A Musing on Development

I've been thinking a lot lately about international development and my role as a Peace Corps Volunteer. The issue of sustainability, lodged into our heads from the very beginning by the records and records of failed projects, continues to be a main concern. Senegal, a small country with over 200 volunteers, is well-known for innovative, successful work within the Peace Corps community. This is, in my opinion, due to the fact that the program focuses on cross-sectoral work, emphasizing collaboration between volunteers to the greatest extent. In Niger I was prepared to spend multiple days sitting and staring into space; that won't be the case here. 

As we become more and more immersed in local African culture, I begin to question my intrusion into these peoples' lives. Sometimes I wonder what right I have to come here, to preach about a better lifestyle, and to try and incite change. I worry about the effect I might have, positively or negatively. Of course this is ultimately an arrogant thought, for likely I won't be changing anything. 

It struck me, as I left Niger, that the local people in my village seemed indifferent to my arrival but devastated at my departure. This fact has been churning in my mind ever since. Did my presence mean something greater than I realized? By the time I left, I hadn't done anything to warrant my being missed. I'd only been there for eight days. Perhaps the impact of Peace Corps' withdrawal from Niger cannot help but be felt by its people, after so many years of service. That alone serves as proof that we did something. 

The debate about foreign aid in Africa rages on in intellectual circles. Why does the continent continue to be underdeveloped? Is it the culture, the climate, the poor structure, the political instability? A combination, surely. 

Cultural barriers are by far the widest and tallest. "I won't bring my son to the clinic because it is God's will that he be sick." At times I find myself wondering what right I have to question this statement, a dangerous position to take as an aid worker. It's easy to allow oneself to be sucked into the richness of African life and ignore the harder aspects, especially for me, one who doesn't suffer from hunger or thirst. The difficult part comes in seeing beyond the laughing, smiling teeth and looking into the hollowed eyes and sharp rib cages. I believe there is a better lifestyle awaiting those who will work for it (that's why I'm here, isn't it?) and I have to get over my hesitation of convincing those who will listen. But sometimes it's easier to eat my plain rice and laugh along with everybody else. 

<3 Phoebe 

"Wo-Holiday"

In Hausa, Wohala means "suffering", so Niger volunteers have aptly named the past two weeks a "Wo-holiday." It's amusing now to recall my anxiety about moving into site, when in fact, I had no idea what I was in for.
The first week at my post was eventful, to say the least. I worked in the health clinic every day, learning the basics of pre-natal exams (taking measurements, doing consultations, filling out the forms in French). I walked around the village, greeting, re-greeting, and re-greeting people, as custom demands. In terms of work and village life, I was slowly beginning to see myself settling in.

My house was another story - what a nightmare. Some of you may recall my excitement at having electricity and ceiling fans, but in reality the house was not only big, filthy, rat/bat infested, but also occupied when I arrived, causing slight confusion. My installation was done without half of my belongings because the one car couldn't fit everything belonging to the six trainees being installed on the same day (don't get me started) and so I lived in literal dirt piles for eight days with no means to do laundry or clean my house. The highlight of the house was the rat vs. bat battles that took place each night, during which I started taking bets just to keep myself entertained.

After four consecutive sleepless nights, it was beginning to become an issue. But then we got evacuated, so problem solved!

If you haven't already heard the news, Peace Corps Niger is officially on suspension due to security threats in Niamey. Three weeks ago, French aid workers were kidnapped and killed in the capital by an undetermined contingent, but that was just the bean that tipped the balance. Rumors say our program had been hanging on a thread for quite some time.  I returned from the clinic one morning after eight days in ville, saw that I had fourteen missed calls from the Niger Safety and Security officer, and got the bad news.

The evacuation was quick and successful, as far as Washington is concerned. For us, it was too fast, too painful and too chaotic. We were told on Wednesday that the program was finished and to be ready to be picked up the following day. We were flown out of the country early Friday morning and deposited in Rabat, Morocco, a window to the developed world we'd all but forgotten about.

In Rabat we attended a "transition conference", the existence of which is a sad testament to the frequency of such situations. We were offered various options including re-enrollment, direct transfer, or close of service. I was offered a slot to transfer to Senegal to work with Urban Development, and after much consideration, I took it. I was flown to Senegal last night and have arrived safely at the Peace Corps training site with seven other Niger "refugees" (if you will).

Direct transfer is a weird beast. We are able to continue service with only a few weeks of language training, and we can re-negotiate our close of service dates. I'm especially excited about the program I'm entering. However, we're not part of any particular training class, and we're put in regions without getting a chance to know any of the current volunteers. It is, as some say, a rather "hardcore" option to take and I think it will be worth the struggle. But it's definitely a day to day process!

