A Traveler No Longer

From October 6th, 2010:

It has been a little more than six days since my arrival at post but things have changed a lot in that short time. I was installed third out of four people scheduled to be installed that fateful Thursday. After hours of protocol, meeting regional and departmental level government figures, gendarme captains and heads of education we arrived at my site at 7pm. We unloaded everything off of the snorkel-equipped land cruiser and examined my new house. It is humongous! Five rooms and a space for washing as well. All the rooms have 12 to 13ft ceilings, the walls are made of concrete and the roof is sturdy tin. Instantly, I began imagining the myriad ways I might furnish and equip my house. An oscillating fan maybe, a couch of sorts, some tapestries...but what to do with all the rooms? A kitchen, yes, another one a bedroom, maybe a relaxation room or a lounge? So many possibilities. Later that night we had a meeting with all of my neighbors and some of the leaders of the women's groups and young people's organizations near my neighborhood. A Peace Corps official helped me communicate my needs and my ground rules regarding important topics like kids, water, food, and visitors. It was amazing. Another warm reception by the people of Niger, wonderful people.
I still have no couch as of today, or fan, or stove or gas tank, but I have a bed and a water filter, which is good. The lack of stove means that I have been eating food with my neighbor Halidou and his family. We don't eat 'with' the family, but they are around. I will assure everyone who has ever studied hospitality in the States that the level of hospitality endemic to the culture of Niger exceeds anything I have ever experienced. The first day upon going to the market Halidou bought me fresh tomatoes and cucumbers, kuli kuli (peanut butter without the oil, like hard biscuits) and bananas. He would not let me pay for anything. I tell him I love apples, too. But we found none. That night he knocks on my door and brings me scrambled eggs with tomatoes, onions, and peppers! I was in heaven. Long story short I was forced to get over my discomfort at all the money he was spending on my food because every day he brought me something better than the day before.
Then, last night he shows up at my door. "I've been looking for you all day." He says, and hands me a bag full of apples and guavas!!! First I thought they were miniature pears, but no, delicious ripe guavas. I didn't quite know how to eat a guava so trial and error ensued. I cleaned them and ate one after cutting off the nubs at each end, they were a rich pink inside and there were some really crunchy seeds. Later I asked if I had done rightly in eating the skin and was affirmed. Guavas are one of my new favorite fruits.
So my first dilemma was: why do I even leave my house if my food is brought to me and neighbors come visit every once in a while? The answer is obvious but has wild unforseeable consequences. I must go out and get to know the ville, starting with the people. Unbeknownst to me at the time, the first days are an exaggerated caricature of what every day will be like after the villagers get used to seeing me walking around. They say volunteers often experience the 'fishbowl effect.' Due to the preposterous amount of handshaking that goes on here in Niger, some of which last 60+ seconds, I will rename it the 'petting zoo effect.' A long handshake is now something I really enjoy and I realize it is indeed a sign of respect and admiration. But I must say, at the beginning it takes a lot of mental energy to understand how it works. I shook more hands in my first three days at ville than I did in all 4 years of college! I realized quickly that the market area, which straddles the road which goes all the way from Niamey in the West through Dosso, Maradi, Zinder, and to Diffa in the East, is the most overwhelming place I can go. Unfortunately, it is where all the social circles mesh and interact, mixing and combining, losing key players then dispersing, re-forming new circles around people and places of interest and intrigue. I, of course, attract a fair amount of attention. Who is this French-looking man with the cap, beard, and strange small backpack? What is he doing here? He seems to know Hausa, how peculiar. I learned by osmosis that wearing the backpack makes people think I am a traveler, which I am no longer. So I decided to leave behind the backpack when I'm out on 'getting to know people' walks.
There is a certain psychology of sitting which is for some Westerners very hard to understand. In villages all over the world people sit to enjoy each other's presence and experience, together, the passage of time. Westerners often perceive sitting as wasting time, which it is not. Its value is not quantifiable however, cultivating social relationships is culturally paramount in most villages around the world. That which I have written above is a nearly direct translation of a quote by a man named Andreas Fulegang. I wrote it from memory because I couldn't find the original. The quote, for me, reinforces a subtle but potent feeling I have been experiencing over the past few days while realizing the value of sitting with people, in silence or conversation. The feeling is a sort of mutual respect, to be accepted by people in your community, to listen to each other, and to not worry about where the conversation is going or how long it will last. Some of these people are much older than I am and to feel worthy of their time and presence is much more powerful for me than any accomplishment. And when the barrage of questions about my future, my Hausa skills, my home, my family, and just what the hell I am doing here has ended, the silence that insues is the most brilliant, calm, and reassuring silence that one can hope for in this life. We sit in silence and listen to the sounds, without trying to comprehend them.