Spirited Away

The last month and a bit are ahead of me and as incredibly anxious I am to get home, this weekend was a nice reminder of the things that I love here. I guess in the hum drum of work, I have gotten caught up in the daily commute to the hospital and return to the house. I have not been out in a while to do other things other than go to marketplaces. Most of my Nigeriens friends come over in the evenings and so there is really no reason for me to head out into the night either. I guess it is funny how living in an 'exotic' place can also become quite hum drum. My friend Allison has been in town- she and I were at Emory together and then she did Peace Corps here while I was in Senegal. She has returned for a month to do some work on schistosomiasis for her masters degree in public health. It has been great to reconnect. So this weekend we went to another spirit possession where about six of the nature spirits showed up. A guy arranged the ceremony to see if the spirits were ok with him marrying a certain lady friend. I have to say I would not have wanted to be in her position! (don't get any ideas, Christopher) After about eight hours of music and dance in the hot sun, the mediums for the various spirits started to get possessed. We took our usual seat behind the musicians so that the possessions happened direcly infront of us. I love the energies of the ceremonies, the music, and how casual it all is. I love that can't be explained in my American head and that it just moves the questions of life around in my head, solving none of them. Before coming here I had no idea that this paractice was going to be so prevalent. We have even had several fistula patients with spirits at the hospital. But it is one of those great things bout being here that you can't get anywhere else. So to help me ignore the heat, I get to focus looking forward to the enormous rain ceremony to be held next week. (PS- the photo is with Isaka, a high priest, and his wife. Pedro- notice Natty Boh?)

What does it mean to work in Niger? (on a I'm-feeling-negative day)

I hear more and more often now as things are winding down, “so hey- how is that research going?” During the week I go to the hospital every morning for several hours and do interviews, and catch up with the women who are there waiting for fistula repair surgery. We sit and eat peanuts, hold children, bead necklaces and chat. We position ourselves to avoid the running pools of urine coming from the newcomers in the compound. We watch people from other wards in the hospital come through the courtyard to use the bathroom and the sinks- boys with missing arms, women who have wasted from an unknown disease. Every once in a while, someone will inhale quickly and mumble, “May Allah save us,” and we all turn to look at the misfortune that has fallen the person that just entered our little area.

Patients watch rats with fur wet from sewage be chased by cats who roam throughout the hospital. The wood piled up outside the hospital kitchen reminds me of the deforestation, dust, pollution and heat here. Women approach holding their sick children out at an arms length. My white skin leads them to believe that I can make miracles happen.

This is surely “Month 6” talking- six months on top of fine tuned cynicism from the previous years in West Africa. But lately, what does it mean to work here in Niger? It means you get frustrated- at the lack of resources, at incompetence, at the snails pace at which things move. You get mad at the government for its disregard for its citizens. You feel embarrassed and guilty about the ample resources we have in developed nations at the expense of places like this. And you get mad at yourself for your own shortcomings and your inability to affect change.

You also get lazy, because no matter how you try, your water intake cannot offset the water loss in the sweat rolling off you. You lounge for 3 hours a day because… what the heck- no one else is working and it has not cooled off any. It means that after hello, you ask people about how they are handling the heat and general fatigue.

It means that you get involved: You put a comforting hand on the shoulder of a friend with TB. You celebrate the results of an HIV test.

It means that your work is only a little tiny part of being here and life happens around you and to you, whether or not it was in your original grant application to come here.

So how hot is it?

The weather seems to be my new favorite subject. I think in part because sharing the daily temperatures with family and friends somehow feels like an accomplishment in my mind. Possibly nothing else worked or happened in my day, but hey- it reached 120 degrees! I keep reminding myself that I already did this- hot season, I mean- twice while I was in Senegal. And then I was in a little village without a fridge and struggled with a water filter that could not purify the warm water fast enough for me to drink it. Batteries in my camera exploded and candles melted. (Vache Qui Rit cheese never changed form) But at least there was open space, a breeze, and I could safely sleep outside under the stars.

City living has brought some luxuries to ease the pain of hot season- mostly a refrigerator. But I seem to have traded in the open spaces, breezes, and outdoor sleeping for cold water. I rent my fridge from the boutique owner down the way, and unfortunately I am now duct taping it shut. (thanks, Paul) Although it keeps things colder than room temperature it is far from making ice. For that, I have to demurely ask the neighbors. I am finding too that the electricity is cut more and more as the temperatures rise. That means that I wake in the middle of the night choking in my own sweat as the ceiling fan ceases to whir.

The pots and pans in the kitchen are hot to touch although they have not been on the stove. Inside the house, my chairs are risky to sit in since the metal arm rests feel as if they could burn. I shower constantly (never bothering to dry off) and gulp liters of water as if they were Dixie cups.

