It Never Rains Here, But When It Does, It Sure As Hell Pours

THE HEAT is unrelenting in Niger. Since early March, temperatures have never failed to break the 100-degree barrier or dip below the 75-degree mark. Thankfully, there is no humidity now, but it will arrive when the rains make their yearly appearance from June to September. Come June, that appearance must be a starring role, not a cameo, for rain is all that will save Niger this year. In 2004 an invasion of locusts, coupled with spotty rain, doomed many villages. Without any food, men have left their families to find work in Nigeria and other coastal countries, and women and children have migrated to the larger cities here to beg for money and food. This is the reality for many in a country virtually blanketed by the Sahara.
Despite the daily difficulties of surviving here, Nigeriens possess a certain poise and dignity that counters the intensity of the triple-digit temperatures. They somehow salvage their lives out of the junk that rest of the world so eagerly has thrown away, abandoned because of technological obsolescence, or produced on the cheap: used Peugeots that puff and putter, ratty T-shirts that did not make the cut for Salvation Army or Goodwill, donkey carts, scrap metal in varied states of corrosion, and the ubiquitous plastic buckets from Nigeria used for carting water or washing those ratty T-shirts. Nigeriens somehow conjure millet to rise from the sands of the Sahel. They somehow remain hopeful in the face of constant sorrow and suffering.
The Nigerien who has impressed me the most here is N. G. His mind never ceases to close. Blessed with keen intellect, affable charm, and generous spirit, N. G. has endured the tragic death of his parents and the painful realization that unyielding poverty and ignorance surrounds him.
I met him at the Peace Corps Maradi hostel as he was looking for a former volunteer’s email address. His didactic deliberation captivated me. His gesticulations were direct, and his eyes did not veil any emotion, as Nigeriens are wont to do. I had to listen to him. Our biweekly discussions touched on Nigerien politics, the role of women in society, ignorance and poverty, and the challenges facing the teeming number of youth in his country, what he refers to as the Niger Republic.
The discussions unfortunately had to come to an end. In December, N. G. began his last term at the University of Zaria in Nigeria, and I went on vacation to Senegal with my family. When I returned to Maradi in January, I received a letter from him. Expecting at least some good news in the message, I was devastated when I read the following excerpt from his letter. (Note: I have left his English as is)

I am so worried about my sister health. The week you went to Zinder, she was critically sick, she vomited for three days and logically lost weight. I proposed to her to test her blood to see exactly what is wrong with her. She refused and rejected anything related to blood. She is very scare because for her own understanding AIDS is synonymous to curse. Moreover, she is surrounded by an ignorant world. Also, she is morally weak, she is able to commit suicide. She did it seven years ago, I was the one who rescued her life.
The problem dwells in our doubt whether she is affected or not. There is no accurate proof which justifies she is affected. Suspicion is not scientific. In this situation, we need a certain level of secrecy and diplomacy.
I do not know how to convince her to accept the blood test. Don’t you have any other strategies to persuade her? Don’t you have any female friends among the Peace Corps? If yes, I would her to be my sister’s friend. Already, I feel that she suffers of rejection. It’s my duty to give her hope of staying or living. It is a shame that we’re going to resume [university]. At home, I am the one who is the most interested in it.
Please, do you have contact with any NGOs fighting against AIDS. If really she is affected, it would be nice for you to link her with them…I wish you will do something to save a life.

The most noticeable mistake in his letter is his substitution of “affected” for “infected.” This error is poignant, however, for it illustrates how HIV/AIDS is much more than an infectious disease, especially in Africa. The epidemic affects every aspect of the African community – teachers, farmers, parents, orphans, teenagers, etc. Thankfully, the infection rate in Niger is one of the lowest in Sub-Saharan Africa, but such success is partly based on the fact that this landlocked country is so isolated from the rest of the world. Complacency, therefore, is out of the question.
N. G. came to the Peace Corps Office in Niamey several weeks ago. I had emailed him about what services were available for his sister, and luckily he was coming to the capital the day after I had sent him the message. To see a familiar face in such a new setting (an office with a computer and file cabinet) was comforting, yet from the downcast look in his usually vibrant eyes, that feeling of comfort quickly dissipated.
“My sister is pregnant,” N. G. said. He paused and looked away. I did not know what to say, except to insist that she get tested, especially since free antiretrovirals are now available in the country. He also told me that his university tuition had more than doubled. Because asking for money is quite shameful for a Nigerien, I offered him some, and he graciously accepted it.
I walked him out to the road, congested with mopeds, motorcycles, donkey carts laden with animal fodder, and the occasional gleaming 4X4 Land Cruiser. I walked back to my office and locked it. Putting on my wraparound sunglasses and strapping on my helmet, I pedaled home in the scorching Niamey heat. Even at 5 p.m. the sun was quite a force. I had a lot on my mind, but all I could hope for was a rainy day sometime in June.