American Ambassadors on a Moroccan Train

During Peace Corps training, we were often reminded that as PCVs we are “American Ambassadors to host communities”. Most people in PCV host communities have never met an American, so your conduct is how America and American people will forever be engraved in their mind… or something like that.

In Niger, this didn’t bother me. Almost all the Nigeriens I met told me how much they loved America. (I sat on a bus once where, after my nationality was established, the man on my right told me he loved Obama and the man on my left told me he loved Bush, I kid you not).

In Morocco, however, the situation is a little bit different.

My friend Alison and I began our epic journey around Morocco on a bus from Rabat to Fes. We sat in a 6-person cabin, the only women there (common trend in Morocco for us). Soon after our journey began, one of the men on the train asked us in English where we were from. We began talking and when it came up we were Peace Corps Volunteers he asked us what that meant.

For me, it was a proud moment. Alison and I explained the three goals of Peace Corps and told him a little bit about Niger. All three men in the train car seemed impressed, and the man we had been talking to thanked us on behalf of the Moroccan people and wished us the best of luck. Go Team America!

Shortly after he left, one of the other young men who had been listening to our conversation asked me timidly if I spoke French. We began some small talk and when I mentioned I studied political science he enthusiastically said “Oh! You’re a politician!” I tried to correct him but he had made up his mind.

“So tell me, since you are a politician, what does the White House and what do the American people think about Arab countries, and Muslims in general?”

Woha. Suddenly all the pride I felt minutes earlier was gone.  My heart shrank as I thought about the discussions in America over the mosque near ground zero; the negative discussions on talk show programs about Muslims in the US; and some of the comments people at home had made to me when they heard I was moving to a Muslim country.

“That’s a very difficult question” I responded diplomatically. Then, I told my new friend on the train to Fes as much truth as I could muster: I don’t think most Americans know enough about Muslim people, culture, or countries. I have experienced nothing but kindness from Muslims in Niger and in Morocco, and I will tell all my American friends about it, and encourage them to learn more too. 

My fantastic travel companion, Alison & me

Invisible Effects of Terrorism

“They will have to touch me before they touch you!”

It’s been over three weeks since I was evacuated from Niger… My friend Kabirou’s voice continues to replay in my head.

I am excited to begin the next chapter in Rwanda, but I am afraid of forgetting Niger. I am afraid we will all forget Niger… three months ago I barely knew where it was on a map.

Kabirou (wearing the green turban)

When I told Kabirou about the evacuation plan he was calm. He told me not to worry; volunteers in the past had been consolidated because of security concerns, but all had returned. “Are you scared?” he asked me, with the same genuine concern Masbahou had earlier. “Of course not,” I repeated, “I want to stay here”.

Kabirou is a practicing Muslim and, from our limited discussions, I gathered feels pretty strongly about his faith. He has three wives, the youngest of which is fifteen. Kabriou is the village elected President of the Health Hut and the School Board in Kore Hausa. He keeps the books for at least one of the four women’s associations in the village, and maintains one of the three village wells. Everyone I talked to told me to talk to Kabirou.

I had only known Kabirou for eight days when he told me that he’d take a bullet for me, and so would everyone else in Kore Hausa.

I’m heartbroken to leave Niger, but I’ll be fine. I got a vacation in Morocco and a job in a country my friends in the US might actually want to visit. As a result of AQIM terrorism, however, my Nigerien friends, and many others, are out of jobs.

The Peace Corps is not the only aid organization to leave Niger as a result of terrorist threats. Debates on foreign aid aside, the immediate effects of this withdrawal are devastating for hundreds of Nigeriens who are employed by international organizations or otherwise supported by them. 

In the United States, when I heard or thought about “the effects of international terrorism”, September 11^th, long airport security lines and the Patriot Act came to mind. I rarely thought about the damaging effects al Qaeda and other extremist groups have on other countries, much less Muslim countries in Africa.

Eight Days as a PCV in Kore Hausa, Niger

I spent a total of eight whole days at my post in Niger. They were incredible.

