Half a Woman

Finally! You are thinking from the title that I have written about the fistula patients- the women who have suffered so much and who have such inspiring stories to tell. I am very sorry to disappoint, but this posting is, yet again, about yours truly.

After trying to buck the system and live as a female alone in a house without a guard and a maid, I have buckled and hired staff. After a Lebanese acquaintance gave me a radio and threw 4 dead red roses over my gate in the middle of the night, I realized that a male presence in the compound would be a good one. I hired a Rastafarian Tuareg to pass the nights at the house. He has his own room and bathroom separate from the house, and within the gates to the outside. My safety is not in jeopardy (unless you find the primary students outside my gate threatening), although I decided that I did not like the thought of people stopping by without my knowledge- roses or not. And after all, providing jobs for people in one of the poorest countries on earth is not a minor contribution.

School is back in session though, and the number of kids running around outside the gate has multiplied exponentially. This does mean that am getting a little more attention than I would prefer first thing in the morning. The most threatening of which recently came from a primary school student taking a piss against the building. In the middle of relieving himself, he looked up to see me pass by. “Anasara [white person]! Hey, donne-moi cent franc!” Not yet done emptying his bladder he stood there blankly, not sure what came next, and I think half expected me to approach holding out money.

The Togolese woman who comes three times a week to remove the layers of sand and dust that have settled inside the house, has successfully questioned my womanhood. When she arrived for the first day, I had bought some cleaning supplies- things that I thought would be sufficient: buckets, soap, brooms, rags. Evidently, I have no clue how to clean a house here in Niger and she was appalled at the filth. I thought it was fine. Please, please buy the appropriate items, she pleaded. I must have glass cleaner, a brush and a mop. And don’t you want me to cook? What do you eat? As I handed over a meager pile of laundry, I sheepishly asked if maybe she could make fufu on Fridays… She has successfully shamed me however, and now I feel as if I need to clean the house before she arrives.

I have in fact been spending more and more time at Dimol and at the National Hospital in the fistula compound. It is very frustrating not being able to talk directly to people. There are a few Fulani patients there, and once we are able to share a couple greetings, the ice is broken, they smile, and they start removing bracelets to give me. It has been very frustrating- having once been able to talk to people and break some of those barriers immediately, I am now ever more that white mute foreigner waiting for someone to talk to. So instead of barging into a room spouting greetings and starting a conversation, I awkwardly stand by, try to look approachable and wait for someone that I can ask to help me approach someone to talk to. I watch the Peace Corps volunteers jealously- they move around so easily, and people are immediately less formal and open to talking with them. What is frustrating is that I remember how that feels. So I am doing my best- I learned a couple greetings in Zarma and Hausa and am always scoping the crowd for a Fulani speaker.

I have had a Canadian PhD student move in with me for 2 months to help defray the costs, and Holly comes next Wednesday for a couple weeks. So soon I will have a full house! Hopefully, this will help the neighbors out too- I can’t tell you how many times I have been approached in the street to be asked in a hushed voice if I intend to live in the house alone. With the comings and goings of my male Nigerien friends- Monsour, Mohammed, Sale, Moussa, Rabiou- I must look like one very busy and hard working Anasara lady. I assure the inquirers that my husband has permitted me only 6 months from home and that this time away is very hard for him to endure. So far, they seem to be satisfied with that response. And with Jennifer’s arrival, everyone seems to be more relieved…