Every village of sufficient size has one day every week when the market area, built of wooden shade hangers and old, beaten trees fills past its limits with people selling everything imaginable. People come on foot, in bush taxi, donkey or cow cart, or in the back of trucks from near and far to haggle for the things they need. Some markets have only animals, and others only sandals and raw meat. But most, like my market, are a wonderful sight full of options and have a wonderful bustling energy. Farmers and herders come from far away with cucumbers, okra, potatoes, sweet potatoes, yams, sugarcane, hot peppers, salt, spices, herbs. City folk come out with medicines in boxes for every possible ailment, they bring from the market-rich regional capitals tomatoes, bananas, pineapples, mirrors, string, cell phones, oranges and watermelons. Herders, often of the Fulani ethnic group, dressed in winter hats and interesting vests, bring cattle, donkeys, goats and sheep. One might also find a camel for sale or a horse.
However, one does not go to the market expecting to find all of these things. They always have certain staple items but produce is hit-or-miss in almost every market, and prices have varied even over the four short months I have been here. At market nothing has a price of its own. Bardering is a skill learned very young, as well as selling for a profit. Kids spend a few hours out in the fields every day collecting weeds and other shrubs to bring back into town and sell as animal feed. Being a person who, because of my whiteness, is obviously chalk full of money, at least enough to have come here in a plane to begin with, I tend to encounter some ruthless bargainers. But those of you who know me well can see me walking away from many a sale instead of being ripped off and setting the stage for future rip-offs. My favorite line when given an obviously inflated price is "even for a Nigerien?" You scoundrel. We both smile and either I ask him to lower his price "because of Allah" and he does, or I find a different seller. One good advantage of markets here is that there is always more than one person selling any one item.
There is one man I am anxious to get to know, the Medicine Man. He has tinctures and teeth, pelts and poisons! When I get my language down I will discover his training, his lineage, his mysterious salves and perfumes! It took all my restraint not to buy the rock python skin, head and fangs included. It was beautiful. Who would have thought that my biggest predicament this week would be whether to buy a snakeskin or an oscillating fan...
Niger
Millet Fields in Rainy Season
Sunday, October 31, 2010
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.
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.
Post
It has been a little more than six days since my arrival at post but things have changed so much 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 new home 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 or 13ft ceilings, the walls are made of concrete and the roof is sturdy tin. Instantly I began imagining the myriad of ways I might furnish and equip my new house. An oscillating fan maybe, a couch of sorts, some tapestries maybe? But what to do with all the rooms? One, a kitchen, another a bedroom, the others well maybe a relaxation room and a lounge? So many possibilities.
I still have no couch, or fan, or stove, or gas tank, but I have a bed so that's good, and a mosquito net. The lack of stove means that I have been eating food brought to me by my neighbor and host-country supervisor at the Mairie's office, Halidou. I will assure all of my fellow Hospitality majors that the level of service and hospitality here in Niger exceeds anything I have ever experienced. The first day, Halidou and I went to the market and he bought me fresh tomatoes and cucumbers, kuli kuli (peanut butter w/o the oil, like hard biscuits), and bananas! I tell him I love happels, too. But we found none. That night he brought me scrambled eggs ($$$) with lots of peppers and tomatoes mixed in. I was in heaven! Long story short, I was forced to get over my discomfort at all the money he was spending money my food because every day he brought me something better than the day before. And he would NOT accept any money, only small gifts of food. Such is the cultulre here.
Then, last night he shows up at my door with a bag full of apples and guavas!!! First I thought they were like little pears but no, delicious guavas. I learned about how to eat guavas by trial and error, eating the whole thing and chewing the extra hard seeds, then asking whether I should peel it, or de-seed it, then finding out that eating the whole thing was the way to go.
So my first dilemma was, why do I leave my house if I have all this delicious food brought to me? The answer is obvious but has unforseeably wild consequences. I must go out, get to know the ville, starting with the people. Unbeknownst to me at the time, the first days were 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', everyone looking at you, inspecting you, admiring you, (not to mention overfeeding you) but here it is more like the 'petting zoo effect.' I shook more hands in my first three days at site than I had in all my years at college. Some of these are long 60 second handshakes, which take a lot of forced relaxation. I realized quickly that the market area, which straddles the road that goes from Niamey all the way across the country to Maradi, Zinder, and Diffa, 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 intrigue and interest. Needless to say, I attract a fair share of attention as the only identifiable foreignor out of 50,000 or so Nigeriens in the area. Is he french? What's in his backpack? What about that shiny metallic water bottle, maybe he'll give it to me. They're always surprised when I tell them I'll be in my ville for two years. They are used to white foreignors coming for a few days, asking questions, doing some work and leaving. I learned by osmosis that the backpack makes me look like a tourist or a traveller, which I am no longer. So I have decided to leave the books at home when I'm out to see friends.
There is a certain psychology of sitting which is for some Westerners very hard to understand. In villages all over the world people sit and enjoy each other's presence and experience, together, the passage of time.
I still have no couch, or fan, or stove, or gas tank, but I have a bed so that's good, and a mosquito net. The lack of stove means that I have been eating food brought to me by my neighbor and host-country supervisor at the Mairie's office, Halidou. I will assure all of my fellow Hospitality majors that the level of service and hospitality here in Niger exceeds anything I have ever experienced. The first day, Halidou and I went to the market and he bought me fresh tomatoes and cucumbers, kuli kuli (peanut butter w/o the oil, like hard biscuits), and bananas! I tell him I love happels, too. But we found none. That night he brought me scrambled eggs ($$$) with lots of peppers and tomatoes mixed in. I was in heaven! Long story short, I was forced to get over my discomfort at all the money he was spending money my food because every day he brought me something better than the day before. And he would NOT accept any money, only small gifts of food. Such is the cultulre here.
Then, last night he shows up at my door with a bag full of apples and guavas!!! First I thought they were like little pears but no, delicious guavas. I learned about how to eat guavas by trial and error, eating the whole thing and chewing the extra hard seeds, then asking whether I should peel it, or de-seed it, then finding out that eating the whole thing was the way to go.
So my first dilemma was, why do I leave my house if I have all this delicious food brought to me? The answer is obvious but has unforseeably wild consequences. I must go out, get to know the ville, starting with the people. Unbeknownst to me at the time, the first days were 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', everyone looking at you, inspecting you, admiring you, (not to mention overfeeding you) but here it is more like the 'petting zoo effect.' I shook more hands in my first three days at site than I had in all my years at college. Some of these are long 60 second handshakes, which take a lot of forced relaxation. I realized quickly that the market area, which straddles the road that goes from Niamey all the way across the country to Maradi, Zinder, and Diffa, 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 intrigue and interest. Needless to say, I attract a fair share of attention as the only identifiable foreignor out of 50,000 or so Nigeriens in the area. Is he french? What's in his backpack? What about that shiny metallic water bottle, maybe he'll give it to me. They're always surprised when I tell them I'll be in my ville for two years. They are used to white foreignors coming for a few days, asking questions, doing some work and leaving. I learned by osmosis that the backpack makes me look like a tourist or a traveller, which I am no longer. So I have decided to leave the books at home when I'm out to see friends.
There is a certain psychology of sitting which is for some Westerners very hard to understand. In villages all over the world people sit and enjoy each other's presence and experience, together, the passage of time.
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