The Glass is Half-Full
Now that most people know why I have returned so soon, I want to share with you my GOOD experiences in Africa.
The first thing I noticed was the immense poverty. Driving from the capital's airport, in Niamey, to our host village I was completely speechless. There were hundreds of people sleeping right next to the side of the road, while controlled chaos ensued on the actual street. The median of this main road was filled with people, goats, donkeys, dogs and most amazingly little babies. These people (children included) would stand no more than 1 foot from our van whizzing by, completely disregarding what we would call "safety" here in the states. Imagine seeing a 2 year old looking at cars and motorcycles fly by at 40 m.p.h. within arms reach. It was most shocking, but then I got used to it. The thing is, even with meager living conditions (The United Nations rated Niger the 175th most poor out of 175 nations they studied) the people continue to work hard daily as if they have to. Of course, they do.
There are a few "Celltel" shops here and there and some sparse "Nescafe" billboards, but other than that a complete absence of any corporations. No doubt, a contributing factor to the extreme poverty. Watching children play soccer and people huddling around tiny televisions is what I remember most from those drives through the city. After about 90 minutes of silent traveling on my behalf, we finally ended up where the Peace Corps training facility is.
It lay on a hill looking over a busy village. Fenced in for protection mostly against animals, it is well lit, has various huts, buildings, and even a volleyball court - as sand is everywhere there. One of my favorite memories is from playing soccer at night with a bunch of folks and having the Nigerien guard watching us and yelling things like "C'est Bon!" as we played. Which brings me to the people of Niger: Those who work the training facility are all African born and are some of the most gentle souls I have ever come across. Tondi was our supervisor. He stood 6 foot 5, with a mustache, looking like he should be commanding an Army, not volunteers. However, he was probably the nicest man in Niger with nothing but our good health in mind (he drove me to the infirmary at midnight when I had my episode). My buddy Abdou handled everything with security and finances and was always smiling. He was surprised when I started speaking a little Hausa with him the first day - I studied a little bit before leaving - and from that point on he and I were good friends. These 2 men are just a small sample of the great inhabitants of Niger. I feel very fortunate to have come across them at all.
One day all 43 of us trainees drove down to the village and met with the "Chef de Canton". He is essentially the man who runs the village. As 99% of the country is Muslim, he wore a white robe wrapped around his body and head. I introduced myself in a Hausa translated "May Allah grant you Great Victory in Life," while shaking his hand with my right with my left palm gripping my wrist as I bowed. We all sat on mats over the sand and listened to him talk for about an hour of how the village hierarchy functions. Fascinating as it was, I found myself constantly sidetracked by the little children running around and just staring at us. I stared right back with mutual, non-aggressive amazement. It was just a moment of awe, whereas if I stared at someone here like that, they would usually get offended. Interactions like this took place often. A 3 year-old ran up next to me about 4 feet from me and just stared at me right in the eyes for a good minute. He had a fly buzzing on his lip and didn't even acknowledge it. I can only imagine what he was thinking about a white man being next to him - something he has probably never even seen pictures of - nevertheless 42 others huddled in like anchovies next to me!
My favorite memory of the trip was our first (and for me, last) night with our host families. I met with Salamatu, a 12 year-old daughter of the father, Sumana Ali. She was so happy, as we all were, and even spoke some French, which helped a lot since the extent of my Zarma lay on the flashcards I was given 20 minutes before. We walked through the village and through some farmland and finally arrived at the "house". It was more of an enclosure with 3 huts and a "door" at the front. One hut was for storage of animals, the other for the family to sleep and the last for my and Luis's (my roommate) belongings. As the sun sets over the Sahel, the mother begins making dinner over an open fire. Children from next door and everywhere came in the enclosure to see the funny looking Peace Corps volunteers. For about an hour there, in the midst of kicking the soccer ball around with the locals and conversing in a language brand new to me, it really struck me that this is what I want my life to be about. I was essentially an ambassador of America in a foreign land. That awe stuck with me all through the night. Even when a Chariot Spider was in my bed with me. That is another story in itself, but back to earlier. Dinner was a bowl of white rice with a sauce to dip in. We all ate with our right hands off the same plate and basically sat in silence absorbing all that had just happened. It was an incredible night I will never forget.
While I still remain bummed about only being there 5 days, I feel a lasting impression left on me. Attributes such as kindness, listening, and understanding seem to be very prevelent in a society where anything at all of material value is difficult to come by. It is paradoxical to me that a people who constantly struggle for their next meal posed no real threat to my safety and if anything I felt more safe over there than here. I am still trying to solve this conundrum, because it flies in the face of what I have observed my entire life. Anyway I slice it, it is a beautiful thing. There is something in the air above that country more pure and simple than anything I have ever experienced. Hey, I can love two countries at once, right? Why not. I truly feel that I learned as much in those 5 days as I had in the last 23 years. Time is a funny thing; it seems to not be a factor when doing what we love.
