Gashaiku (Greetings you all)
Sorry it has been a loooooooong time since my last update, hopefully if you know my moms and sister they have kept you abreast on the latest in my world. So the rumors are indeed true, I have survived the first two months at post! “nearly unscathed”
As advertised my initial two months at post have passed and on Saturday I will be returning to Niamey, more specifically Hamdallaye, for an additional three weeks of technical and language training. Despite my attempts at praying and searching for some mystical wizardry to make the excruciating blistering times of the day pass faster I have never said to myself “I do not want to be here anymore.” In fact I welcomed the hot season about as much as I would a bastard family member, (he’s coming over whether you like it or not so love him, and enjoy life at his expense). So hot season is another challenge and experience to live through, and though I don’t quite understand yet what has changed about me, something under the surface seems different and I’m eagerly looking forward to analyzing that with my friends soon.
On Sunday I will be meeting with my friends from training and that’s when the real lessons of these first two months will reveal themselves after we share a few drinks and start comparing our experiences and coming to gripes with a “What the Hell just happened to us” sort of experience.
Concerning appearances, after only a short period spanning two months at post there are some obvious physical changes such as my extraordinary loss in weight, nice muscular toning due to a regimented morning routine of yoga. Not to mention a devastatingly handsome new look modeling a shaved head and really-really retro fashion tribute paying homage to the French fur traders of yesteryear. Its absolute crazy having a unkempt four month old beard here during hot season but I love my multiple inched burliness and twisted mustache, its also functional purpose it keeps the sun off my face, sure don’t want premature wrinkling! and in a country where many are malnourished or dehydrated it saves most of what I eat or drink for later. That’s conservation! I would be liar if I said I did not say to myself damn josh your getting better looking with every year and it is tedious refraining myself from kissing the mirror damn near every morning. So why resist?
Okay moving on to the other changes. As mentioned I feel there have been more important realizations and changes within myself many of which at this moment eludes me. However being one never short for a thought or words I will comment on one particular life altering realization and most obvious of internal changes that have occurred here. And that would probably be my sense of self. It starts like this…..
One particular evening while taking my nightly bucket bath and cleansing my body from the woes of a miserably hot day and rinsing away the grainy combination of sweat and sand. I sat silent in ponderous thought while enjoying another god given wonderful evening spent alone underneath the vibrant African starry night. Nude, at peace, comfortable with my surroundings while taking in the atmosphere of listing to life in Dan Saga women pounded millet, children played, the wind rustled above the trees, and the animals near my fence finished their evening meals. I wondered in and out of the conscious world and came to a realization. And I spoke the worlds unknowledgeable of their meaning when I said….
“I am here the time is now!”
Now I know this is kind of a broad statement and definitely is not a realization even remotely profound as Archimedes’s bathing experience when he discovered how to measure volume and then ran through the town naked crazily shrieking Eureka! Eureka!
No my realization came subtly and I reacted giddily but with reservation, mainly because here Muslim culture doesn’t appreciate the fine art form of streaking or more descriptively white naked men streaking their prayer service. They are tranquil farmers, peaceful folk, but it is a pitchfork and string him up kind of offence here.
I am here, the time is now. Life for me is what it is, why worry!
Let me explain.
Burdened with life at times and often lost at the crossroads of time and thought we are left standing with our head up our !@# and aimlessly staggering about. Often bewildered and incapable of acting rationally or thinking critically, one is suspended between a vacuum of worthless time thinking about what we have done, and what we are going to do next. The real tragedy of this tale of woe is that as a mass we often are left believing in our lives that we have the ability to change our past (technically we can) but more importantly really control the course of our future. So the consequence being -we lose the obvious “Here and Now” and the path we tread is hapless and aloof from others. So why bother? Why waste our time and lose the positive momentum that comes from appreciating where we are and what we are doing. Minutes, days, months, years, and entire lives have been wasted at such wasteful pondering.
In my case with nothing to do but spend my time doing what I please in the village I heard a perpetuating buzzing in my mind saying “What have you done in life? What are you going to do after Niger?” At first it was a pestering buzz then it evolved into a head splitting clatter tearing my mind in different directions but never in the place where I was. Do I live in the past, do I seek a future I have no control over…... NO!!! NO!!! ENOUGH!!!!!
That day prior to that said bucket bath something within myself snapped and I spoke out loud to myself. “I am here, the time is now!”
