Mr. Popularity

Everywhere I go publicly in Niger, a throng of people follows me in the street. I venture into the marketplace and instantly several men surround me. People are ecstatic to greet me and to shake my hand. It is so wonderful to be popular

What a difference in Canada where you are largely ignored. It is just not the same walking down the street back home. The anonymity is a constant reminder that North American people generally do not consider you to be noteworthy.

I was amazed at the reception I received in the market pictured here. As you can see, I really stood out in a crowd. The most poignant moment for me in this obscure rural market was when a group of children stood outside my truck door as I got into the vehicle to leave. I rolled down the window and extended my hand. The children then clamoured to shake my hand and I shook as many of theirs as I could as the truck pulled away.

Although I felt a bit like a politician must feel, my heart ached for these poor children in Niger, who longed for anything new, including being able to see and to touch a non-descript middle aged white guy.

How the mighty have fallen ...

... well, at least how the overweight and out of shape fell, this morning.

Our team was all excited about journeying out into the country to for camel riding, courtesy of a Toureg family. The Toureg are a nomadic people who graze their livestock north of Madaoua for about eight months of the year. During the winter, they migrate south to the fields just outside of Madaoua, where local farmers pay the nomads to set up temporary residence on their fields, to provide instant fertilizer for four months.

This morning our host's Toureg friends saddled a pair of camels for us to ride. When others in the group hesitated to step forward to ride, the team's former "cowboy" offered to go first. Jettisoning his sandles, and climbing up on the saddle, with the camel sitting on the ground, he braced himself for the camel to rise.

In a couple of moments, the recent Calgarian suddenly found himself landing on his back on the ground with a sickening thud. As his teammates shuddered at the thought that this dude had really hurt himself, he rose up suddenly to try again. However, the saddle that was designed for Nigeriens much slimmer and lighter than he, had cracked under his weight (part of the reason he was thrown off when the camel thrust its weight forward).

This unexpected excitement aside, eight other team members successfully mounted and rode the dromedaries. It was thrilling for them to ride and for the rest of us to watch their faces. We are grateful to our Toureg friends for allowing us this experience and for their friendliness in letting us see a little bit of their culture.

Get henna

On our day of respite, our female team members are favored with a relaxing morning of receiving intricate henna designs on their feet, ankles and hands, courtesy of some local artists. While the careful designing goes on, a friend of our hosts prepares a feast of rice and vegetables, a traditional dish most of us eat with our hands. It is delightful and delicious. Once the women are finished, our team's young man receives his henna designs on each shoulder. Careful, a young man sporting henna is announcing his intention to get married!

Bonjour. Sannu. Ca va... Who is that great white slob anyway?

After seven straight days with insufficient rest and sleep, we have some down time today. I take the opportunity to sleep late, but in doing so, I miss the departure to the market, a few blocks away. Our hostess assures me that I can walk there on my own, and find the others from our team. No problem... Right.

Outside the gate I must photograph the small herd of Brahma cattle that has congregated in the street. Suddenly, my film has run out. As I change films in my Canon Rebel XS (the brilliant guy who sold me the camera said that the last two names of the camera both describe me - rebel and excess), a group of children surround me. I manage to disperse them somewhat by offering to take their picture ("Go back a bit; a little more; a little more"; then you turn and run).

As I wandered out to the Madaoua portion of the East-West Highway (sort of a Trans-Niger Highway, actually built with Canadian funds, and most recently resurfaced with Belgian funding), I work my way down past various shops along the way. I shake a hand that extends to me from a parked vehicle and I get honked at a couple of times when I have to venture onto the highway to get around various vehicles and other obstructions at the side of the road.

Various Nigeriens greet me with "Ca va", "Bonjour" and "How are you?" I keep responding: "Sannu, sannu" which is "Hello" in Hausa, the local language. I realize that I must pose a striking figure: overweight, middle-aged white guy with baggy pants, limping along in sandals that keep catching in the loose sand, squinting through glasses clogged with dust, and looking like he has no clue where he is headed.

Narrowly surviving a collision with a motorcycle that wiped out a few feet from me, I take a couple of wrong turns, but manage to retrace my steps. Two well dressed men on a motor bike stop to assist me, but I am not communicating well in french today (as usual). "A gauche! A gauche!" I then realize that I need to make a couple of lefts to reach the market, my ultimate goal in this quest.

I wind up on another corner on a paved street with a small roundabout in the centre of the intersection. I pause to photograph the traffic circle and its occupants: a bicycle and a cow. Upon realizing that I am likely no closer to the market place than when I left the compound, I head back. Once home, I just finish latching the gate when the rest of my team return from the marketplace. I did enjoy the dusty walk by myself and was satisfied that I had most likely provided some unexpected entertainment for the residents of Madaoua today.

Tuesday, January 2, 2007

For Allah so loved the world...