Some of the most amazing and most difficult things I experienced were in the health hut, where I worked alongside my counterpart, Masbahou. From polio vaccinations to prenatal exams, the work was absolutely fascinating. I really don’t have words to describe what I saw or how excited I was to learn more… and the prospect of eventually being able to help people there.

A lot of crazy things happened, one in particular I’d like to share.

Sunday morning I was at the health clinic with Masbahou, practicing my Hausa, when I noticed a donkey kart approaching. I figured this probably meant something serious because generally people just walk.

Two women enter the clinic: one very young and one very old. The young woman (she’s probably 15 or 16) looks petrified. The older woman is carrying a large bundle of blankets, which she shows to Masbahou. They speak quickly in Hausa to each other, the whole time the younger woman looks terrified. I pick up something about a hand, a birth, home, and lots of “asha, asha”…which is kind of like saying darn, but you say it when people are sick.

Inside the bundle I realize there’s a baby! A newborn, whose tiny little left hand is swollen and purple. Masbahou looks it over, and speaks again with the older woman. They leave the health hut and walk over to the donkey kart and speak to the man there. They all come back inside, speaking quickly again. This time I catch the word medicine, and something about Matamaye, the bigger town with a hospital 12 km away.

At this point, Masbahou sees that I’m completely confused and gives me a brief explanation. The older woman is a traditional midwife, who delivered the young woman’s first child at home. Since the birth two days earlier, the baby’s hand has continued to swell and darken—probably an infection. Masbahou is prescribing ibuprofen and amoxicillin, but the health hut in Kore Hausa stocks neither; they will have to wait until the next day when someone can go to Matamaye to buy them.

Then, family leaves and Masbahou tells me the midwife is not a real midwife. There are several trained midwives who know how to look for complication signs during pregnancy, and always bring women in labor to the clinic. This midwife is not, and she did not. Masbahou thinks perhaps the baby’s head was not well positioned during the deliver; the hand probably came out first.

“Are there many problems?” I ask.

“No problems, incha Allah,” Masbahou assures me. “Tomorrow the baby will drink medicine: amoxicillin and ibuprofen, and then no problems”.

A health facility that serves over 3,000 people doesn’t stock amoxicillin or ibuprofen.

Transition Conference

The adventure continues in Morocco for now…

Thank you all for the kind emails and other messages of support, I feel so lucky to have such an incredible support network around me and it’s making this whole process a lot easier.

I have been in Morocco well over a week, and it looks like I will be here another week and a half before I head to RWANDA. Beginning February 6 (the day after Daniela turns the big 1-6!) I will be a Peace Corps Rwanda Community Health Volunteer.

How this came about is a little bit of a mystery and I’m not sure what sort of universal alignment of stars has allowed me to fall into this… all I can say right now is WOW.

When I arrived in Morocco Monday January 17^th with the remaining Peace Corps Niger Volunteers (PCVs) we began what is known in the Peace Corps world as a “transition conference”, also known as: this sucks a lot. We spent a week going through all the things normal PCVs do when they close service after two years: meetings on what it’s like to return to American culture; resume building and career opportunities; lots of medical exams to make sure we didn’t have crazy parasites… you get the picture.

We also had lots of meetings to discuss how to continue our Peace Corps service. Close to 100 PCVs were evacuated from Niger and almost everyone wanted to continue working in another country. I think this desire to continue service speaks volumes about the caliber of people I’ve had the pleasure to work with over the last three months. Unfortunately, however, finding transfer positions for 97 PCVs is not easy.

The transition conference staff (who were all incredibly patient and understanding) gave us four basic options: 1) COS. Your service is considered finished, move on to something else. 2) Re-Enroll. Go home for a few months, rejoin Peace Corps as a new volunteer. 3) Expedited Return to Service (ERS). Start Peace Corps all over again within the next 60 days. 4) Direct Transfer (DT). Go directly from Morocco to another country and continue serving as a volunteer.      

Although most people were interested in ERS or DT, very few spots were available, and even fewer matched each individual’s language and skill sets. When the options were first presented, I decided re-enrollment would probably be best for me. My thought process was: life is not a race, and now is not the time to jump back into anything. ERS and/or DT seemed great if you knew exactly what you wanted, but chances were exactly what you wanted would not be available.

