Take Your Shoes Off

I'm Back

2006-11-11T07:11:00.000+01:00

It's been almost six months. But I'm back...

Back at Home

2006-05-22T03:09:00.000+01:00

AS WE HOOSIERS are taught to sing about our much ridiculed state, I am crooning "back home again in Indiana."

After ten weeks of surviving out of my suitcase (should I really call it a suitcase? -- I have not worn a suit in years), I am in my bedroom, sitting at the desk where I have completed countless math problems since I was seven. My next homework assignment is to prepare for the next level of my life: graduate school.

(Note: I have substituted "level" for the hackneyed "chapter." I am specifically referring to "video game level," insomuch as I have successfully passed the "Peace Corps level" without dying and have earned the right to explore the city of Columbia, MO and its environs. In other words, life is less like a novel than a role-playing game.)

This weekend, in a conversation with my friend Jessica, I referred to the day when I received my acceptance letter from Mizzou (i.e. the University of Missouri) as one of "The Top Three Most Significant Moments of My Life." Jessica wondered what the two other moments were, and I replied, "The day I received my driver's license." At that moment I could not articulate why, but thanks to one of my high school newspaper columns, I may now retrieve my words from nine years ago to explain myself.

Here's "The Optimist" column I wrote for the March 20, 1997 issue of the Carmel High School HiLite:

Freedom will meet me on July 24 at the Bureau of Motor Vehicles at Keystone Square Mall.

If I encounter no mishaps during my driving test and my eyesight doesn't fail me, I will have my own driver's license on this day. I need my license now. I no longer can depend on other people. I must drive.

Unfortunately, I qualify as a young sophomore. My birthday lies on June 24. I would pay large sums of cash to have my birth certificate altered to Feb. 4. Then I could drive today.

I certainly could be defined as a helpless human being because I can't operate a vehicle.

Restricted

I rely on my friends for rides.

I hate to ask my driving buddies to give me a ride. "Do you have the car today?" remans a frequent conversation starter. I sometimes guiltily request with my best puppy-dog face, "Would you mind giving me a ride home?" If they want to keep a good friendship, they better answer with a strong "yes."

However, I do get annoyed when I do catch a ride. With my friends driving, my life is in their hands. If they make a bonehead move -- run a red light or peel out from an intersection -- I could die. I would hate for them to feel guilty over killing a good man.

Preparation

After taking driving education in the summer, I obtained my learner's permit to practice with my parents before I risk my life alone on the road.

My first drive occurred in the Cherry Tree Elementary parking lot. In June, on a clear summer afternoon, I eagerly awaited my chance to hop in the driver's seat, adjust the mirrors and press my foot on the accelerator. When I first did so, though, the car jolted forward, my dad yelled, "Brake!" and I realized the task wasn't so easy.

I drove for another 30 minutes, doing silly figure eight and ovals. Progressively I gained experience under Dad's constant tutelage. I practiced parking and stopping next to fluorescent orange cones. The objective: to know where the edges of the car are.

Watching my every move

When I drive, my mom sits in the front seat, critiquing my every move of the wheel, stop of the tires and parking of the vehicle.

I want to floor it. She wants me to go the speed limit. I love to listen to the radio, survey the road and sing with my favorite CDs. She always shouts at me, "Keep your eyes on the road."

She has other favorite comments. "Thirty-five is fast enough," she says. "The cops are out. I saw some this morning." I am a loving son, so I obey. She would die if I possessed some bad spirits in my sou.

Jealousy

I hate the sophomores, juniors and seniors who cruise to loud music on the street. They can stay out and choose what time they go home. They don't call parents or catch a ride with a friend. The guys pick up chicks with a "hot car." A ride in style appeals to the ladies.

I don't have a cool automobile. I can't feel the bass rumble throughout my vehicle. I only hear criticism, advice and the boring radio stations my parents listen to contently.

Ready -- of course

When I pass my driving test, I finally will get my picture taken and will show it off to my friends. I will present to them my laminated treasure, my Indiana driver's license.