Why not appreciate where we are and what we are doing? Even a place we don’t like being is a place to learn something about ones-self and the world. Why waste the opportunity to think of something potentially more important or profound or appreciate something minute but no doubt remains a miracle of nature. Life everyday taken for granted. For instance I would kill to watch a dragonfly on a river right now, but I’m content listening to some great Arabic music (thanks shana) and feeling the gentle breeze break the heat while collecting my thoughts for you all.
I know without me back in the US for some the world is not as great as it could beJ and many said don’t go! The world is too dangerous, what if you don’t like it? Everyone has AIDS there!!! White people please!!!! The globe has continued to revolve just fine, there is nothing I can do to stop the plaguing issue of continental drift, or the changing winds so why bother? The human world churns, the environment sustains (disputable) and I am placed in a situation where the only thing I have is myself and the rest of the world at my feet. I am happy
“I am here the time is now!”
Despite 28 years of attempting to chuck my alarm clock out the window only to have it fall on my head, I ritualistically arise about 0600 in my village and become a creature of habit (morning regiment of tea, yoga, and reading), then the rest of the day I become a international man of mystery (Who is this white guy, and what is he saying to us in broken Hausa?) and a peacefully wayfaring missionary of hope (as in I hope I make it though this hot season).
In my two months I have thought extensively about my life and the role I have in this beautiful world. Not to mention contributing some really profound thoughts on life and some really impressive meditative and poetic mandolin arrangements to people who do not understand what I am saying. Despite the negative outlook that I will might not ever sell a million albums or books my efforts undoubtedly will swoon the hearts of many along my way in life. Wasting more time loving wastefully I have taken to reading a lot of books, fallen off evil horses, rode camels, been nearly attacked by a rather rude bull because of my attempt to mount him. All the same. I love them. Its been a real learning experience relearning how to live while attempting to brave the typical elements and situations of Niger such as; sandstorms, children, bush taxis, heat, dangerous animals, and managing my daily livelihood in one of the harshest climates in the world. I am here the Time is now. Taking care of my own, daily I pull and carry my own water, and have eaten a healthy combination and mounds of mangoes, goat, feces, and tuwo sometimes all together.
Despite losing countless gallons of fluids and pounds of mass due to profuse sweating, amoebic and parasitic intestinal invasions, and a terrible bout with a simultaneous yeast and bacterial infection my body remains in a sense of harmony, and my spirits vividly live on an emotional rollercoaster. Regardless I remain able to go to bed nightly with satisfaction knowing that I’m walking the path less taken and doing exactly what I am supposed to be doing at that time and place.
Do I have to say it again….okay I will
I am here the time is now!
In closing I am happy here. It is difficult and I consider this a job perfect for those knowledgeable of bipolar disorder or suffering from the illness themselves because one has to be aware here that all emotions are amplified. Any given day can be spent surfing the varying waves of emotions, some time spent celebrating extremely blissful highs and lows that destabilize ones reasons for existence here.
But all the same at the end of the day I have never regretted coming here and I miss my crazy life back home but sure do not want to return there.
“I am here the time is now!”
On a lighter note I do talk to myself now randomly at times as you can gather and one day when I needed to treat myself I went to a guard where I keep the goodies and looked in an said “I feel like a sucker” No truer sentiment has ever been spoken from these lips. Couldn’t help but laugh at myself.
Thousands of miles away but hopefully still close in all your hearts,
Yours truly,
Joshua/Nazifi
Damn Good Biking
Mammath Mountain
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
A new phrase in my life (original posting)
A new phrase in my life.
Upon recollection the exact date is uncertain, however the day was the eve of moving back on top of the training site. In the next few days we were going to prepare for swear-in. In a few more days I would no longer be a measly trainee, after months of hard work the payoff would be to become a full fledged official volunteer. Yippee Skippy!!
So on this particular evening the docket was full of plans to enjoy some snacks that the Peace Corps were going to provide, eat some food, and then present my family with gifts in appreciation for their generosity and then save the best for last.
Dance Party!!
Hidden like a stowaway and snuggled safely away deep within the security of my duffle bag coming to Niger my djembe (African drum) had big plans to dymystify the myth that white men have no rhythm, it was my tool to showcase the extent of the white mans ability in Africa.
