Tuesday, August 24, 2010

8/11/2010


This morning, I went to the fields. Laminou and Ahna followed us there. The MG (Mai Gari=Chief) and I talked while we went (in broken French-Hausa). Something he said really stuck out to me like never before...or, maybe not 'never,' but now that he said it, it's not just me thinking it--it's been verified.

We were talking about Malam Harou and Haya--how Haya never would have been about to get an X-ray taken of his heart if La'ima (I think that's how you spell Jennifer's Hausa name) hadn't gone with him to the clinic, insisted they x-ray him, and paid for it.

And then MG lamented the fact that Peace Corps has left [the Dakoro region]. He said, "You know, I'm the head of the village, and usually, if you want something done [with government], the head of the village uses his influence, i.e. money bribes, to make things happen for the people in the village. But since I don't have the means, we just get ignored. When Peace Corps was here, the government agents were more receptive because they were worried and scared that they might get into trouble [if they didn't work with us]. But now we don't have anyone to intervene on our behalf."

And I really felt that was true when I was living there. It wasn't that they couldn't do things or didn't have effort (kokari)--at least in Mai Lafiya--it's that the system is not designed to allow them to make things happen.

So, how can I help them now?

Money is what matters, and their money comes from food (crops). I feel like they need money to really make a major purchase for their grain bank. (MG told me that measures of millet have been selling for dala dari da talatin=650 cfa; in the village, they sold the grain from the grain bank to residents of the village for 500 cfa, so they were still making profit for the bank and re-investing it the following harvest.)

Last year, Jennifer got them improved beans, and they really produced. I asked the MG, "What's the next big thing you'd want for the grain bank?" He said he'd want improved millet seed. And it just makes sense--the beans start to produce in 45 days; the improved millet in about 70 days. In a place where the rainy season is erratic and seems shorter and shorter, there's no reason to waste time on slower-growing varieties.

If they could just have enough grain in their own, personal stocks, enabling them to sell at even higher prices to outsiders, then they'd really be somewhere--or at least getting there. Not to mention I could have better peace of mind...

More Gardening Pics...


Here's a picture of what the gardens look like during the cold season. Enjoy!

Still Gardening in Mai Lafiya!


Many family members helped fund a village/school garden while I was a Peace Corps Volunteer in Niger. Well, you'll be happy to know that the village/school garden is still going strong!

In fact, the last volunteer in the village (Jennifer Blouin) helped them purchase fencing and doors to help protect the gardens from animals. This way, gardening can be a permanent activity in Mai Lafiya. Sannu da kokari!

(PS--in this picture, you don't see any gardens because gardening starts in the cold season--around November/December.)

Thursday, August 19, 2010

Back in the Village


First, a description of 'les personnages'. Ramatou is one of my best friends in the village--she named her second child after me (they actually call her Jesse). Illa is Ramatou's brother-in-law who lives in Dakoro, which is the market town 10K from the village--Mai Lafiya. (2000 cfa is about $4, but I could eat about 5-6 meals on that.)

Illa: Ramatou, give me 2000 cfa--I brought you something from Dakoro.

Ramatou: 2000 cfa?!? What on earth did you bring me?

Illa: To find out, give me the 2000 cfa.

Ramatou: Fine, I'll give it to you. I've got it here. But you have to tell me first!

Illa: I brought Zara.

Ramatou: Zara herself??

Illa: Yep, Zara the white person.

And that's how Ramatou found out that I was back in the village.

Everyone else saw me as I rode into town on the back of Illa's motorcycle, waving like a crazy person. People were waving back, but I'm not sure they knew who it was right away. There was a boy at the well--he was about 7 when I lived there--and he was kind of my first friend, Bouzou. (If you remember the story, he's the one who was so excited when my neighbor gave me a baby chicken--he kept running back to his house to get something else the chick needed. The fourth time he jumped up to get something, he was running out of my concession and accidentally stepped on the chick--splat!) Anyway, he was the first person who's face I could see clearly as I rode in, and as I was recognizing him, he was recognizing me. First, he has this look of curiousity, then surprise, and it all ended in a big smile.

Illa deposited me at the chief's house (the chief is called Mai Gari (MG), owner of the village). No one was there, though. MG's wife, Selma, came in first--she told me MG had gone to Dakoro. Then, about 5 men I knew showed up, and it was enough to make me start crying, which made everyone kind of uncomfortable. I guess no one was really that surprised, though, since I had cried when I had left the village.

Then, MG's compound filled up with kids--seriously, like 30 kids showed up. I knew most of them; I actually felt kind of bad that I didn't have any candy. When I used to go to the market on Fridays, they knew I'd buy candy for them, so every time I'd ride my bike back into town, the kids used to come running.

Now, all the kids were so big! It was a strange experience--in the states, if I don't see someone or their children for a while, I usually have photographs to keep me updated on how they're changing, but I hadn't seen any of these kids since February 2005. It was like one of those nature videos wehre they film the growth of a flower from the planting of the seed until it blooms, but they speed it WAY up so the whole process only takes like 2 minutes.

Someone eventually went on a motorcycle and picked MG up from town--when he got back, he set me up in my old house. No one's living there now; I think they are still holding out hope that Peace Corps will change their minds and re-open the Dakoro regions. I think it's pretty unlikely in the near future.

BTW, because I know Team Dakoro folks would like to vicariously experience my bush taxi ride from Maradi to Dakoro: it took 5 hours. Everyone told me, rather excitedly, "Oh, they're paving that road!" Ha. Well, no one's been paid, so the work has stopped. Plus, they left all kinds of road blocks in order to protect their work, which meant we were mostly driving on sand paths NEXT TO the road. And, it had just rained profusely--so we stopped 5 or 6 times when we got stuck in puddles. Fortunately, there were enough men in the back (I was in the cabine), and I never had to get out and push. This was NOT the case on the return trip, when we got 2 flat tires, and I had to get out twice to help everyone who was fasting push the truck out of the mud.

Monday, August 9, 2010

Don't Worry--Team Maradi is STILL Better than Team Zinder

I made it to Niger at 2:35 pm on Saturday. We had to stop at 6 border checks on the Nigeria side and 2 on the Niger side. Other than being time-consuming and hot, the trip wasn't too bad.

And now I'm in Maradi, and it's awesome. Hassane and Ado greet you all; so does Kabo from the Maradi Guest House.

I am leaving for Mai Lafiya tomorrow. It seems like the rains this year are good, so hopefully the fields will look good. Ramadan starts in the next couple of days, so everyone will be fasting (joy). I'll probably end up fasting, too, since I'll be staying with friends in the village. Allah ya bamu sa'a.

My Name is Wednesday.

I was sitting under a tree waiting for Abdoul Azziz (my motorcycle driver) to come back with the motorcycle because he had to take Malam Baro--the old, toothless man who helps me identify trees--back to the village because the moto he was riding got a flat. So there I am sitting under the tree, waiting, and I thought about the fact that the name they gave me here--Larraba--means Wednesday. And then I made the obvious leap to Wednesday Adams and thought, 'how funny to share a name with such a strange girl! She's pale and quirky and does strange things. Oh wait--that's exactly what someone in Nigeria could be saying about me.'

Someone asked me when I first got here if I knew which day of the week I was born on, and I told them I had no idea. She was shocked and said that I really should know because it tells you a lot about who you are. Hence the habit of naming people by the days of the week--that way, everyone knows something aout your character as soon as they meet you.

So I asked about Wednesday--Larraba. I was told "If there are good things that are going to happen to you on Friday, you will see the signs on Wednesday." A big Facebook LIKE right here.