In my mind, I see myself racing down the interstate with my face out the window, enjoying the brisk breeze throwing back my hair. No one will be in the front seat. I can go anywhere. I could go on a cross-country trip.

I will have my license. Freedom finally will belong to me.

How I Got into Graduate School

2006-05-06T02:26:00.000+01:00

AT THE END OF MARCH I received my acceptance letter from the University of Missouri's School of Journalism. In August I will move to Columbia, located 120 miles west of St. Louis. I will focus on newspaper journalism with a concentration on international journalism.

Here are the essays I submitted as part of my application in January.

1. In a typed essay (250 words maximum), tell us about yourself, particularly your non-school experiences such as work, volunteer efforts, travel and professional endeavors.

Three weeks after graduating from Northwestern University, I disembarked onto the stifling tarmac in Niamey, Niger. My Peace Corps adventure had officially begun.

Now, more than two years later, I no longer turn my head to gawk at the camels ambling down the street. After asking multitudes of questions during training, I now write about my experiences on my blog. After brainstorming countless project ideas, I now have settled in as HIV/AIDS Program Coordinator. Surprises still surface, however. This year, during the AIDS Bike Ride, a weeklong educational awareness campaign that reached more than 7,500 people in 22 villages, I had to deal with episodes of alleged sorcery perpetrated against our 55-member caravan.

Living overseas, traveling, and volunteering spurred my interest in Peace Corps. Before moving from Switzerland to the U. S. when I was five, I asked my dad, “What language do they speak in Indiana?” My wanderlust had been triggered. The current tally stands at 18 countries and 34 states. While at Northwestern, I sensed the classroom extended beyond Evanston. With Alternative Student Breaks, a student-run group that organizes weeklong service-learning trips, I restored prairie in Washington and wetlands in the Everglades. Ultimately, I trained leaders for these trips.

The adventure continues once I leave Niger in March. During the spring and summer, I will travel to South America and bike around Lake Michigan.

The new Peace Corps slogan asks, “Life is calling. How far will you go?”

My reply?

Never far enough.

2. In a second typed essay (250 words maximum) explain:

1. your interest in a graduate journalism degree;
2. why you think Missouri's program best suits your needs; and
3. your professional goals.

Current events have always interested me. As a reporter and editor for the Carmel (IN) High School HiLite, annually named the state’s best high school newspaper, I lived in the newsroom. During senior year, however, I lost my drive. My friends Allan and Jon died, and I covered Jon’s fatal car accident and wrote his obituary.

I have rediscovered my passion for writing and the news while serving as a Peace Corps volunteer in Niger. I started the blog Take Your Shoes Off, which has recorded 7,000 hits since its inception March 19, 2005. I have also intently followed the international media’s intermittent focus on Africa. From the war in Darfur to last summer’s food crisis in Niger, I have grown to appreciate the importance of sustained coverage of such events and the fortitude needed to cover them. With my experience living abroad and my keen eye for cultural nuance, I know I have the will for a career in international newspaper journalism.

What I need now is the expertise. The Missouri School of Journalism is the ideal place to indoctrinate me into the profession. With an intensive two-year track devoted to international journalism, faculty such as Prof. Loory and Prof. Scott specialized in the field, and the required thesis project designed to build on knowledge obtained in the classroom and newsroom, Missouri’s two-year Master’s program will prepare me for a lifelong career in journalism.

3. Advanced study and practice within the fields of Journalism and Advertising rely on the skills involved in gathering and interpreting information as well as the ability to identify important issues and ask good questions. Please:

1. select one of the general topics provided;
2. formulate a question from that topic;
3. explain how you would research the question you pose or you may answer it;
4. frame your question/response within the context of the aspect of journalism you're intending to study; and
5. limit your question and response to 500 words.

Topic: Journalism and the Public Good

Question: Does the Western media’s coverage of Africa adequately inform the public?

Answer: In 2005, more than in other years, Africa was in the news, and rock bands drummed up support for its impoverished nations. Though this consideration was welcome, the media’s coverage was transitory and superficial. If celebrity activists want the world to understand the scope of African poverty, they need more journalists reporting on the people who truly make a difference.