This invaluable resource was unleashed onto the Nigerien masses once before and it was a devastating success. Each experience with this drum has been a cultural highlight. It usual starts with me playing my groove style western rhythm then everyone says “oh that was nice give the drum to Chibu.” (SHeye-boo) (My neighbor) On each occasion of my drumming he comes a running and dazzles us with his mystical rhythms.
One would like to assume that many of his rhythms are based on his imaginative interpretations of the cosmos, or stories about life in the bush. My particular favorite is his beat based on his interpretation of my host father picking up a cobra in the bush. This is a major feat in Niger. Here if one is bitten by one of the MANY poisonous snakes, lets just say, its not a dance beat that write for you.
In the Sahel breaking a bone can be a life long affliction, which can destabilize you and your family’s livelihood. Manhandling a very dangerous cobra in a frenzy of youthful foolishness can be a moment of triumph or of great remorse. Luckily, this triumphant rhythm will always beat close to my heart.
So tonight my real gift was to bring down from the hill two traditional drums from our cultural center and bring along my very own ol’ thumper from storage. Tonight Chibu and his youthful apprentices would provide us all with a memorable night filled with incredible beats, and fond memories of children rhythmically following their cues in trance like movements.
As nightfall descended, the crescent moon and star, iconic of Islamic culture illuminated our party, while the gas lamps placed on the perimeters of our gathering provided a glowing landscape of something otherworldly. Tonight through the music, the lunar luminescence, and the petrol fed radiance, we (the nigeriens, and four other peace corps friends), were all removed from our concession and lost in a magical realm. Our foot stomping dust storm of a party displaced a significant amount of earth which acted as an enchanting atmospheric effect which gave us the feeling of dancing in the haze of clouds while still firmly planted on the ground. Captivated we were.
Winded from the dancing we “anasaras” regrouped to the side of the dance circle and stood captivated, silent, and in awe of this magnificent spectacle I broke the silence with the most prophetic words yet uttered by a Peace Corps volunteer.
“Yep….We’re in the Peace Corps”
This simple phrase has come to speak volumes of all of our experiences. For instance.
While sitting in a bush taxi waiting an hour and a half under the sahelien sun for twenty people to pile into a van the size of a dodge caravan one displaces his angst by playing his mandolin and harmonicas for the people until departure time. One normally would be agitated by this inconvenience, all I can think to say is “Yep….I’m in the Peace Corps”
Standing on the side of the road and watching a truck pass that has successfully lashed twenty goats tethered to the roof rack, while another twenty are restrained in the bed, while five men are struggling for space in the same bed with the goats, and another four are holding onto dear life while standing on the bumper hitching a ride….all one can say is
“Yep….I’m in the Peace Corps”
Hovering over a hole in the ground for three solid days and the only sound produced more audible than the neighboring kids, animals, and crackling shortwave radios is the symphony of sound melodiously exiting from my bottom half…sick, dehydrated, wanting to be anywhere else in the world but one still has to ring out in between discharges
“Yep….I’m in the Peace Corps”
Sitting on a wooden bench under the shade lost somewhere between my point of origin and destination in some random road village one needs to take the personal time to recover the feeling in ones ass and reduce the nausea from the bone jarring hellish trek
Unfortunately the only option is to eat street food. In Niger no task is simple and even eating can be epic battle between good and evil. While eating street food one has to battle for re-nourishment with the two other things that desperately want that food far more.
One being the agitated hoard of fly’s displaced from their breeding grounds when my food was served. The other being the dozens of on looking starving children with their all too familiar plastic bowls strapped to their neck. With each bite of contaminated food one has to swallow much more, such as his pride, his remorse, and sense of hygienic food preparation and say once again.
“Yep….I’m in the Peace Corps”
So here I sit and ponder upon my memories and reflect gleefully in knowing that this is but a glimpse into my life for the last three months here. I have really achieved nothing other than losing a combination of weight, body fluids, and skin off the ends of my fingers from mandolin playing.
Next week hopefully I have a home…that’s life in Niger, Once upon a time a had a snowballs chance of the sahel of even saying I wanted to be in Niger now all I can say is……
“Yep….I’m in the Peace Corps.
Wayfaring Peacefully.
Upon recollection the exact date is uncertain, however the day was the eve of moving back on top of the training site. In the next few days we were going to prepare for swear-in. In a few more days I would no longer be a measly trainee, after months of hard work the payoff would be to become a full fledged official volunteer. Yippee Skippy!!