The next day, the ERS and DT positions available were posted for all of us to see. Among the positions posted was one in Rwanda, as a Health/Organizational Capacity Development Volunteer: I could not have written myself a more perfect job description, or picked a more interesting country.

The next day, after some confusion (my dear friend Jorie Aldrich and I often confuse Peace Corps staff), I learned there was in fact a position for me in Rwanda!

So right now I’m waiting in Morocco until Peace Corps Rwanda gets everything straightened out. Again, I have no idea how this ridiculous set of circumstances has allowed me to be in the position that I’m in, but I won’t question the cosmos…

I am really excited about my new position in Rwanda and the chance to travel Morocco. I have been incredibly lucky given the circumstances; still, my heart is aching for Niger. I know it’s easy to look back, now that I have hot showers and a real toilet to sit on, but I’d give up running water in a second to go back to Niger.

I guess what I'm really realizing now is the extent to which my privilege really separates me. Not only do I get swooped out of danger as soon as Peace Corps deems it necessary, but I get flown to safety in a beautiful country, given a mini vacation, and a new job. Meanwhile, my Nigerien colleagues and supervisors are out of jobs and potentially at risk.

It’s a really strange predicament and I’m not sure what to do about it other than simply acknowledge it for the time being… sai hankrui.

Evacuation

I’m writing this blogpost from Rabat, Morocco, where all Peace Corps Niger volunteers have been evacuated as of January 17.

The recent kidnapping and killing of two French nationals in Niamey, by Al Qaeda of the Islamic Maghreb (AQIM) terrorists caused Peace Corps Headquarters and the State Department to rethinking the safety and security of all Americans, specifically PCVs in Niger. If you want to read more about the kidnappings and other recent attacks on foreigners by AQIM, I suggest reading articles from the Associated Press, or Africa Review… or google it yourself.  

I really do not have words to express my disappointment, my profound sadness. All I can say is I hope expressing my immense heartache helps better describe to everyone back home the warmth and generosity I experienced in Niger. I leave Niger with a better understanding of development, but also a greater appreciation for its people and their way of life. Sai hankuri (have patience) is the phrase I kept hearing over the last week. Now I’m trying, but it’s difficult.

I was assisting with prenatal consultations at the health hut in Kore Hausa (my assigned post), last Wednesday, January 13^th, when my boss Souleyman called to break the news. I tried to go back to work after I hung up the phone, but within minutes I had to excuse myself and go home to regroup.

As soon as I reached my concession I started weeping. It came all of the sudden and surprised me: I had been in Kore only a week, I don’t cry easily… and still there I was sobbing uncontrollably about leaving the place I was getting so excited to call home.

Ami, Masbahou’s wife, must have heard me because a few minutes later she called over the thatch fence that Masbahou wanted to talk to me. When I got back to the health hut Masbahou, concerned, closed the door.

I tried to explain in my best Hausa that Peace Corps told me I had to leave because of insecurity in Niamey. He asked me if I was scared. “Of course not!” I replied. “So why are you crying?” he replied with genuine concern and wonder. In Niger, no one cries.

“Ina son zamna nan, cikin Kore!” I replied. I want to live here, in Kore. Masbahou smiled and told me not to worry, that as long as I was not scared there were no problems. Then, in a more serious tone, he told me I could not cry. If I cried, everyone else would cry and that would be a problem. I took this request to heart and spent the next twenty-four hours trying my best to comply.

Again, I am without words to express my sorrow. Everyone in Kore Hausa welcomed me with open arms from the moment I arrived. When I told Masbahou I was not scared, I was being completely honest. Niger is the safest I have ever felt in my entire life.

There’s a lot more I want to say and incha’Allah I will write more about these experiences soon. I am going through an evacuation conference in Morocco at the moment, unclear what my immediate future holds. I literally do not know what country I will be in three days from now. BUT I am safe, and relatively healthy. Thanks to everyone for all the support so far and stay tuned for more news. 

Arrival in Zinder!

