Friday, December 12, 2008

In a few hours I will be an official Peace Corps volunteer. I will "swear-in" in front of my teachers, new friends, old volunteers and Nigerian governmental officials. In both English and French I will commit to a two year service to the United States and Niger. It is extremely unreal that this is occurring. I feel like it was just a little while ago I was going into my interview in Athens all idealistic and dreaming of change.
For the past two months I have been living with a fantastic host family I ate all my meals with them, spoke small small zarma with them and became the anasara daughter who they constantly laughed at. When I had to leave a few days ago to move to the training site for the last week I felt tears come to my eyes, which I had to quickly choke back because it is not acceptable to show emotion openly here. The realization that I once again will be moving to another village in a few days is exciting and scary at the same time. The utter bewilderment of moving to a village in west africa without being able to speak the language cannot be explained though words. And yet in the two months I spent in my CBT site I made good friends whom I will miss tremendously. I cannot even imagine the friendships I will make during my two years here. I had an amazing last few days in the site. Tabaski was on Monday and Tuesday which meant that all of Niger was celebrating. I woke up fairly early in the morning expecting the festivities to start early only to be informed by the women at the tessam (truck stop area in which i buy breakfast) that the mass prayer will not be until 10 am and then the mass killing of sheep and goats will commence. I was not sure what my reaction was going to be upon watching many animals be sacrificed in the name of Allah but I was sure I wanted to find out. So I made sure to walk outside after the prayer when the whole town was moving to do the community kill, which starts the day. The entire village was out with kids running around asking me if i was going to take pictures of the event. They were all very instant that I document it well and share with people at home. For an American who has always been very removed from where meat comes from this was quite the opposite approach. But I was determined to witness the killing of the animals I would inevitably be eating later. I found the first few goat to be slaughtered did not affect me much, perhaps I was caught up in the "this is just the way it is" approach of the village. However, as the number increased and 10 goats were lying at my feet shaking with their throats cut I could not help but miss the distance americans take from their food. The rest of the day consisted of me walking around talking with everyone and trying to avoid eating all the many parts of a goat. I ended up consuming a throat, tongue and intestines but was able to avoid the balls. On Tuesday the "good" parts were consumed so I was much more willing and able to eat 'normal' goat meat. I ate more meat on Tuesday than I have in probably a year. In fact the eating did not stop until I left the village on Wednesday morning. I went to bed around 10:30 after being exhausted by the crazy two days, only to be woken up by my host sister around 11 insisting that I eat macca(pasta) right now. Now the idea of eating pasta in this country would normally really appeal to me because it never happens in the village bc its too expensive. But at 11 at night my last night in the village I was not too excited about it. I told her she was a crazy person and that I was trying to sleep. Which she responded to with a simple "no I’m not" and kept insisting I crawl out of my mosquito net to eat saying that my older host brother who brought the maca home wanted me to eat it. Who knows if that was actually true or not but i did eventually get out of bed to eat pasta. When I got up the next morning I was teasing her about it and then asked her if she ate some and she said shortly after waking me up she went to bed because it was late and wasn’t very hungry. I will miss her. Until next time, Ramatou.