The week and a half in Rabat was stressful and also delightful, hence the genesis of the term "Wo-Holiday." The fracturing of our class is heartbreaking and thoughts of the Nigerien staff and people we left behind are ever prevalent. Inshallah, Peace Corps will return to Niger, because it was a truly wonderful program.

I'll be continuing this blog with my new Senegalese adventure, so after my few weeks of training I'll let you know all about my new site! Keep Niger in your thoughts, and to all my fellow displaced volunteers, best wishes.

<3 Phoebe

The REAL Beginning

Celebrating Christmas in Niger was a little weird, I’ll be honest.

We began the week with the Supervisor’s Conference, a two day affair in which a significant Nigerien member of every new post came to our training site to debate cultural barriers and common expectations. To relive this experience, you should think of angry gesturing, much shouting, awkward interactions in Zarma and few accomplishments. I did meet a staff member of the clinic where I’ll be working, but instead of making a productive work schedule, she asked me questions about America. I don’t know about America! I’m in Niger!

After two days of the stress of hosting and interacting with our Nigerien counterparts, we said goodbye to them and hello to bureaucratic nightmare. Mounds of paperwork, rules, regulations, and logistics followed us well into Christmas Eve.  And then, without the usual buildup or Hallmark advertisements, surrounded by hundreds of Muslims, Peace Corps Niger celebrated Christmas.

There wasn’t a lot of energy (physical or mental) to spare for the holidays as our training came to a rapid close. We spent days preparing for our final language test, and after I’d explained why I wanted to do Peace Corps for the eight hundredth time (but first in Zarma) we moved on to our swear-in ceremony at the U.S Embassy.  The Ambassador was on crutches and thus waved at us from the balcony of her expansive residence instead of attending the talks. The ceremony itself was quick and painless – we heard representatives from the US and Nigerien governments as well as the Peace Corps Country director, fumbled through our oath of service in English and then in French, and without any further fuss were declared official volunteers.  I drank about seven sodas (they were free!) and felt rather ill later on, but it was worth it.

As we enter the New Year, there are many changes coming up for me and for many of you. I think it’s appropriate to cite some resolutions that will later be discarded, as such things usually are.

1.)    Kala suru. (have patience…)

2.)    Kala suru (have patience…)

3.)    Kala suru (have patience…)

That’s it!

I’m not sure who is reading this blog, but for those of you who know me well, you’ll be pleasantly surprised to see how patient I’ve become. I sometimes feel strangled by American concepts of punctuality and productivity, as such things in Niger simply operate differently and I've yet to shed what has been wired into me. Patience is required in abundance. The other personality trait that is a saving grace in Niger is a sense of humor, which I have thankfully been blessed with. Instead of feeling overwhelmed and frustrated by hordes of children yelling “Hello stranger! What is your name! What is your name!” we reply “My name is towel.  My name is soap. My name is poopface.” We laugh as children repeat the names, then forget and ask again the next day.

Small successes also need to be rewarded, something I’ve fallen out of habit with. For example, I wanted a dress to be made for our swear-in ceremony. I negotiated for fabric in the market, brought it to the tailor, explained what I wanted and paid a bargain price. I felt pretty darn proud of myself until I picked up the dress and realized it had so much excess fabric around the waist it would be been better as maternity clothing. Not all women in Niger are pregnant! Oh well, you can’t win them all. I wore it anyways.

I am currently sitting in the Dosso region hostel, waiting until tomorrow when I’ll be officially installed into my village. Installation is a logistical nightmare for Peace Corps, for two reasons: first, we are required to perform all sorts of meaningless protocol i.e. meeting with the Governor, the Chief of Police, the Prefet, the Sultan, and not just of Dosso proper but of our individual smaller regions as well. I’ve had to sit through several meetings in French, nod prettily and smile as if I had any idea what was being said to me. I’d better get used to that, I suppose.

Secondly, fifteen people need to be installed in the time period between this Monday and Thursday, for Niger holds its first democratic elections on Friday and we are not allowed to leave our posts for safety issues. Third world elections are always a tricky business.  Installations consist of loading two years’ worth of luggage, furniture, housewares and storage onto one small car, driving it up to 5 hours, unloading, and holding a small town meeting to announce our arrival. To accomplish this for fifteen people in the span of four days seems near impossible, but they’ve made it work so far. Inshallah I will be moving tomorrow and my next blog will describe my first (and hardest) month at post.