So on this particular evening the docket was full of plans to enjoy some snacks that the Peace Corps were going to provide, eat some food, and then present my family with gifts in appreciation for their generosity and then save the best for last.
Dance Party!!
Hidden like a stowaway and snuggled safely away deep within the security of my duffle bag coming to Niger my djembe (African drum) had big plans to dymystify the myth that white men have no rhythm, it was my tool to showcase the extent of the white mans ability in Africa.
This invaluable resource was unleashed onto the Nigerien masses once before and it was a devastating success. Each experience with this drum has been a cultural highlight. It usual starts with me playing my groove style western rhythm then everyone says “oh that was nice give the drum to Chibu.” (SHeye-boo) (My neighbor) On each occasion of my drumming he comes a running and dazzles us with his mystical rhythms.
One would like to assume that many of his rhythms are based on his imaginative interpretations of the cosmos, or stories about life in the bush. My particular favorite is his beat based on his interpretation of my host father picking up a cobra in the bush. This is a major feat in Niger. Here if one is bitten by one of the MANY poisonous snakes, lets just say, its not a dance beat that write for you.
In the Sahel breaking a bone can be a life long affliction, which can destabilize you and your family’s livelihood. Manhandling a very dangerous cobra in a frenzy of youthful foolishness can be a moment of triumph or of great remorse. Luckily, this triumphant rhythm will always beat close to my heart.
So tonight my real gift was to bring down from the hill two traditional drums from our cultural center and bring along my very own ol’ thumper from storage. Tonight Chibu and his youthful apprentices would provide us all with a memorable night filled with incredible beats, and fond memories of children rhythmically following their cues in trance like movements.
As nightfall descended, the crescent moon and star, iconic of Islamic culture illuminated our party, while the gas lamps placed on the perimeters of our gathering provided a glowing landscape of something otherworldly. Tonight through the music, the lunar luminescence, and the petrol fed radiance, we (the nigeriens, and four other peace corps friends), were all removed from our concession and lost in a magical realm. Our foot stomping dust storm of a party displaced a significant amount of earth which acted as an enchanting atmospheric effect which gave us the feeling of dancing in the haze of clouds while still firmly planted on the ground. Captivated we were.
Winded from the dancing we “anasaras” regrouped to the side of the dance circle and stood captivated, silent, and in awe of this magnificent spectacle I broke the silence with the most prophetic words yet uttered by a Peace Corps volunteer.
“Yep….We’re in the Peace Corps”
This simple phrase has come to speak volumes of all of our experiences. For instance.
While sitting in a bush taxi waiting an hour and a half under the sahelien sun for twenty people to pile into a van the size of a dodge caravan one displaces his angst by playing his mandolin and harmonicas for the people until departure time. One normally would be agitated by this inconvenience, all I can think to say is “Yep….I’m in the Peace Corps”
Standing on the side of the road and watching a truck pass that has successfully lashed twenty goats tethered to the roof rack, while another twenty are restrained in the bed, while five men are struggling for space in the same bed with the goats, and another four are holding onto dear life while standing on the bumper hitching a ride….all one can say is
“Yep….I’m in the Peace Corps”
Hovering over a hole in the ground for three solid days and the only sound produced more audible than the neighboring kids, animals, and crackling shortwave radios is the symphony of sound melodiously exiting from my bottom half…sick, dehydrated, wanting to be anywhere else in the world but one still has to ring out in between discharges
“Yep….I’m in the Peace Corps”
Sitting on a wooden bench under the shade lost somewhere between my point of origin and destination in some random road village one needs to take the personal time to recover the feeling in ones ass and reduce the nausea from the bone jarring hellish trek
Unfortunately the only option is to eat street food. In Niger no task is simple and even eating can be epic battle between good and evil. While eating street food one has to battle for re-nourishment with the two other things that desperately want that food far more.
One being the agitated hoard of fly’s displaced from their breeding grounds when my food was served. The other being the dozens of on looking starving children with their all too familiar plastic bowls strapped to their neck. With each bite of contaminated food one has to swallow much more, such as his pride, his remorse, and sense of hygienic food preparation and say once again.