I’m starting off the New Year in my new home: Zinder! We left the training site at 4AM on December 31^st and arrived in Zinder around 8PM. The bus ride was long and not at all comfortable.  Niamey is around 560 miles away from Zinder. This distance would probably take me eight or nine hours to drive in the U.S., but the road conditions in Niger make the bus ride quite a bit longer. We took the national road was mostly paved, but also included patches of sandy road that sent me flying out of my seat a couple times.

Some of the older volunteers here in Zinder came to meet us at the bus station and welcomed us with motorcycle helmets. In a previous blog post, I explained various methods of transportation that exist in Niger. Well, I have a new addition: kabo-kabos.

Kabo-Kabos are motorcycle taxis, and the only taxis in Zinder. Now if you’re reading this blog, chances are you know me and you know that I am pretty clumsy. So you also understand me getting on the back of a motorcycle, with a forty-pound traveling backpack strapped on my back and a ten-pound small backpack strapped to my front, is not the best idea in the world. This scenario becomes an even worse idea when you include the fact that my unlucky driver was also carrying two more, very large duffle bags on his lap while driving. Add to this the fact that we’re driving on unpaved sandy roads. (But don’t worry Mama-- I was wearing a helmet!)

I did in fact survive my first kabo-kabo ride. When we arrived at the Peace Corps hostel the driver seemed pretty annoyed. In a culture where physical contact (particularly between men and women) is almost unheard of, my clinging onto his back for dear life might have seemed offensive. Also, I’m pretty sure my legs flying all over the place did not help… Sai hankrui, have patience!

Once at the hostel, I enjoyed a delicious dinner of hamburgers and peanut butter cookies with the new and old members of Team Zinder. I was too exhausted from the long bus ride to go out to celebrate the New Year but I was pretty proud of staying awake until midnight.

Usually I make New Year’s Resolutions. This year I am not. I’m beginning the New Year in my exciting new home, but still unaware of what the year might really bring me.  Right now I’m shooting for good health and happiness, and I wish the same to all of you. Happy New Year! 

Swear in Speech-- English Translation

Ladies and gentlemen, honorable guests, salam alikoum!

Thank you so much for being here today to celebrate with my friends and me this landmark event in our Peace Corps Niger careers.

I would like especially to thank Madam Ambassador Bisa Williams for offering her house to us, the Deputy Ambassador for hosting us, and the Secretary General of Niger’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs for his presence with us today. I would also like to thank Country Director Valerie Staats for all of her support during our training.

I speak on behalf of all my stage-mates when I thank, from the bottom of our hearts, all the people who have worked with us over these last few weeks. In particular, I would like to extend our gratitude to all the Peace Corps staff, current volunteers, employees of the training center in Hamdallaye, our host families, our teachers, and of course, Tondi. It is only thanks to your work and infinite patience that we are here today. Thank you so much.

Before I continue, I would just like to highlight that my friends and I have been diligently studying Hausa and Zarma during our entire training period. And now, I have been asked to give a speech in French.

These last few days in Hamdallaye have been difficult for me. We have had to say goodbyes to people who have become our friends and our families. During one of these goodbyes, I told my neighbor that her daughter, Aida, had grown a lot since my arrival. In October, she could barely walk, and now she runs all over the place. Her mother responded that just as her daughter has grown, my understanding of Niger and Hausa have grown as well.

Before arriving in Niger, I knew almost nothing about this country. But now, after two months, I have learned a lot.

At the same time that Aida has learned to put one foot in front of the other, I have also learned how to walk and talk here. Our understanding of Niger’s richness, in particularly the richness of Nigerien people, grows a little bit more each day.

My stage mates and I, we are health, agriculture, and environmental volunteers. Our most visible work lies in the development of humans, trees, and animals. But, in the villages we travel to tomorrow, and where we will spend the next two years, growth will also be social development—between us and our neighbors, our friends, and our Nigerien families.

For good growth, trees and humans both need a good foundation and strong roots. Each one of us arrived in Niger with our own base, but we have established important roots during our formation.

Now, training is over.  We are ready to go off.

After this moment, with a strong foundation and solid roots, the real work of growth and development begins with our Nigerien friends.

Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you.