Happy New Year – and so it begins!

Phoebe 

Wiza*, I Have A Real House!

* "To my surprise"

Training is coming to an intense and rapid close. The end of Language Immersion as well as the first week back with our host families has come and gone, including a colorful session on Nigerien superstitions. My personal favorite was "If a woman is struck by a pair of pants, she will not find a husband." Okaay...

Life in Niger is becoming easier day by day. The heat is no longer oppressive, for we are in the coveted "cold season." It's actually quite funny to see Nigeriens bundled up in winter jackets. Yesterday I glimpsed a little girl wearing a body-length puffy North Face coat with a furry hood. I would have registered the temperature at around 75 Farenheight. She reminded me strongly of the younger son in the classic movie "A Christmas Story" ... "I can't move my arms! I can't move my arms!"

I don't have a lot of time to write this and I apologize for the slapdash manner in which most of my recent posts have been published. In general I feel my ability to write and speak in English is deteriorating, so I hope by 2012 but you can still decipher my meaning! What I  hope to mention quickly is that our Site Announcement ceremony was today, and I am very pleased with the post I've been given. The village is one I have visited before (only briefly), and is considered to be the nicest house for a Peace Corps Volunteer (in the bush) in Niger. So, you know, I'll take it!

Honestly, I've adjusted well to living in a mud hut and had envisioned myself doing such for two years, but now I have to completely restructure my visions of my service. The house I'm given has 2 bedrooms, a kitchen and a living room, with tile floors, ceiling fans, electricity, carpets and sofas. Wiza!* There are downsides to the post as well, so don't be too awed by my good fortune. The village has never had a volunteer and is unsure how to treat Americans, which can translate into unfriendliness. There is a large health center that I'll be affiliated with, also new to American presence, so I have my work cut out for me. I'll have to establish and represent the Peace Corps as best I can, as everyone knows the first impression counts immensely!

Another key upside to my post is that I am in the same region as many of my friends from training class. This means I can travel and visit with them easily, and see them once a month for Volunteer Meetings. It makes such a difference!

New Address:
Phoebe Uricchio
Corps de la Paix
B.P 144
Dosso, Niger
West Africa

I have to dash, but a fellow stageur has put up a blog with all our trainee biographies if you wish to see the rest of my class. Check it out!

http://jacobmbarela.wordpress.com/

Best -
Phoebe

Giardia: My New Best Friend

You may be wondering how I am able to post a blog so soon after leaving for language immersion. The simple answer is: I got giardia! The title of this blog rings true as I am now sitting comfortably in the Niamey bureau - in air conditioning - instead of sweating through six hours of Zarma class a day. I'll be right back to it tomorrow...but we won't think about that just yet.

My language immersion site is very beautiful, set in the south of Niger on the Benin border. The village is surrounded by a yet-unknown source of water - really, I have no idea where it comes from - and thus has arable land and gardening potential. The only drawback I can see to being posted there is its daunting distance from the rest of the "civilization." After a harrowing four hour drive down the worst, most pot-holed road I've ever seen, we turned off the road (literally...off-roading) and plunged through the African bush for another hour (fording a river at one point, I  might add) before reaching this little tucked away oasis. I would enjoy my life in this site but I would not enjoy trying to leave it...as I can attest to today as I was brought on the return trip to the Niamey infirmary.
To help you understand what this week has been like, I should start from the beginning. We arrived, as I described, on Sunday only a little worse for the wear (and green around the edges). The recipe for language immersion is essentially one hundred billion kilos of Zarma class sprinkled with a bit of local interaction; visiting the tailor, shadowing a housewife, going to the market. To fulfill this last requirement we rode on an oxcart for an hour to another village on the coast of Benin, right along the Niger river. We forded another spot of waterlogged land to get there and I had a brilliant flashback to the PC game "Oregon Trail"...fording a river in my oxcart! Who thought I'd be living "The Oregon Trail" in West Africa? Life is truly weird sometimes.

Back to this market village; it is really breathtaking. After a month of viewing only sand and sparse vegetation, the sight of a sparkling blue river was quite startling, but very welcome. I was about to jump in one of their huge canoes and paddle off for the afternoon but apparently Peace Corps regulates that we need life jackets...as if! Another time.

After the market I began to experience my giardia symptoms, making language immersion a bit less fun. On Thursday I realized I effectively hadn't eaten in two days and something needed to be done, so after much finagling to find a cell signal (think back to the Verizon commercials...'can you hear me now?') I managed to get in touch with the Medical Officer. Not having any way to test my symptoms in village, he sent a car out to bring me in, just for tonight.

