Bouncing Around

Earlier this week I went north to the region of Tera and to approximately 10 villages surrounding the town of Tera. In the 18 hours that I spent in the 4x4 on bumpy donkey cart paths sucking in dust and rationing my water, we entered about 10 or more villages and located three women who have fistula. One by one the women climbed in the car leaving villages and families behind to sit on plastic sheets in the rear of the car for the journey to Niamey. "The Americans are coming! The Americans are coming!" was the word being spread, and so any women suffering from fistula should make their way to Niamey in hopes of qualifying for the repair surgery. I have to say with honesty, that this day redefined the word "rural" for me. We would bounce along for hours before coming on 2 grass huts and some goats. A startled woman would emerge with a baby on her hip and eventually point in the direction of the next cluster of huts miles away. It was astonishing. Not only is a village defined as two huts, but miles and miles lie between the clusters and although there are barely discernable track marks in the sand from the last cart that went by, we saw no one on a cart, and only a few people walking with heavy loads on their heads in the middle of the middle of nowhere. The picture is of a Fulani girl who has had three fistula repair surgeries and is now living back in her village. She was all smiles and hopped in our car for a ride (about 10 miles away) to the weekly market. Being stared at is part of being an oddity here, but this was the first time I scared a grown woman so much by my presence that she was brought to tears. Ususally it is the young children who are frightened by how different I look, but scaring adults really reinforced the isolation that these people endure. I often remove my sunglasses as a polite gesture in greeting people, but was reminded that the light color of my eyes is what frightens some more than the color of my skin.