“Yep….I’m in the Peace Corps”
So here I sit and ponder upon my memories and reflect gleefully in knowing that this is but a glimpse into my life for the last three months here. I have really achieved nothing other than losing a combination of weight, body fluids, and skin off the ends of my fingers from mandolin playing.
Next week hopefully I have a home…that’s life in Niger, Once upon a time a had a snowballs chance of the sahel of even saying I wanted to be in Niger now all I can say is……
“Yep….I’m in the Peace Corps.
Wayfaring Peacefully.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
A house without a view, a boy without a home.
A house without a view-
A boy without a home.
Greeting to everyone I apologize for the many agonizing weeks you all have had to endure without any word or any significant updates. In America time flies. In Niger life stands still. Little every changes, but, the days blur so quickly that I begin to note the passing time by the cycle of the moon rather than by each passing day. Even though it seems that my accomplishments are feeble and minute since most of my time has only been spent to prepare for my eventual post. I’ve noticed considerable changes in myself which I anticipate will only intensify when actually placed in my village.
Which brings me to where I am now.
Currently my back is against the wall here….literally. I’m at the Maradi Hostel, leaning on a wall and trying not to move at all. Movement equals sweat; sweat equals loss of hydration and energy, loss of these two means nothing happens. Lost yet….?
My evasive point. I am not at my new village!! Why? Well lend me your ear, or I guess in this case you eyes and time and I’ll tell you a story about a boy without a home.
Yesterday morning began as all mornings should when a new volunteer was awoken by the 0545 prayer call and says to himself “God thanks for sending me the most reliable alarm clock in the world.” Nothing wakes the anti-morning man like a devoutly religious old crow excuse for a man who ka-caws a terribly crackled sound from a loud speaker blaring “Allah Akbar!” “Allah Akbar!”,….and then after enduring through the five minutes of ensuing confessions of allah’s greatness one can either fine tune one’s ability to ignore it, or say “By God” I think I’ll get up and do something now.” Islam is a very functional religion. Maybe that’s the point?
So the little boy arose bright eyed and motivated because this was the day our little hero was to be placed in his new village. Dan Saga…..HooooRAYYYYYY!!!! But little did we know of the impending drama to unfold!!!!! So by seven our protagonist was loaded into the truck and off he went meeting all the regional dignitaries in his amazing second hand boo-boo. (which dazzled many over the Nigerien TV airwaves it should be said)
While approaching his new village the butterflies in his stomach fluttered, his imagination wondered, and dreams of his future home satisfied many of his curiosities. In essence today was to be the beginning of the rest of his life. This was to be the culmination of years of daydreaming, years of hard work, and many years of patience, finally his day had come. Or so he thought.
Inching through the sandy and shaded paths of Dan Saga, his Africanized Land Cruiser was chased after by laughing children while the adult citizens of Dan Saga raised both their arms above their shoulders in triumph and gave their blessed greetings. Today their new volunteer had come. A day of rejoice for all.
The anticipation was feverish, and the satisfaction of rounding the corner and meeting the welcoming party while running through the gambant of typical Nigerien greetings with his new friends was magical. However, the time to nestle into a new home was meant for another day. One this day only half the equation was written the greeting party was in full form, the home however was not. Devastated by this new development, his dream of living in Africa was going to have to wait for another day.
Each passing moment in Niger is an opportunity to learn something about oneself, or the people who inhabit this wonderful continent. In the Sahel life is supported by the available elements, homes are made from earthen materials dug by the hands of men. The earthen Nigerien communal networks are simple but functional, and take the support of the whole community to construct. Unfortunately similar to all places in the world when it comes to work some within the community work and finish their parts, while others slack and leave their responsibilities unfinished and leave others in wait. In this case me.
As mentioned the villagers were over rejoiced in the young mans arrival, however the Peace Corps staff was not amused by their efforts, and they immediately pulled the distinguished chief to the side berated him about the villages’ lack of ko’kari “effort” and said if his house wasn’t built within the week they would not be receiving a volunteer. So against the volunteer’s will “well some pretty good acting” he was pulled away from the people and taken back to Maradi where now time is spent laying in wait and attempting to pass the heat of the day while watching a movie and hydrating for my bike ride to the hajji shop to grab some fix’ns for tonight’s dinner.
