Lives of Other PCVs
Niger
Editor’s note: We asked Laura Ballard, a PCV in Niger, to give us a glimpse into her service
there. She sent us this dispatch.
When 5pm rolls around, so do a plethora of mixed feelings.
It’s time to drop whatever I’m doing at home (laundry in a
bucket, raking my sand) and change my clothes, put on some
extra deodorant, and lock up my house. A long walk to the
junior high, which is located at the other end of my village,
is filled with many greetings: “Ina wuni?” (How is the afternoon?); “Ina zahi?” (How is the heat?); “Ina aiki?” (How is
the work?). On the way I pass one of the five primary schools
in my village and at any given time 20-30 children just hanging
around the school yard feel compelled to yell “MALIKA!!!”
(my Nigerien name) as if I weren’t walking a few feet away
from them. Just a block farther is the corner where a handful
of women sell kayan mia (sauce ingredients) all nicely lined
in a row in front of the pounding machine. A few small children toddle about until they see me coming and immediately
start to shout “ANASARIA!” (white girl). This is an endearing
little term that they learned most likely from their parents and
scream incessantly until I walk completely out of sight. Sometimes if they have enough kokari (effort) they even follow me
to the next corner meanwhile giggling and whispering to one
another.
Next comes the seasonal lake, which during rainy season and cold season is used to make mud bricks, and which
during hot season becomes the free-for-all pooing ground for
the children in the neighborhood. There is probably no need
to describe the distinct scent that wafts about during this section of my trek. The sandy, garbage-filled, poo-ridden path
leads to the end of the clearing where, almost without fail, I am
nearly trampled by a flock of sheep and goats which is being
pushed about by an 8-year-old with a sizeable stick. Sandy, an
unseemingly vicious dog (that I’ve named after the dog is Annie which he resembles), is, I am convinced, a racist dog that
greets white people (or me, the only white person in a 10 mile
radius) with snarls and barks until the nice people on the corner
chuckle and chase him away with a stick. I think Sandy waits
for me. The white girl passing by is, hands down, the most exciting part of his day (the same is true for most of the old men
and little children I pass as well).
The rest of the walk is pretty uneventful, save dodging
reckless bush taxis on the main road. By the time I arrive at the
school a sea of teenagers sporting maroon button-up shirts and
khaki colored pants or pagnes (wrap-around-skirts) await me.
14 - pauza
A few “bonsoir-s” (good afternoons) accompany me through
the deep sand to the clearing know as the soccer field. The girls
chat by the sideline under the nim trees and patiently wait for
the PE teacher to finish testing his students (most recently with
track and field activities, like jumping over a pole). The girls
unwrap their skirts to reveal shorts or pants underneath and
retie their head wraps.
Soccer practice always begins with a ten-minute run around
the outside of the sandy field. After a few technical drills we
spend the rest of the daylight playing a scrimmage of offense
versus defense. The practice is a bit more lax than most Americans would tolerate (we frequently continue playing after the
ball has gone in to touch, or you might see a few girls collapsed
with laughter on the field because one of their teammates tried
to kick the ball and completely missed). Despite the seeming
lack of structure and productivity, girls scrimmage is by far my
favorite part of the whole day. When I’m on the field playing
with the girls we have to chance to connect in a different way.
Minimal language skills are needed (all I need to know how to
say is “back”, “I’m here”, “Give it to Absatou”, or “Shoot!).
I love the high fives we give each other when I steal the ball
from a player on the other team, or when someone dribbles the
ball right past me. It’s like they know a different side of me
when we are on the field, and I get to see a different side of
them too.
Next comes the seasonal
lake, which during rainy
season and cold season
is used to make mud
bricks, and which during
hot season becomes the
free-for-all pooing
ground for the children in
the neighborhood.
For these girls, it’s their chance to prove that they can do
more than just household chores. It’s their chance to prove
that they are smart, gifted, hard-working girls who are ready to
change their community. For Americans, it might seem quite
normal to have a girls’ sports team, but in Niger extra-curricular
activities are close to non-existent, and even more so, girls activities have only begun in the past few years. Girls here have
to fight for their rights (for example: going to school rather
than being married off by your parents at age 13). Girls’ soccer might seem insignificant, but it’s a huge step in the world of
each girl who participates. The positive outcomes are endless,
from being encouraged to stay in school to raised self-esteem.