Don't be alarmed; "Allah" is the Arabic term for "God". So explains Femi, our translator from Nigeria. Femi comes from the north of Nigeria, which is adjacent to the south of Niger. He is fluent in Hausa and in English, his first language. During our day camp on New Year's Day in Madaoua, our team member, Mrs. A, tells the story of Jesus dying for the sins of every person so that they can go to heaven if they ask Jesus to become part of their lives. Femi translates the story into Hausa, the local language of the approximately 100 Nigerien children who attend the day camp.

The day camp begins small, but as the afternoon progresses, word spreads to other children in Madaoua that there is an event going on in the white persons' compound, and the number of children swells. A woman from the local church tells the story of the wordless book (similar to the story told by Mrs. A) and the children get to make colorful bracelets with the same colors as the wordless book, by which they can remember the story.

Our team leader, Mrs. S, leads the children in some action songs in English, and Femi explains the songs in Hausa. The children enjoy doing the actions and later participate in some three-legged races. It is an active afternoon for our team, but these children get to hear about Christ possibly for the first and last time.

In referring to Christ, Femi uses the term for "Messiah", as the children would not understand the name "Jesus". I admire Femi, as he has left his home in Nigeria to work as a Christian missionary to the Hausa people in a poor part of Niger. You could pray for Femi and for his spouse, Comfort, who is expecting their second child.

Monday, January 1, 2007

Happy New Year?

I cried a lot on the first morning of 2007. My heart was bleeding over the extreme poverty and suffering of the ill and unfortunate of Niger. First, our team visited CREN, le Centre de Rehabilitation et Education Nutritionelle. We met several new mothers with their newborn babies strapped to their backs with cloth. I wept for these young mothers and the struggles they would face in ensuring adequate nutrition for their children. But that was only the beginning of my grief ...

As we entered the obstetrics ward of the adjacent Galmi Hospital (located about a half hour from Madaoua), a friend offered us vaseline to smell. This was designed to adjust our sense of smell before entering. As you step inside, the terrific stench of the ward just hits you. (Remember, this is where they are caring for newborns and their mothers recovering from childbirth) As bad as the smell was for us, the outside temperature for us was only about 25 degrees. Our friends related to us that when it reaches 45 degrees in the summer, the stench hits you like a wall.

Inside the ward, many young undernourished mothers clung to tiny babies. Some of the mothers looked to be young girls. The sheets and blankets were filthy; flies were everywhere. I felt like a phony with my new jeans and shirt, and digital camera.

It seemed like our visit did some good. We passed out some baby booties and hats, as well as some bags of toothpaste and deodorant. We got to hold babies and smile at moms and grandmas. It was neat to shake hands with the new mothers as we left and to receive smiles and thank yous from them. But clearly, it was not enough.

The Galmi Hospital is a shambles. It has deteriorated horribly and nothing is clean there. The operating room is an even worse facility than the barebones one seen on the deserted island in Lost.

Fortunately, a rebuilding process has begun. Some of the structure will be demolished and replaced, and the rest of the facility will be refurbished. About $350,000 is needed.

Just a thought for the New Year. While you are arranging to maximize your 2006 RRSP contribution, if you have any excess funds, you could give them to help renew the Galmi Hospital in Niger. Giving money to this project would be a very tangible way to help create a facility that would certainly improve health care in this impoverished area of our world.

If you want to do even more, try to get your family and friends to give also. You can find donation information on the SIM website and you can designate for the Galmi Hospital. For every $100 you give, you can deduct $40 for income tax purposes. I know that God will bless you for giving. And you will have the satisfaction that you have made a difference.

Monday, January 1, 2007

I guess I'll have the foie chevre

During the first day of the two-day Muslim celebration in Madaoua at this time of year, most of our team went visiting with our host. We stopped at the house of M, whom I had met the previous day. M's family had slaughtered four rams and stretched the carcasses out on sharpened poles adjacent to a handbuilt fire. These dressed goat rams would be eaten on the second day. But on this day, M's family would eat the insides ...

"Have a taste of this" M said to me, as he fished out a chunk of pale grey goat innards from a steel pot hanging over an open fire, with a heavy steam pervading the atmosphere. The contents of the pot were less than appealing, with assorted grey tripe-like substances floating in a thick brine. I decided to be brave and take one for the team.

As I grasped the morsel for a taste, I realized that this was not unsafe to eat, because the ram had just been butchered, and the morsel was probably a piece of goat liver (foie chevre?) It tasted fine. I had been concerned because M had told me that he usually got sick this time of year from eating the rams (likely due to the carcass not being cooked thoroughly in the hot climate).

M then invited us into his residence where we were offered various dishes of macaroni, fritter and guinea fowl prepared in two separate sauces. All was delicious. For "dessert" M presented a steel container of a thick milky substance. Although it was prepared with unfiltered water, my host assured me that I could safely handle a couple of drops, which I did, with no apparent adverse effects.

For me, it was a great experience to visit a Muslim Nigerien family's home, to benefit from their hospitality and to sample their traditional foods.

Sunday, December 31, 2006