"One coffee pleace. Without breastmilk, thanks."
How would you respond to that request? Thankfully, for a friend of mine, the man who sells coffee in our village is used to Americans and our awkward attempts at speaking Hausa and Zarma. Only after two weeks of ordering coffee every morning did my fellow PCT realize that he had been using the wrong word for milk...whoops.
Most days, for most of the day, I sit in a small, round hut with 3 or 4 other PCTs, staring quizzically at our language instructer as she pantamimes dramatically to indicate the meaning of the newest Hausa phrase. It is an entertaining, although often exhausting, game of charades.
Learning a new language, one completely unrelated to anything else we know, comes with many challenges and awkward moments. It's already very obvious that a good sense of humor and the ability to laugh at yourself are absolute musts for life in Peace Corps/Niger.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Monsoon Season
"Farida!" my host mother beckoned me (using my new, Nigerien name) into her house and held up a yellow complet (the traditional west african dress made up of a shirt, pagne - wrap around skirt - and headscarf). Several women excitedly helped me into these new clothes, as I relished in the recognition of laughter's universality. I can't say much to them, but it's funny that my pagne keeps falling off, and we all understand that.
The night felt electric. Maybe because of the excitment of all the PCTs and host families as we got ready to go to a "fashion show"/dance party at the Peace Corps training site. Maybe because of the oncoming monsoon.
We tried to beat the rain, but I constantly had to stop and readjust my african garb, and the downpour hit moments before we reached our destination. During the rainy season it rains once or more a week. The monsoons come quickly. Huge clouds roll in from the east and turn the sky red from all of the sand they carry. The wind picks up, the temperature drops, and the much needed rain falls, sometimes for minutes, sometimes for hours. It's beautiful. And for a short while, its cool. Sometimes even cool enough to wear a sweatshirt! (Not need a sweatshirt, per se, but wear one...)
And then there are the frogs.
If I could only put into words the sheer volume of these frogs...On the way home from the fashion show that night I made my way back through the village with a few other trainees, heading for our respective huts. We inched our way along the edges of the streets, dodging the enorous puddles left from the storm. And the frogs were screaming. It was loud enough to tempt me to cover my ears. Reminiscent of a fire alarm at BC... Who knew such small creatures could make so much noise??
The night felt electric. Maybe because of the excitment of all the PCTs and host families as we got ready to go to a "fashion show"/dance party at the Peace Corps training site. Maybe because of the oncoming monsoon.
We tried to beat the rain, but I constantly had to stop and readjust my african garb, and the downpour hit moments before we reached our destination. During the rainy season it rains once or more a week. The monsoons come quickly. Huge clouds roll in from the east and turn the sky red from all of the sand they carry. The wind picks up, the temperature drops, and the much needed rain falls, sometimes for minutes, sometimes for hours. It's beautiful. And for a short while, its cool. Sometimes even cool enough to wear a sweatshirt! (Not need a sweatshirt, per se, but wear one...)
And then there are the frogs.
If I could only put into words the sheer volume of these frogs...On the way home from the fashion show that night I made my way back through the village with a few other trainees, heading for our respective huts. We inched our way along the edges of the streets, dodging the enorous puddles left from the storm. And the frogs were screaming. It was loud enough to tempt me to cover my ears. Reminiscent of a fire alarm at BC... Who knew such small creatures could make so much noise??
stargazing
I saw the big dipper the other night. It's completely vertical from this point of view. Strange. Totally familliar and yet totally foreign.
I love it at night here. It cools off a lot and there is almost always a breeze. I'm staying with a family of four in the village outside the Peace Corps training site, although each night about a million kids and teenagers come over to watch TV. They watch a Brazillian soap opera, dubbed in French, the news, and Hausa music videos. I sit and watch the starts, instead.
I love it at night here. It cools off a lot and there is almost always a breeze. I'm staying with a family of four in the village outside the Peace Corps training site, although each night about a million kids and teenagers come over to watch TV. They watch a Brazillian soap opera, dubbed in French, the news, and Hausa music videos. I sit and watch the starts, instead.
Re-learning
I am sure that anyone who joins the Peace Corps, or anyone who moves from western civilization to a developping country for that matter, expects to need to learn a lot and drastically alter their day to day routines. I knew that everything would be very different. I even had some ideas about what it would be life. However, the experience of needing to re-learn absolutely everything is...well... strange.
I'm learning Hausa, relearning how to go to verbally communicate. I had to be taught how to go to the bathroom (although I'll spare you the details), how to eat, dress, sit, wave, bathe...Nothing is familiar, and yet, somehow, everything feels natural (most of the time).
With the accomplishment of the most mundane tasks I find constant reassurance. "I can do this."
Somehow, the ability to eat rice and beans with my right hand gives the assurance that two years here is a manageable thing. Because, here, it's all about taking things one step at a time.
I'm learning Hausa, relearning how to go to verbally communicate. I had to be taught how to go to the bathroom (although I'll spare you the details), how to eat, dress, sit, wave, bathe...Nothing is familiar, and yet, somehow, everything feels natural (most of the time).
With the accomplishment of the most mundane tasks I find constant reassurance. "I can do this."
Somehow, the ability to eat rice and beans with my right hand gives the assurance that two years here is a manageable thing. Because, here, it's all about taking things one step at a time.
Welcome to Niger
We stepped off the plane onto the landing strip and into the blazing sun. "This isn't the hot season," we keep reminding ourselves, as we wipe the sweat from our foreheadsand fan ourselves with whatever is available. It may not be the hot season, but it certainly is hot.
Once we all were through customs, having had our passports, visas, World Health Org. forms checked, I and 46 other Peace Corps trainees congregated by the baggage claim conveyor belt. All of our backpacks, suitcases, and guitars made it here safely, and 47 PCTs breathed a collective sigh of relief.
Tondi, a 6foot+ Nigerien man with the jolliest laugh imaginable, led us outside, where we were met by a group of smiling Peace Corps volunteers with welcome signs and bottles of water. "Is it cold?" someone asked hopefully.
"No...this is Niger. Don't worry. You'll love it."
So far, I do.
Once we all were through customs, having had our passports, visas, World Health Org. forms checked, I and 46 other Peace Corps trainees congregated by the baggage claim conveyor belt. All of our backpacks, suitcases, and guitars made it here safely, and 47 PCTs breathed a collective sigh of relief.
Tondi, a 6foot+ Nigerien man with the jolliest laugh imaginable, led us outside, where we were met by a group of smiling Peace Corps volunteers with welcome signs and bottles of water. "Is it cold?" someone asked hopefully.
"No...this is Niger. Don't worry. You'll love it."
So far, I do.
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