The first thing I noticed was the immense poverty. Driving from the capital's airport, in Niamey, to our host village I was completely speechless. There were hundreds of people sleeping right next to the side of the road, while controlled chaos ensued on the actual street. The median of this main road was filled with people, goats, donkeys, dogs and most amazingly little babies. These people (children included) would stand no more than 1 foot from our van whizzing by, completely disregarding what we would call "safety" here in the states. Imagine seeing a 2 year old looking at cars and motorcycles fly by at 40 m.p.h. within arms reach. It was most shocking, but then I got used to it. The thing is, even with meager living conditions (The United Nations rated Niger the 175th most poor out of 175 nations they studied) the people continue to work hard daily as if they have to. Of course, they do.
There are a few "Celltel" shops here and there and some sparse "Nescafe" billboards, but other than that a complete absence of any corporations. No doubt, a contributing factor to the extreme poverty. Watching children play soccer and people huddling around tiny televisions is what I remember most from those drives through the city. After about 90 minutes of silent traveling on my behalf, we finally ended up where the Peace Corps training facility is.
It lay on a hill looking over a busy village. Fenced in for protection mostly against animals, it is well lit, has various huts, buildings, and even a volleyball court - as sand is everywhere there. One of my favorite memories is from playing soccer at night with a bunch of folks and having the Nigerien guard watching us and yelling things like "C'est Bon!" as we played. Which brings me to the people of Niger: Those who work the training facility are all African born and are some of the most gentle souls I have ever come across. Tondi was our supervisor. He stood 6 foot 5, with a mustache, looking like he should be commanding an Army, not volunteers. However, he was probably the nicest man in Niger with nothing but our good health in mind (he drove me to the infirmary at midnight when I had my episode). My buddy Abdou handled everything with security and finances and was always smiling. He was surprised when I started speaking a little Hausa with him the first day - I studied a little bit before leaving - and from that point on he and I were good friends. These 2 men are just a small sample of the great inhabitants of Niger. I feel very fortunate to have come across them at all.
One day all 43 of us trainees drove down to the village and met with the "Chef de Canton". He is essentially the man who runs the village. As 99% of the country is Muslim, he wore a white robe wrapped around his body and head. I introduced myself in a Hausa translated "May Allah grant you Great Victory in Life," while shaking his hand with my right with my left palm gripping my wrist as I bowed. We all sat on mats over the sand and listened to him talk for about an hour of how the village hierarchy functions. Fascinating as it was, I found myself constantly sidetracked by the little children running around and just staring at us. I stared right back with mutual, non-aggressive amazement. It was just a moment of awe, whereas if I stared at someone here like that, they would usually get offended. Interactions like this took place often. A 3 year-old ran up next to me about 4 feet from me and just stared at me right in the eyes for a good minute. He had a fly buzzing on his lip and didn't even acknowledge it. I can only imagine what he was thinking about a white man being next to him - something he has probably never even seen pictures of - nevertheless 42 others huddled in like anchovies next to me!
My favorite memory of the trip was our first (and for me, last) night with our host families. I met with Salamatu, a 12 year-old daughter of the father, Sumana Ali. She was so happy, as we all were, and even spoke some French, which helped a lot since the extent of my Zarma lay on the flashcards I was given 20 minutes before. We walked through the village and through some farmland and finally arrived at the "house". It was more of an enclosure with 3 huts and a "door" at the front. One hut was for storage of animals, the other for the family to sleep and the last for my and Luis's (my roommate) belongings. As the sun sets over the Sahel, the mother begins making dinner over an open fire. Children from next door and everywhere came in the enclosure to see the funny looking Peace Corps volunteers. For about an hour there, in the midst of kicking the soccer ball around with the locals and conversing in a language brand new to me, it really struck me that this is what I want my life to be about. I was essentially an ambassador of America in a foreign land. That awe stuck with me all through the night. Even when a Chariot Spider was in my bed with me. That is another story in itself, but back to earlier. Dinner was a bowl of white rice with a sauce to dip in. We all ate with our right hands off the same plate and basically sat in silence absorbing all that had just happened. It was an incredible night I will never forget.
While I still remain bummed about only being there 5 days, I feel a lasting impression left on me. Attributes such as kindness, listening, and understanding seem to be very prevelent in a society where anything at all of material value is difficult to come by. It is paradoxical to me that a people who constantly struggle for their next meal posed no real threat to my safety and if anything I felt more safe over there than here. I am still trying to solve this conundrum, because it flies in the face of what I have observed my entire life. Anyway I slice it, it is a beautiful thing. There is something in the air above that country more pure and simple than anything I have ever experienced. Hey, I can love two countries at once, right? Why not. I truly feel that I learned as much in those 5 days as I had in the last 23 years. Time is a funny thing; it seems to not be a factor when doing what we love.
posted by Patrick F at 11:08 AM
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