Tonight the meal will be fried tuna cakes with pasta marinara. “Hopefully” Cooking in Niger is always an exercise in creativity and experimentation since we often lack pretty much all the frivolous items such as cheese, butter, and milk. Which for those of you in the know of our wayfaring waifs culinary prowess you can be rest assured that once again at the end of the world, he is once again feeling at home.
In short, if a village wants a volunteer their responsibility is to provide a home, a hole in the ground for dirty business, and a space reserved for bathing. In return they receive the privilege of having a person living with them for the next two years whose primarily is to learn from them and attempt to make their lives better.
This boy has no home, but a view of the world that never ceases to amaze him. The End.
Wayfaring Peacefully.
A boy without a home.
Greeting to everyone I apologize for the many agonizing weeks you all have had to endure without any word or any significant updates. In America time flies. In Niger life stands still. Little every changes, but, the days blur so quickly that I begin to note the passing time by the cycle of the moon rather than by each passing day. Even though it seems that my accomplishments are feeble and minute since most of my time has only been spent to prepare for my eventual post. I’ve noticed considerable changes in myself which I anticipate will only intensify when actually placed in my village.
Which brings me to where I am now.
Currently my back is against the wall here….literally. I’m at the Maradi Hostel, leaning on a wall and trying not to move at all. Movement equals sweat; sweat equals loss of hydration and energy, loss of these two means nothing happens. Lost yet….?
My evasive point. I am not at my new village!! Why? Well lend me your ear, or I guess in this case you eyes and time and I’ll tell you a story about a boy without a home.
Yesterday morning began as all mornings should when a new volunteer was awoken by the 0545 prayer call and says to himself “God thanks for sending me the most reliable alarm clock in the world.” Nothing wakes the anti-morning man like a devoutly religious old crow excuse for a man who ka-caws a terribly crackled sound from a loud speaker blaring “Allah Akbar!” “Allah Akbar!”,….and then after enduring through the five minutes of ensuing confessions of allah’s greatness one can either fine tune one’s ability to ignore it, or say “By God” I think I’ll get up and do something now.” Islam is a very functional religion. Maybe that’s the point?
So the little boy arose bright eyed and motivated because this was the day our little hero was to be placed in his new village. Dan Saga…..HooooRAYYYYYY!!!! But little did we know of the impending drama to unfold!!!!! So by seven our protagonist was loaded into the truck and off he went meeting all the regional dignitaries in his amazing second hand boo-boo. (which dazzled many over the Nigerien TV airwaves it should be said)
While approaching his new village the butterflies in his stomach fluttered, his imagination wondered, and dreams of his future home satisfied many of his curiosities. In essence today was to be the beginning of the rest of his life. This was to be the culmination of years of daydreaming, years of hard work, and many years of patience, finally his day had come. Or so he thought.
Inching through the sandy and shaded paths of Dan Saga, his Africanized Land Cruiser was chased after by laughing children while the adult citizens of Dan Saga raised both their arms above their shoulders in triumph and gave their blessed greetings. Today their new volunteer had come. A day of rejoice for all.
The anticipation was feverish, and the satisfaction of rounding the corner and meeting the welcoming party while running through the gambant of typical Nigerien greetings with his new friends was magical. However, the time to nestle into a new home was meant for another day. One this day only half the equation was written the greeting party was in full form, the home however was not. Devastated by this new development, his dream of living in Africa was going to have to wait for another day.
Each passing moment in Niger is an opportunity to learn something about oneself, or the people who inhabit this wonderful continent. In the Sahel life is supported by the available elements, homes are made from earthen materials dug by the hands of men. The earthen Nigerien communal networks are simple but functional, and take the support of the whole community to construct. Unfortunately similar to all places in the world when it comes to work some within the community work and finish their parts, while others slack and leave their responsibilities unfinished and leave others in wait. In this case me.
As mentioned the villagers were over rejoiced in the young mans arrival, however the Peace Corps staff was not amused by their efforts, and they immediately pulled the distinguished chief to the side berated him about the villages’ lack of ko’kari “effort” and said if his house wasn’t built within the week they would not be receiving a volunteer. So against the volunteer’s will “well some pretty good acting” he was pulled away from the people and taken back to Maradi where now time is spent laying in wait and attempting to pass the heat of the day while watching a movie and hydrating for my bike ride to the hajji shop to grab some fix’ns for tonight’s dinner.