Last year, ironically, the biggest news event concerning Africa did not take place on the continent; rather, it occurred on concert stages across the world. In the run-up to last year’s G-8 summit in Gleneagles, Scotland, Sir Bob Geldof planned a worldwide series of concerts, called Live 8, to make world leaders put global poverty at the top of their agenda. At the summit, it was decided to cancel debt for 18 countries and allocate more aid in the future. Then, several weeks after the concerts, the media, including CNN’s Anderson Cooper, came to Niger to beam pictures across the globe of the country’s malnourished children. At the end of year, the heightened awareness of Africa was honored as Time named U2 singer Bono one of its persons of year for his lobbying on global poverty.

While Live 8 momentarily put Africa on center stage, the media has failed to follow up on the continent’s major news stories. For example, since Niger’s food crisis hit the front pages in July, nearly no one has come back to cover the story except for the BBC, which filed several reports in November. The media treated this crisis as breaking news despite the fact that malnutrition is endemic and unremitting in countries across west Africa. In Niger, the situation remains troubling. In a December press release from Doctors Without Borders (DWB), the organization that spearheaded the relief effort this summer, Johanne Sekkenes, the DWB Chief of Mission in Niger, said, “I am worried about 2006 because I don't think that adequate measures are in place to prevent a new epidemic of acute malnutrition.”

While profiling celebrities hobnobbing with politicians does sell magazines, it does not necessarily tell the story. Though Bono has visited Africa, he still is a rock star. He has not relocated to the continent and devoted his life to alleviating global poverty like Johanne Sekkenes has. DWB not only works in Niger but in more than 70 countries worldwide. Such operations certainly merit consideration for the title of “Person(s) of the Year.”

Ultimately, the media should know better. It should know who counts as the most reliable source. Publications and networks should send more investigative journalists to Africa to interview aid workers and other officials invested in the daily struggle to end endemic poverty. By this means, the public will learn about the real issues facing Africa, the politicians will know how their aid is being spent, and the activists will not have to speak as loudly.

The Rattlesnake

2006-04-24T16:20:00.000+01:00

IN DUE TIME I will write about my travels during the past month, but now I want to share one of my poems.

My mom and I are flying to San Antonio Thursday. My mom grew up in the small town of Devine, 45 minutes southwest of the Alamo, and we will spend Thursday night in her hometown. The poem, entitled "The Rattlesnake," is about my grandfather, who lived in Devine from 1911 to 2002, but died in Houston two years later at the age of 93.

In arid Texas air thronged some mesquite
That leaned on fallen fences of barbed wire.
A rattlesnake emerged from its old sleeve
And slinked around the stems of sprouting burrs.
An old man wobbled nearby, wondering
Why she remembered nothing. Loving her
Was not like tending cattle, hauling hay,
Or driving John Deere tractors. Patience left
Him wilting in his weathered, wrinkled case.
He learned to love his sweetheart once again
By feeding her: bananas, honeyed toast,
Oatmeal and juice and frequent I-love-you's/
He weaved his fingers through her hardened hands
And thought of when their tapestry began
And soon would end. He saw the molted sheath
Beside a budding bunch of prickly pear.
The wind picked up and blew the skin away
From his extended grasp. A tear rolled down
His cheek and soaked the arid Texas air.

Back Home Again in Indiana

2006-03-28T14:21:00.000+01:00

TOMORROW, I'M COMING HOME. Yes, it's true -- I'm alive and healthy. And I even have clean feet.

I'm too excited to dwell on my homecoming right now, but look for something more substanial in the coming week.

Where Have I Been?

2006-03-23T13:55:00.000+01:00

I HAVE NOT POSTED recently, and I even failed to mark the first anniversary of Take Your Shoes Off on March 19. To make up for my absence, here are several photos from the past week in Italy and Switzerland.

From Thursday till Tuesday, I was in Bologna, the culinary capital of Italy. I visited my friend Joe, a first-year student at the Johns Hopkins School of Advanced International Studies. Here we are atop the famous tower in Bologna:

Here I am on the city's narrow, porticoed streets with the tower looming behind me:

After sampling many pizzerias and gelaterias in Bologna, I returned to Switzerland where I spent two peaceful nights in the Alps. I will have pictures uploaded to my Flickr site soon.

