But some of those of the smart set go to church too. My whole life I’ve been thinking of religion and spirituality as an all-or-nothing deal: either you are or you aren’t, you buy the bullshit or you don’t. Of course people aren’t wired that way, and my own wavering middle ground refusal-to-commit-to-any-one-opinion ‘belief’ of sorts that I’ve held for the past few years (I can’t quite let go of the idea of a Creator, but I’m not about to assert that Jesus is the only way) is evidence of that. So…what? Is it okay to attend church without the 100% sincere trusting faith of a child? To go not because you believe but because of the comfort and community you find there? Does your motive (have to) really matter? Is there something these guys (Nigeriens) are getting right, God playing a larger, more consciously on-the-surface role in their lives? So where do I go now—what do I believe, and what do I do? Try to read some familiar Bible tales in Hausa and see where that gets me, I guess.

The 13th

Thrown like a bucket of chum to a school of sharks today at the private school in town, what the hell am I doing here? I have no great specific practical wisdom to impart.

Today at ‘wurin Sani’ (‘Sani’s place’ AKA hanging with my fada) the conversation turned to the worth of women (½ as much as men; “the Koran says so!” is the common refrain). “What if you get married and your husband wouldn’t let you come visit Niger?” they asked. “It’s not a question of him letting me—I would tell him what I was going to do and I would do it!” Apparently women have to ask their husbands for permission to do anything, and they don’t initiate divorces, ever. “Women aren’t as smart as men,” my friends said. “What?!?” “The Koran says so.” “Well Mohammed was a man—if he had been a woman it would have been the other way around!” They got a kick out of that. They continued—it wasn’t what Mohammed thought, he only wrote what God told him. “Well if God were a woman…” The conversation concluded when we all agreed that God is bigger than we mere humans are capable of understanding.

This conversation was easy and fun (I was laughing a lot) but had echoes of a scary time in my life. Yes they actually believe this, but I found myself thinking: ‘So what?’ I don’t really care if they think 2 women are equal to 1 man in value, IF they’re willing to respect their wives (treat them well, not beat them), send their daughters to school…I mean, I’m not here to convert them to my superior way of thinking. That’s pointless and would be frustrating: I know because I’ve been there. I remember when I was an überChristian with such strong convictions, willing to argue points of faith and bully people into believing my truth, which was the only one. I don’t ever want to go back to that mentality and besides that’s not why I’m here. If I can just be an example of a different way, and a voice that challenges them to think critically (whether or not they actually do), I’ll have done all I can do. Thanks be to Allah.

Slightly related note: tractors. Industrial advancement. Life here is so pastoral, and as a visitor I relish it as a return to a past—a simpler, purer, healthier way of life. Doing farm work by hand isn’t as efficient as modern technology has forced farming to be in places like America, but are huge monoculture factor farms really a ‘better’ way of doing things? I get to be as jaded and cynical and critical as a liberal education of Michael Pollen and issues of the New Yorker could allow—that’s a privilege. Who am I though, emissary of the 1st world, to tell Nigeriens to feel lucky and be grateful, that they are ‘better off’ without tractors? They (should) have the right to rape the land and destroy the environment as much as anybody. The problem, of course, is money.

I have nothing to give, everything to gain, and am as terrible a person as ever. Want to feel like a grade A jerk? Move to Niger.

The 15th

Last night I had the most terrifying dream—Tondi riding up on a horse, catching me fiddling with a radio, which I could not for the life of me figure out how to turn off. I had been told 2 or 3 times to turn it off, not to listen to it, but I was busy with some crafty task (carpentry?). It was so vivid—just as I remembered that I needed to turn it off, and couldn’t figure out how, and finally decided to pop the batteries out, Tondi was there, looming over me. He kicked me out of Peace Corps right there. I pleaded, I cried, I tried to repeal, I tried to explain. I was crushed. I woke up terrified, relieved, in awe that this apparently means so much to me. I really am loving it here, incomparably moreso than France (though that was good for what it was).

Today was a fabulous day: a ‘sunan’ (baptism) where Nasaifa peed on me and I ate chicken, planning English Club with Zabeiru…just walking through town is so fun. I’m finding a rhythm, as awkwardness gives way to knowledge of expectations and ease of person, language, etc. My friends, however I’ve found them, are fabulous, and even slight acquaintances are interesting, fun, caring, amazing. I’m getting excited about work possibilities and am getting into my groove. I would be devastated to be torn away right now.

The 21st

The last 3 days I spent visiting bush villages, the posts of the 3 volunteers coming to my department. Cindy and I ventured out into the unknown without advising the people of the towns beforehand (how could we?), trusting the incredible hospitality of Nigeriens to take care of us. And they did. The villages are small and picturesque, the people excited, friendly, helpful. We were provided with everything we needed—food, mats, a jerry-rigged light made out of a few batteries and a CD. I was amazed at our spirit (‘That town is 5k that way? Ok, see you in a few hours’), and also at how normal it all seemed. Even when we got almost lost for half a second, there was no space to be scared, as even in the open bush we were never far from signs of civilization—stored stacked millet stock, a shepherd, a small clump of houses. This place is beautiful, and the people all the more awe-inspiring for eking out a living here for generations. The landscape reminded me of northern California, near Paradise, near Chico. I felt like an incredibly capable explorer, and alternately like an inadequate human being, not as equal to the task of basic survival as the bush people here are. Trekking back to the road from the third village, I commented: “This is what humans were made for. Walking around Africa is what we evolved to do.” And here I was, doing it, even if in such a small capacity, my lazy American chub slowing me, my bright skin a constant worry, covered by a hat and sunscreen. These new volunteers will have a great time, I hope, and I can’t wait for them to come and for our experiences to commingle.

Also yesterday Souleymane asked me if I washed my clothes by hand or with a washing machine, which I brought from America on the plane, right? I found that too funny to laugh.

Christmas

Being in a mostly Muslim country for Christmas, you realize that, like most things, it’s mostly buildup. You’re reminded of the incongruity of Christmas’ origins, so radically religious, and its equally-as-legitimate bastard, commercial, completely cultural shadow, of shared music and films, similar (if personal and varied) memories. Such strong emotions are attached to this most random of dates (that’s not even determined by the moon!) that a random collection of Americans can come together in Zinder for a truly meaningful, delicious moment. For me, it’s about the family experiences that have been had, however nontraditional or small they’ve been. Spending Christmas away from family is nothing new, and even when it is with family, it’s nothing big, nothing movie- or J Crew catalog-worthy. Of course, as always, being away just makes me appreciate my people (“Greet your people for me!” –OZ), my foods (cranberry orange relish, cookie press cookies, lard-y shortbread, mashed sweet potatoes, lamb cake) and the times we are together so much more. I am so blessed with the fucked family I have, and the new friends I’ve made in Niger. Throwing another Mexican Christmas Eve eve feast for them (I invited a different set of friends than I invited for Thanksgiving—it seems even in Niger I am cursed/blessed with so many varied groups of friends that it’s impossible for them to all be together in one place at the same time) was fantastic.

Now

The new kids are almost here. It’s almost 2011. When did that happen? What will this next year bring? I can't be sure, but I'm hoping: camel rides, travel to other W. African countries, projects in my town (starting a radio station? I could be Niger's Ira Glass or Randi Rhodes!), new friends, a visit from my mom (and brother?!!!), etc. etc. etc.