Tonight the meal will be fried tuna cakes with pasta marinara. “Hopefully” Cooking in Niger is always an exercise in creativity and experimentation since we often lack pretty much all the frivolous items such as cheese, butter, and milk. Which for those of you in the know of our wayfaring waifs culinary prowess you can be rest assured that once again at the end of the world, he is once again feeling at home.
In short, if a village wants a volunteer their responsibility is to provide a home, a hole in the ground for dirty business, and a space reserved for bathing. In return they receive the privilege of having a person living with them for the next two years whose primarily is to learn from them and attempt to make their lives better.
This boy has no home, but a view of the world that never ceases to amaze him. The End.
Wayfaring Peacefully.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Training
So to detail briefly my training routine.
0630 Wake UP
0700 Yoga
0730 Breakfast, tea, oatmeal, bread
0800-1000 Language lessons (Hausa)
1045-1200-Cross Culture/Medica/Safety Class
1200-1400 Freetime
1400-1530 Hausa Language
1600-1700 Agriculture Activities ( I have two gardens)
1700-1800 Happy Hour
1830-2100 Hang out with host family
2200 Bed time
The people I am with are great and I enjoy our ventures incountry. So far I have trekked to some villages far away from my post during fieldtrips and have seen many intersting things which you all will be informed of soon.
All the best,
Joshua
0630 Wake UP
0700 Yoga
0730 Breakfast, tea, oatmeal, bread
0800-1000 Language lessons (Hausa)
1045-1200-Cross Culture/Medica/Safety Class
1200-1400 Freetime
1400-1530 Hausa Language
1600-1700 Agriculture Activities ( I have two gardens)
1700-1800 Happy Hour
1830-2100 Hang out with host family
2200 Bed time
The people I am with are great and I enjoy our ventures incountry. So far I have trekked to some villages far away from my post during fieldtrips and have seen many intersting things which you all will be informed of soon.
All the best,
Joshua
Taking life by the horns
Hello friends, family, and all loved ones!!
I am currently alive and well, despite being admitted at the peace corps clinic for dehydration and diahrrea. But that's minor, no biggy. I head back to training tomarrow.
So many of you are wondering what exactly are you doing in Niger. My answer taking life by the horns, and many other great things. During my first week here in country I was walking in the market looking at livestock when that that all to familiar sensation of liquid poo squeezed between my toes so stopping to think to myself .... shit! I owe a round of beers, then I heard screams in an unfamilar language and found myself looking into the eyes of a very large bull with very sharp horns charging towards me.
So there I was, no time to think only react so I hunkered down extended my arms and grabbed my foe by the horns and with all my strength shifted his head away from my targeted torso. then dodged the beligerant bovine and watched thankfully as the future T-Bone charge ahead towards other trainees while pinning many nigerians behind my back. Stupid white people don't you know your not supposed to run, just wait and get out of the way.
Afterwards the nigerians jumped up and down then pointed out that I was white and that I had wrestled a bull...No bullshit...except for that between the toes. Next morning after my neighbors hut burned down and guess who was first to help prevent the flames from spreading.....yours truely...Two days and I already had street cred. My host family is proud of me.
Times are good
Peace
Joshua
I am currently alive and well, despite being admitted at the peace corps clinic for dehydration and diahrrea. But that's minor, no biggy. I head back to training tomarrow.
So many of you are wondering what exactly are you doing in Niger. My answer taking life by the horns, and many other great things. During my first week here in country I was walking in the market looking at livestock when that that all to familiar sensation of liquid poo squeezed between my toes so stopping to think to myself .... shit! I owe a round of beers, then I heard screams in an unfamilar language and found myself looking into the eyes of a very large bull with very sharp horns charging towards me.
So there I was, no time to think only react so I hunkered down extended my arms and grabbed my foe by the horns and with all my strength shifted his head away from my targeted torso. then dodged the beligerant bovine and watched thankfully as the future T-Bone charge ahead towards other trainees while pinning many nigerians behind my back. Stupid white people don't you know your not supposed to run, just wait and get out of the way.
Afterwards the nigerians jumped up and down then pointed out that I was white and that I had wrestled a bull...No bullshit...except for that between the toes. Next morning after my neighbors hut burned down and guess who was first to help prevent the flames from spreading.....yours truely...Two days and I already had street cred. My host family is proud of me.
Times are good
Peace
Joshua
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