I've got to go now, though, for it's time to board another train. In due time, I will post more about my adventures in Europe.

Italia

2006-03-15T10:43:00.000+01:00

YESTERDAY, I LEFT THE FAMILIAR surroundings and sounds of Lake Geneva for Verona, in Italy between Milan(o) and Venice, where I understand not a word. To break through this language barrier, I should obviously use my native language, which is used as the default means of communication between linguistic strangers across the world, but after asking simple questions in Hausa for three years, my instincts tell me to pose queries in the most widely spoken language in West Africa. Fortunately, I have been able to curb such silly desires, but, still, several imprisoned syllables, such as "To" (OK) and "Ko" (right?), have escaped my palate.

The cultural adjustments will take time. After becoming inured to the stark scenery of the Sahel, my mind is racing to keep up with contours of Switzerland and Italy, so I may only imagine the sensory overload that awaits me in the U.S.

On that frightening thought, I will leave this Internet cafe and continue my ramblings along the narrow streets of Verona.

Ciao.

Bird Flu in Niger

2006-03-14T07:45:00.000+01:00

AVIAN FLU, adding a major insult to multiple injuries, has come to Niger. Read this ABC News report.

No Longer in Niger

2006-03-12T15:29:00.000+01:00

LAUSANNE, SWITZERLAND--For the next five months, as I travel around Europe, the United States, and South America, I will blog continuously, recording my itinerant tendencies much to the envy of my sedentary friends. I hope, however, that I will adopt this lifestyle, making a living as an international correspondent or freelance journalist. That is the ultimate reason why I will go to graduate school for journalism.

In the meantime, I will enjoy this extended period free from the rigors of routine. Those places and faces that have seemed so distant during the past three years will soon materialize as I embark on my tour to reclaim my family and friends and retire my stories and experiences from three years in Niger. By the end of July I will surely have fulfilled the Third Goal of Peace Corps, which is to educate Americans about the country from which Saddam Hussein was purportedly seeking to buy uranium. Today, I donned traditional Nigerien clothes and spoke to members of Scots Kirk, the English-speaking church my family attended when we lived in Switzerland, and I have begun to answer the endless stream of questions about the three years during which I disappeared to some distant African country. Although at times I will grow weary of repeating myself, answering those who are curious and attentive will keep reminding me how awesome my adventure was and how it must live on.

I must admit that it is quite shocking to find myself here in Switzerland, where my family lived for three years. The mountainous terrain, the striking cold, and the efficient public transportation – among many things – are quite overwhelming. Right now, as I type this entry at an Internet cafe across from the train station, I hear the loud slaps of air hockey, watch the fast-moving displays of shoot-'em-up video games, and feel the chill creeping in from outside. In two days, I will take a train to Italy, and next week, I will head into the Swiss Alps, where I may attempt to slide down an icy white slope with long, narrow fiberglass boards attached to my feet.

In many ways, the adventure has just begun. As I meet up with friends and family, I will begin to discover how much I have changed in the past three years and how lucky I have been to live in one of the poorest yet utterly enchanting places in all the world.

And, I am sure, I will have to write and write and write to make sense of it all...

Shi Ke Nan (That's It)

2006-03-09T11:57:00.000+01:00

KIDS, LET'S CELEBRATE.

Today, I signed my last pieces of paperwork and received my Peace Corps pin, marking the closing of service (COS) that has been looming for several months. Tonight, I will fly from Niamey to Geneva via Casablanca.

Like I have said before, the words describing today will come to me sometime in the future. In the meantime, I am going to enjoy my last hours in Niger.

My 15 (Five, Really) Minutes of Fame

2006-03-02T20:47:00.000+01:00

An interesting email popped up in my Inbox this morning. I did not recognize the sender. The subject – “Radio Interview Invitation” – was enticing, so I opened it. (Note: I have edited the email for privacy purposes.)