Kudos to my sister who is coming to visit in May- I guess she thinks that Gabon has prepared her, but wait til she lands here in the Sahel- c’est autre chose. (du courage, Lu!) The rains are supposed to come in June to break the heat, but maybe I’ll be lucky and they’ll come a little early this year.

Earth Day in Niger? Maybe Next Year...

“Non, merci,” I say declining a plastic bag to cover each of my purchases from the corner store: one for the eggs, one for the bread, one for the chewing gum. The boutique owners here in Niamey, Niger always give me a quizzical look when I suggest that they place the purchases directly into my backpack.

Although many Americans will participate in Earth Day festivities this month, the official occasion to think about the state of the environment will go unnoticed here in the Republic of Niger in West Africa.

Plastic bags litter the streets, fill the open sewers, and hang like heavy fruit blowing in the breeze from the thorns of acacia trees. Every little purchase made in the market or in stores is shrouded in its own opaque black plastic bag. With a brief lifespan as a bag, the plastic is then tossed into the streets where it finally catches on thorns or becomes the source of clogging for an open sewer.

Niger’s environmental problems are large, and include deforestation, desertification, drought, pollution, in addition to serious issues resulting from poorly managed gold and uranium mining industries. Many of these could be mitigated with national policy measures, international support, and education. But the poor and corrupt Nigerien government experiences little environmental leadership from the developed world. So in the meantime, the lack of a waste disposal system, combined with a plethora of plastic, is choking the immediate environment.

Niger competes for the title of the poorest and least developed nation on earth. Its population is growing at a rate of 3 percent, and the pressures to survive on the edge of the Sahara desert are increasingly intense. It seems to be an odd twist of fate that gas prices soar around $5 per gallon here, a land-locked nation twice the size of Texas. Recent trade agreements with China make me wonder how much of that will translate into a Nigerien market flooded with even more cheaply manufactured plastic items.

And somehow, in a country where 82 percent of the population depends on agriculture and livestock for survival, few think twice about tossing trash out the car window, or discarding items in the streets as they walk.

Yet I find it hard to believe that environmentalism is a luxury permitted only to those with food and economic security. Speaking to a Nigerien friend about my concerns, he said, “I know, it is terrible- something has to change.” And finishing the last drops of yogurt from the plastic container, he tossed it over his shoulder with a shrug as we continued to walk down the street.

What does the future hold for the people and the environment of Niger? I am afraid that only time will tell.

The Body (according to Aria)

Those of you who have met my guardian Aria (you laugh, but that number now totals 5) know that he is an amateur philosopher on all things. The soliloquy usually amounts to a small tome on life, racism, religion, colonialism, classism, or drugs. He is an extremely thin man whom I was shocked to learn is only three years older than me. He drinks only milk and tea and as a result is skin and bones. He refuses most food I prepare saying that anything with oil, salt, sauce, and spice is bad for his body: He has a weak heart (liberally defined) and cannot eat any of the aforementioned. Some healer once told him that his body lacks water and so he must eat milk and white rice. So he does. He also tightly ties a small strip of cloth around his chest, pulled up high, under his armpits, and tied in the front with a bow. He wears this 24/7 and under all shirts. I first saw him apply it when he had a verbal fight with someone and he dramatically told me he had to tie himself together to keep his body from splitting in two from the emotional suffering. Evidently, he is now using it to prevent coughing fits.

Aria has been sick lately, although to be honest, it is hard to tell what is simply dramatics, what is the result of acute malnutrition, and what symptoms have been brought on by a virus, parasite, etc. In an effort to make light of a serious situation, I don’t want to completely dismiss that his malnutrition is not only brought on by finicky eating but also extreme poverty. I have made two trips to the clinic with him this past week, dropping the equivalent of his monthly salary on exams and various medicines. It just goes to show you that people here literally cannot afford to get sick. The first doctor prescribed Aria food: He said that his problem was hunger. The chest pains, the body aches, and the general this and thats. Aria dismissed the diagnosis in a huff, although finished the acetaminophen tablets the doctor gave him.

I myself came down with a little something last week. Aria diagnosed me saying that the splitting headache and muscle aches were brought on from not taking enough naps. (I've decided not to argue.) He spotted me taking Tylenol and asked for some also. Miraculously the little pills from America cured him of all his ills. Recently, he said the Tylenol is not working- the drug is no longer good enough. Finding him curled up in a ball recently, I took him to the clinic again. This time they ordered tests for parasites and for TB and gave him a couple prescriptions: one for multivitamins, and one for a drug called Doliprane.

Later that same afternoon, he was bouncing around like usual. He proudly told me that since taking the magic Doliprane he has not coughed or had bone aches- even that bone on his back that had been hot has cooled off (his description). My curiosity was peaked and I glanced at the content- -500 mg of Acetaminophen….Tylenol.