Category: Niger life

I had this big idea to make dolls as a fundraiser for the Notre Dame Orphanage by way of the Anglophone Women’s Club of Niger. Each doll will be named after an orphan living with Sister Brigitte, and each will come with the story of that particular child. The toddler twins. The deaf girl. The 15-day-old baby. The dolls are made of recycled materials and sand from the Sahara.

I made two dolls and realized I was in over my head. But now I have, ahem, Zouare, (note new correct spelling of her name–it’s TATOOED on her arm–still pronounced Zuri, what a relief) helping me. Who knew she was superstar dollmaker? Some of the money will go to Zouare, who even though she makes so much money working for us that her friends ask to borrow money on a daily basis, she still carries water on her head for cooking at her house; and the Anglophone Women’s Club of Niger, who in the past has bought bunk beds for the orphanage and will most likely buy window screens or fund another similar project for the orphanage and other organizations this year.

More about the orphanage later, which is so heart-breaking and uplifting at the same time, I can hardly stand it. It deserves it’s own blog. It deserves it’s own place in heaven.

Please meet Marie-Ange. Marie-Ange is sort of the patron saint orphaline of Notre Dame Orphanage.

This is the drive to the grocery store here. The Petit Marché, a sort of farmer’s market, bustles like this every day. We often buy produce from these vendors, Peter has done it without even getting out of the car. A friend and I went shopping at the Petit Marché for fabric the other day and had a great time. It’s a little stressful, you are surrounded by little boys wanting to carry your bag, and people trying to convince you to buy their produce.

Peter’s niece Ana is thinking of coming to visit and stay a while. If this video doesn’t turn you off Ana, buy the plane ticket.

We have a ton of gorgeous lettuce growing right now.

Today I asked Zuri how they decide on the scars on their face. She says it’s by family, that the mother decides, and they do it when the babies are small with a little knife.

Stefan and Camille were probably the only two people on the entire 2600 miles of the Niger River wearing life jackets. Camille rode on the bigger boat with all her friends; some friends, Peter, a crying Stefan, a boatman and I were on the littler boat, a canoe, called a pirogue.

When Peter and I hear “pirogue,” we think it’s going to be stuffed with cabbage and cheese and you buy it from the crabby guy on 10th and Irving in San Francisco.

We went up river for half an hour, passing morning-glory like wildflowers, waterlillies, little grassy islets. I didn’t have to paddle, so it was very pleasant, except for Stefan crying that the canoe was too “tilty,” he worried about sharks and if hippos bite.

I saw them first: a hippo coming out the water to take a breath. Then another, then everyone saw them and I was happy I wasn’t just imagining them. Unfortunately, they won’t stay still for a good picture. But none of us wanted to get any closer. The best thing was hearing them: hippopotamus deep breathing.

Camille’s boat stayed longer, until two of the hippos lumbered up out of the water onto the shore. But they didn’t get the bonus excursion we did:

After our hippo sightings we turned around and floated back down the river. Our paddler beached our boat. Not back at the restaurant/boat launch area, as we expected, but rather a forced “detour” to see the hippo tracks in the mud near his village, also, grain storage huts, school, and cow. The chef of the village was trotted out, and seemed disappointed at our meager, uh, cash gift, but we thought we were going directly back to the restaurant and were caught off guard by the side trip. I don’t know why we all didn’t start complaining, “Take us back! We want our lunch!” but it didn’t occur to anyone until later when we did get back and were sitting around drinking cokes and eating brochettes. Americans, sheesh.

There are a bunch of guys who sell leather goods and fresh produce outside the French School. One of the most difficult things here for me is having someone walking next to me, trying to sell me green beans or a necklace. I’m not shopping right now, okay? Going to pick kids up is like running a gauntlet past the pushy vendors. Is this the time to sell me a cushion?

I have made a point of not buying anything from these guys. Until a couple of weeks ago when a guy flashed a cauliflower. The only strawberries, broccoli and cauliflower I have seen in five months have been flown in by Air France and sold at the French grocery store at a price that includes jet fuel. Can you believe I got excited about seeing really fresh cauliflower? Well, believe it. So imagine my face when he walked up with a box of strawberries. These are local, and I’m sure they will be gone with the cool weather in a month. I ended up buying two, maybe three pints of strawberries. I berated myself for spending such a ridiculous amount of money on strawberries, for god’s sake; until I got home and ate one. It would have been worth $8 for even one single strawberry.

Then the next day, Peter found peas.

Do you remember the story of God asking Abraham to sacrafice his son Isaac? And at the last minute God, said no, it’s okay, kill a sheep instead? Around here, this is one of the biggest holidays of the year, Tabaski.

Like I showed pictures of my kids with Santa, Zuri, our housekeeper, spent almost a day’s pay to have a picture printed for me of what she bought with her Christmas/Tabaski bonus. After fattening it up on our old, stale bread, she had the sheep trucked, on top of a truck, to Benin to her mom and two little boys. I think this was like sending, all in one furry package, tree, lights, presents and Christmas dinner.

This is what Tabaski looked like on our street. Hope it was joyous for you and yours. (Jim McManamon, I’m counting on you here.)

In other animal news: Jennifer’s fabulously well written article about the giraffes of Niger appeared in today’s Christian Science Monitor.

Here is the little practice movie I made using our camera that was never meant to be used to make a movie. Stefan couldn’t swim when we got here.

Well, don’t get too excited but I’m posting FROM HOME! Thanks to the Fulbrights, who weren’t quite as beaten down about internet access as I was. Here they are, on Tabaski, in front of their house, next door to our house.

Jennifer and James, Hesperus, Etani and Athena. They live in Ashland, Oregon, when they aren’t doing this to themselves.

When they aren’t getting books published and sitting adorably on the couch writing an article about the giraffes, they are making sure their neighbors share in high speed internet goodness, convincing me to use more whole wheat flour and doing cool things like making this swing:

Jennifer’s book, Why Do Babies Do That, is featured on Wondertime.go.com and you can read about their adventures here in Niger at literarymama.com

Camille says it’s a perfect day, she has a lunch-time play date, and then the Christmas show in which she can watch all her American friends perform tonight.

Embassy familes here get to see AFN, American Forces Network, which is the tv for the military. There are no commercials! Instead of commercials, there are motorcycle safety tips, introductions to each of the US state capitals, and highlights of the national parks in the US. I love it. It’s like PBS all the time. AFN is showing all the Christmas classics on the kids channel for the next few days. Last night was Rudolph. I finally love tv.

I’m borrowing the Fulbright’s internet connection. I am really on a downhill slide with this internet business. The company that installed here, right next door to us, says they are out of equipment until the end of the month, which could be Nigeriene for “never.” I don’t know if I’ll ever get the internet at home, and this thought makes me want to stab someone. I only have so many hannuka candles and books to return to the kindly Fulbrights, oh and look! I just happen to have my laptop with me!

Meanwhile I made clothespin dolls with kids. In the Santa Lucia pagents in Portland they have the little boys wear elf hats (Camille made this one, and the fimo dough cardamom rolls in a bottle cap-tray) and pretend to be Lucia’s little brother, who is named: Stefan. Isn’t that too good to be true?

If you had no job and no internet and no shopping to do for Christmas, what you be doing?