Let me describe for you the following scenario. I am lying on my mattress, surrounded by local village kids who have never seen a white woman and have consistently followed me for the past week, trying to drown out their chattering voices. I hear the sound of the Peace Corps car tearing up vegetation and sit up warily. I see the Dosso region driver step out of the car.

Now, the Dosso region driver is a large Nigerien man whom I have only ever seen wearing a crisp black suit with black undershirt, bold Nike sneakers and Matrix-reminiscient sunglasses. His driving style could be compared to that of, well, nothing I've ever experienced! He dominates the aforementioned bad roads as well as the African countryside with little concern for what might be in his way, casually swerving at several intervals to avoid a particularly bad pothole or sheep. On the way to our site I hit my head on the ceiling of the Land Cruiser five or six times while jouncing about in my seat. I'm sure you can appreciate the dread I was feeling this morning at the anticipation of another such ride...with a roiling stomach.

I'll spare you the details, but for most of the ride I was decidedly uncomfortable. The driver seeemed determined to get me to Niamey as quickly as possible (perhaps a shorter ride with more bumps is better than a drawn out one...?) and I arrived in record time. Considering the man made a full six hour trip to pick me up and is probably going to do the same to take me back tomorrow, I'm certainly in his debt. But I'll probably feel more grateful when my stomach stops telling me off!

That's all for now - despite giardia and our malfunctioning gas stove that singed off the bottom half of one of my skirts (a story for another time) language immersion has been surprisingly pleasant. I'll report back at the end of next week and hope to talk to many of you soon!

<3 Phoebe

"Aichatou, Kill the Sheep!"

Seventy days after Ramadan is a Muslim holiday called Tabaski. For those of you who aren’t familiar, the holiday celebrates the biblical story of Abraham and his son Ishmael; God asks Abraham to sacrifice his son to prove his devotion, at the last moment substituting a lamb to spare Abraham a terrible loss. In Nigerien culture, on this day a sheep is slaughtered and eaten to mimic this Biblical event and praise Allah for his generosity.


For many Nigeriens, this is one of the few times a year when meat is readily available. Most people are too poor to afford regular meat and therefore Tabaski is a pretty big deal. According to Muslim culture, each sheep that is slaughtered is supposed to be divided into three: one part is given to neighbors and friends, one part to the poor and one kept for one’s own family. The idea is that no family should go without meat, even if they can’t afford to buy and slaughter their own sheep. This past week Tabaski rolled around and my family, happily, was quite able to afford a sheep and took great pleasure in offering me the knife to kill it. I had some difficulty refusing but I essentially told ‘cultural sensitivity’ to take a hike and put my foot down. Sheep slaughtering is not my thing, but thank you Niger for already making such experiences commonplace.

I also made the mistake of telling my family that I liked meat before actually tasting it. If only I had the language skills to make qualifying statements…”Actually, I like meat in America but not so much in Niger…”something about the way they cook it is singularly unappealing. I’m also never sure what part of the sheep I’m eating, as in I’m pretty sureI ate a sheep testicle yesterday. It wasn’t enjoyable.

The plus side of Tabaski is that Nigeriens get two days off work. Wait, another qualifying statement: men get two days off work. The women work harder than ever – they spend every waking moment cooking and cleaning. The first morning I was able to go to the mosque with the men and older women in my family, which was fun. I observed from the back and the service itself was unremarkable, but the Nigeriens took the opportunity to wear fancy clothes and put on quite a show. Even the dusty, half naked children were scrubbed and put into new dresses and shoes. It was good to see my family take such pride in their appearance and for the women to take a break from the pounding and the heat of cooking to socialize and relax. This astonishing pause in work only lasted about an hour before they were right back to it, but I guess every minute counts!

Tabaski was an interesting experience from a religious and cultural perspective, but it also fueled me to begin planning my first Peace Corps project. A common first project for volunteers is to implement something called a “cook stove”, which is essentially a mud structure created to protect women from the flames of the fire as well as be more fuel efficient (less coal/wood is required when the fire is sheltered in this manner.) I learned about the cook stove earlier in training and was interested, but became infinitely more so after a toddler fell into the fire during Tabaski. Don’t panic – he suffered burns to his left leg, but will only have minimal scarring. I watched this whole event in slow motion, if you can imagine – the women were bustling around the cooking fire and this child was milling in between them and then all of a sudden he was in the fire and screaming at the top of his lungs. We pulled him out, put out the flames and got him into some cold water immediately, I wrapped the burns and used some of my Peace Corps med stash to bandage him up. He’ll be ok. If the women had a cook stove, it wouldn’t have happened at all. Peace Corps Project Number One – check.