Drew:

My name is Ben (Senegal 97-99), and I am a producer with Your Call, a daily political affairs call-in program broadcast on KALW-FM public radio in San Francisco. (For more information, see our website, www.yourcallradio.org.) The program airs live from 10-11 a.m. Pacific/1-2 p.m. Eastern Time.

I’d like to invite you to come on our show Thursday, March 2nd, from 7:00 to 7:15 PM Niamey time. Our topic will be the 45th anniversary of Peace Corps. We wanted to hear from a PCV in the field and I found your blog and really liked it.

If you are available or have any questions, please email me or call me.

Like a typical villager shocked at the sight of a white person (yes, some people, especially in remote areas of Niger, do not see pasty people that often), I was surprised at who had found me. A public radio producer? From San Francisco? And he wants to talk to me? My fifteen minutes were here, literally.

I just got back from the interview. I ended up calling the station on the Peace Corps satellite phone, and then the host taped a five-minute interview with me. Before the tapes started rolling, she said, “I’m just going to ask you three questions: Where are you? What are you doing? And what’s it like as an American living in a predominantly Muslim country?” Thankfully, I had anticipated the third, quite delicate question, so I had prepared some remarks. But for the two simple queries, I stumbled. To describe where I am and what I am doing, from my point of view, is quite mundane, but for the average radio listener in San Francisco, or anywhere in America, for that matter, such information is intriguing. We volunteers tend to forget how atypical our experiences are. Approximately 3,000 volunteers have served in Niger since 1962, meaning virtually no one in the United States besides Peace Corps volunteers has any familiarity with life in west Africa. When you have only several minutes with which to attempt to describe where you are and what you are doing, you can hardly do justice to the experience or convey any shades of life here. Even my family, after many of my letters and phone calls, had to come to Senegal to even begin to comprehend what it is like here.

If you are truly interested about this region, I suggest you pick up George Packer’s book The Village of Waiting. To supplement Packer's timeless observations, you could also make your way through this site and others featured on the Peace Corps blog webring. Or you could actually join the Peace Corps, which, of course, I recommend.

Is it the End or the Beginning?

I cannot believe this experience is almost over and that my travels will soon begin. In one week, I will be flying to Switzerland, where snow and single-digit temperatures will confuse my body that is conditioned to sweat profusely. At the end of March, I will be sleeping in my own bed at my parents’ home in Indianapolis. In June, I will venture to the Southern Hemisphere, Bolivia and Argentina, specifically. In July, I will get to know one of the Great Lakes as my brother and I will bike around Lake Michigan. In August, I will be back in the classroom to get my Master’s degree in journalism.

Several friends have asked how I feel right now, one week away from leaving this remote place. I tell them, “This experience has been exceptional. I have had an adventure, but it won’t end here. Living in Niger for three years has given me renewed confidence and many intangible skills that will continue to manifest themselves long after I am gone, but I am ready to move on, see my friends and family, and pursue a career in journalism.”

Like my answers to the radio host’s questions, many ineffable sentiments undergird those words that I hope to expound on in the coming months.

* * *

I had to take a break from writing this entry because I received a phone call from San Francisco. My volunteer friend Anne-Claire, whom I wrote about last month, had received my email telling her to listen to KALW-FM at 10 a.m. After hearing my five-minute interview, which followed Congressman Sam Farr’s, she felt the urge to call me.

If you want to hear what I had to say, please visit Your Call’s website. The program’s streaming audio feed will be available by the end of the day.

* * *

This stream of consciousness will continue as I begin to grapple with the culture shock (and temperature shock) that awaits me in Switzerland and beyond. Check this site periodically for vicarious thrills.

Two Weeks To Go...

2006-02-24T11:42:00.000+01:00

COUNTDOWN TO DEPARTURE: Two weeks.

Yesterday, I returned from my final trip to eastern Niger where I first served as a volunteer, and, suddenly, the end is palpably near. After saying goodbye to friends and volunteers and making one last trip to the bush, where I fittingly contracted my final case of diarrhea, I am back in Niamey for a hectic two weeks during which I must train my replacement as AIDS Coordinator, fill out the necessary Peace Corps paperwork, buy souvenirs, pack, make final preparations for the first leg of my five-month break (Switzerland and Italy) and make peace with this experience.

