Finally, relief from the remnants of another scorching day in Niger. The gentle breeze lifts the heavy night air.
I partially wake as my feet become entangled in my mosquito netting, but the wind feels good and a quick glance to the sky reveals that the stars and moon have not been overtaken by clouds that threaten rain, so I settle back into slumber.
A short time later the breeze picks up and a few people can be seen stirring, but the only sound is that of a steady, cool, and welcomed wind.
It happens so quickly that the transition goes unnoticed, but the wind is now patterned with intermittent, yet powerful gusts. It is no longer gentle, as sand is now tagging along and riding the gusts.
The mosquito netting takes on the quality of a vaccuum cleaner's filter and sheets become a shield against the grainy peppering of the face by sand. However, the intensity grows, netting comes untucked, taking on the quality of anchored kites.
By this time, a few people have begun taking down their beds and they move with purpose to get inside. It doesn't take long until all bodies are moving and oddly alert at such an unusual hour. The few individuals who have chosen to weather the storm are rousted from their determined slumber, the gusts are saturated with pelting sands. Clearly, the lack of visibility and consant waves of sand will not allow anyone to sleep without becoming caked in dust and dirt that will be found in the oddest of places for weeks to come.
The gusts intensify and now there is a scramble to get indoors. Mattresses take on the role of ship sails as we struggle to get them in, tugging the bearer away from the desired destination. There are a few shrieks, but they are short as a mouth quickly fills with the blowing dust.
The relief of being out of the dust storm is short lived, as the stagnant, hot air stiffels the new inhabitants who are sporadically placed about the floor. The solitary fan does little to create movement of the stale air. At this point I'm quite certain it could be no worse to ride out the now ferocious, gusty storm, as I find myself willing to give anything for a nice gentle breeze.
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Sunday, May 27, 2007
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
What Makes My Heart Smile
I've been so excited to share about my acclimation to Niger and bush life in my previous posts that I think I have neglected some of the smaller details of what makes life in Niger great, so without futher ado, this is what makes me smile at the end of the day and keeps me going after the tough ones...
- my little, two year old shadow, Basilou. He runs to me when I'm in view and cries when I leave. Upon entering his family's concession he takes my hand and says "Atoo (because he can't say Ramatou) ki zamnan, mu ci tuwo (Ramatou, you sit, we eat tuwo) and then we proceed to share a bowl of tuwo, it never ceases to make me smile.
-Kourma, quite possibly the person I communicate best with in my village, since he is deaf we don't have that Hausa language barrier. He never fails to crack me up, and I love watching him interact with the kids in the village, but I can always count on him to keep them out of my concession when they all begin to swarm in.
- trying to earn the love of the toddlers who make me work very hard to do so. In particular my little buddy Awoli, we've made the transition from him screaming when he's in my presence, to his wobbly dance moves when I whistle, to him coming over to my concession to play and even letting me hold him every now and again.
- My best friend in the village, Shawa, she's a 14 year old girl and so full of life. She has been so patient with me and all my language struggles. She has taken me under her wing to help me adjust to village life, and I just love her!
- The first time I told Basilou to 'give me five (bani biyar)' and with a very serious look on his face he curtly replies "babu!" (no/none).
- Going to the evening market in the neighboring town with Shawa and a few other teenage girls (it feels like being a freshman in high school again), but we walk back through the bush led only by the stars and the moon, slightly terrifying but also quite peaceful.
- Playing cards and coloring with my boys in the afternoon, and having uncontrolable laughing fits during a game of UNO or Hatsi.
- Bush taxi adventures and misadventures.
- Receiving an unexpected letter or package from a friend or family member. I love you guys so much and I can't get enough news from home!! (The contents of said packages also bring smiles to PCV faces-- on a hot spring day in the bush velveeta shells and cheese, crystal light, and starbursts are hard to beat!)
- Breaking up the 14 hour journey and stopping halfway across the country to reunite with "long" lost friends.
- having PCV friends come to visit my village/visiting other PCV's villages.
- quiet morning treks through the bush.
-playing with the kids in the street at dusk.
-having someone tell me I hear Hausa (granted that's few and far between).
- the excitement of the first rain of the season/watching the bush be over taken by the storms rolling in.
- the countless moments when I'm doing something completely "ordinary" and I am struck with awe by my surroundings and I realize how grateful I am to be doing exactly what I am doing, exactly where I am, at exactly that moment...I often re-remember that I am living in the middle of the African bush, and for lack of a better word, that is so cool!
- my little, two year old shadow, Basilou. He runs to me when I'm in view and cries when I leave. Upon entering his family's concession he takes my hand and says "Atoo (because he can't say Ramatou) ki zamnan, mu ci tuwo (Ramatou, you sit, we eat tuwo) and then we proceed to share a bowl of tuwo, it never ceases to make me smile.
-Kourma, quite possibly the person I communicate best with in my village, since he is deaf we don't have that Hausa language barrier. He never fails to crack me up, and I love watching him interact with the kids in the village, but I can always count on him to keep them out of my concession when they all begin to swarm in.
- trying to earn the love of the toddlers who make me work very hard to do so. In particular my little buddy Awoli, we've made the transition from him screaming when he's in my presence, to his wobbly dance moves when I whistle, to him coming over to my concession to play and even letting me hold him every now and again.
- My best friend in the village, Shawa, she's a 14 year old girl and so full of life. She has been so patient with me and all my language struggles. She has taken me under her wing to help me adjust to village life, and I just love her!
- The first time I told Basilou to 'give me five (bani biyar)' and with a very serious look on his face he curtly replies "babu!" (no/none).
- Going to the evening market in the neighboring town with Shawa and a few other teenage girls (it feels like being a freshman in high school again), but we walk back through the bush led only by the stars and the moon, slightly terrifying but also quite peaceful.
- Playing cards and coloring with my boys in the afternoon, and having uncontrolable laughing fits during a game of UNO or Hatsi.
- Bush taxi adventures and misadventures.
- Receiving an unexpected letter or package from a friend or family member. I love you guys so much and I can't get enough news from home!! (The contents of said packages also bring smiles to PCV faces-- on a hot spring day in the bush velveeta shells and cheese, crystal light, and starbursts are hard to beat!)
- Breaking up the 14 hour journey and stopping halfway across the country to reunite with "long" lost friends.
- having PCV friends come to visit my village/visiting other PCV's villages.
- quiet morning treks through the bush.
-playing with the kids in the street at dusk.
-having someone tell me I hear Hausa (granted that's few and far between).
- the excitement of the first rain of the season/watching the bush be over taken by the storms rolling in.
- the countless moments when I'm doing something completely "ordinary" and I am struck with awe by my surroundings and I realize how grateful I am to be doing exactly what I am doing, exactly where I am, at exactly that moment...I often re-remember that I am living in the middle of the African bush, and for lack of a better word, that is so cool!
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