In all other facets of life, the pace of training is picking up and we’re getting ready to set out for dreaded “Language Immersion” (our training schedule manual actually says “English is now DEAD”). It is pretty daunting to imagine two weeks with only a few other trainees and a language coach, isolated in a rural village speaking nothing but Zarma…I feel like I won’t be speaking much at all! Zarma is an infuriating and complicated language – context is everything, because words have multiple meanings and are all strung together very quickly. I’m getting the hang of it sloooowly if at all. Yesterday I was telling my family that I’d spent the morning working in the garden, but lo and behold, the word for “watering the garden” and “giving birth” is virtually the same and I ended up telling my family I’d had a baby that morning instead. They understood my mistake but thought it very funny. Jerks!

That’s all from this end for now – I don’t think I’ll have internet access for another three weeks, so much love from Niger and I’ll be in touch when I can. If you have an international phone card and any interest in texting/calling me, my Nigerien number is (227) 91.54.30.92. It might be expensive to text but I’m hoping to give it a try sometime this week…if you get a text from me and aren’t sure how much it will cost to respond then don’t worry. I don’t want to be responsible for astronomical phone bills…:)



<3 Phoebe

"Fofo, Mofo" Yes, we say that a lot...

So - it's been two weeks! Life in Africa is already very surreal. I am still in major "adjustment" phase, dealing with the heat and the food and the constant attention. Being American in Niger is tantamount to being a celebrity - yesterday my host sister told me she saw me in "that music video." Nope - not me. Haha.

To start, I applied to switch programs from a Forest and Agriculture Volunteer to a Community Health Volunteer, and was accepted. It's pretty unusual for trainees to switch, and so I was lucky that they even considered me. Initially, I was installed with a host family in a town called Barchawal, about eight miles from the Peace Corps training center. Twice a week we bike to the center for training in safety, culture, etc. The rest of the time we had language class with a trainer in our host village. After I became a health volunteer, I moved to a village called Fandoga (we call it Fandango) closer to the training site. (I had to move to be centered around the other health volunteers.) It was a bummer to have to readjust to a new host family, but it's been going well so far. In Barchawal my family had two wives and my new family has only one...way less interesting.

As a health volunteer, I'll be working on issues of women's health, maternal and child health, as well as vaccinations and nutrition. It's common for volunteers to be paired with local and global NGOs, assessing needs and trying to address the cultural barriers. I expect to be doing quite a bit of family planning as well as women's education, all of which is exciting to me.

The training is very intense. We have six hours of language class a day, on top of cultural and technical training. The heat is debilitating at best - yesterday was a record 121 degrees. I'm also struggling a bit to adjust to the food. Good news is - Niger has Coke! It's warm...but it's Coke. You all know how happy that makes me!

The poverty level in Niger is definitely something to get used to. I think it's hard to envision unless you are here, but there is so much trash, and such a high degree of obvious malnutrition that it can be hard to take. I'm adjusting as best I can and reminding myself why I am here...as if I need reminders! Every night we eat pounded millet for dinner (imagine rice with a consistency of dirt and with much less flavor). Bon appetit...

There are two main languages in Niger: Hausa and Zarma.  Hausa is spoken by 60% of the population, but I am learning Zarma, a smaller regional dialect. Zarma is spoken in and around the capital, so when I am eventually posted it will be within a radius of 4-6 hours of Niamey. This is encouraging - more modern comforts may be available! Right now, I am in the Peace Corps Bureau in Niamey. (It's air conditioned...amazing.) All the trainees are going on a trip called "Demystification", where they send us into the bush to live with current volunteers for about five days. I'm waiting in the Bureau to be picked up by a bush taxi and taken to the regional capital of Dosso, to meet my host. First bush taxi ride awaits...wish me luck! We've already had extensive training on how to navigate the system.

Yesterday the U.S Ambassador paid us a visit and I was invited to sit at her table for lunch. She only arrived in Niger two and a half weeks ago to begin her three year tour, so she has some of the same concerns as the rest of us! She talked a bit about her background before becoming Ambassador to Niger and my favorite quotation from the speech was "I was married, it was the eighties."
 
Time to go catch my bush taxi - more to come perhaps next week on the way back from Dosso - miss and love you all. (Again...letters are gold! Or dried fruit. Dried fruit is probably worth more.)

Phoebe (or Aichatou - my Nigerien name. You decide!)