Ça chauffe ici!

My first few days back in Niamey have been punctuated by tears of homesickness and cold showers to try to ward off the heat. The weather has successfully reached candle-melting and battery-exploding hot. It is the type of heat where a fan actually makes things worse, blowing the scorching air directly onto you. Walking around the neighborhood in the evenings and having friends over for tea and music has lifted my spirits some, and I have been reminded of how much I love the village feel of the neighborhood. There are huts just outside my door; I regularly see donkeys, camels and other livestock in the pathways; and everyone prefers to sit, socialize and even sleep outside. It is a far cry from the neighborhood not far away where all you see in the street are the uniformed guards sitting outside high walls covered in bougainvillea. Most nights there is drumming and dancing happening a few houses over and I love how the sound floats in the air.

In a place where aspects of life have not changed for decades, it seems however, that during my two week absence a lot has happened. University students across the river are protesting and have clashed with police. Their learning environment and living conditions there are a disgrace and this outcry is unfortunately not the first one to be met with police violence. In addition, there was a bus accident and several people died. A fire also consumed all the huts in the poor neighborhood where my friend Mohammed lives. Mohammed’s hut and only a couple others are still standing. Aria, my guardian, is ill and although he claims dramatically that the ills of the world have attacked his heart, I guess from the cycling fevers that he also has malaria. I left the house this morning to buy him some medicine and came across a massive crowd in the middle of the street. Someone in the center was being beaten by flip-flops, sticks, and tree branches. I assumed that it was a thief as unfortunately that is what happens to people who steal around here. Instead, I was surprised to learn that it was a man who had stolen the sex of someone else. This was making sense to everyone but me. Evidently, if you touch him, your sex then disappears. In order to get it back you need to beat him. The most obvious explanation for sexual dysfunction, naturally… Children were playing with the crowd, running toward the mass, and then as the crowd of people pushed toward them, they screamed laughing and ran away, only to turn and run back toward the crowd again. I could see from where I had positioned myself that the man in the center was bleeding. Taxis were honking to try to break through the crowd and take their clients to the market. I felt helpless. Some onlookers were alarmed, but many expressed amusement. Not knowing where this was to end, I decided that it was best for me to leave. There’s no 911 service to call after all. This was the justice system.

These are the types of things that I hesitate to share lest they just propagate stereotypes of Africa, but they are also a serious reality. And this is not Africa the vast continent- this is Niger, a small part. Many people here live on the edge- of hunger, of abject poverty and of reason. So whether it is the smothering weather or not, things are certainly heating up around here. I plan to lay low and stay cool.