What once was the unforseeable future has quickly become the immediate present, and I am enveloped in this inexplicable blur.

An Evening By the Banks of the Niger

2006-02-08T12:20:00.000+01:00

YESTERDAY, MY FRIEND KELLEY AND I, along with some friends, spent the late afternoon on the banks of the Niger River, the third-longest river in Africa. We watched the sun set several kilometers upstream from downtown Niamey, where the John F. Kennedy Bridge serves as the only way to travel to the Rive Droite (the Right Bank), where the national university and several residential areas are located.

We were perched ten feet above the shore, on a terrace overlooking a small dam constructed by the Chinese in 1989. Although the dam produces some electricity, its main purpose is to supply drinking water for the capital. Water is diverted to a treatment plant and then sent to water towers scattered throughout the sprawling, dusty city.

Do not be confused by his name or his height. Kelley (above) would like you to know that he's one of the most masculine volunteers in Peace Corps. First of all, he's from the state of Texas, specifically the city of Houston, and he's proud to be known as one of the few Republican volunteers. My roommate Seth, who rounds up our small fraternity of those who have extended for a third year in the capital, does not hesitate to remind him of these facts, but I defend Kelley's home state since my mom's family is from the State of the Longhorn (Hook 'em Horns). True to his heritage, in his biggest project during his first two years of service, when he lived in a rural village 100 km northeast of Niamey, Kelley built a slaughterhouse. Now, in Niamey, he works at the National Museum and Zoo, but he will rough it again in several months when he starts working at an ostrich farm in the land of the Kanuri tribe, 1000 km east of Niamey. Kelley will be able to handle it. He is tough and seasoned. His shaved dome has collected rays on the Niger River all the way from Timbuktu to Gaya (the Nigerien city downstream from Niamey on the Benin border), which he navigated in a traditional dugout canoe, and in the Sahara, which he recently visited on a two-week trip with an international conservation NGO.

Yesterday, hearing the rush of water enlivened my spirits, reminding me that soon I will walk along the shores of my favorite body of water, Lake Geneva (above), in Switzerland. My encounters with lakes will not end once I return Stateside. In July, I will bike around Lake Michigan with my brother, and, in October, my friend Ben will get married at Lake Geneva, in Wisconsin, that is.

My days here are running out. In one month, I will leave the continent. I cannot wait to see my friends and family, eat pizza, ice cream, and broccoli, and drink real coffee and filling beer, but I must say that I will miss the pace of life here. I equate America with the ALL-CAPS, RUN-ON WRITING (!!!) embodied by Tom Wolfe, Hunter S. Thompson, and their gonzo contemporaries, those pioneers who raced around the sprawling states and really effected the language and style. I expect my senses to overload, my synapses to snap. I have already started to leaf through magazines -- glossies like GQ -- and I cannot help but stare at all the technology and gadgets and gear. Cell phones, iPods, clothing, cologne, new DVDs, new music, new books...coming out every week. Advertising (creating DEMAND! DEMAND! DEMAND!) pollutes the steady recesses of the mind. (Who really needs a Gillette razor with five blades?)

In the end, I have been lucky to see the best, and the worst, of two disparate worlds and to witness their cultural similarities and differences. I will never be able to fully forswear or endorse either. Ultimately, I strive to find the balance between the two, a life as dynamic and steady as the waters I calmly watched last night.

Peace Corps Niger and My Fellow Volunteers

2006-01-31T18:41:00.000+01:00

(TWO WEEKS WITHOUT A POST. I am ashamed.)

Sunday, I got back from another visit out east, to the cities of Maradi and Zinder, where I spent the first 18 months of my Peace Corps service. Since I have five weeks remaining in Niger, the trip triggered an intense reflection of this experience, which will last long after I leave.

As I hung out with volunteer friends at the regional hostels, I realized how much I will miss them. One of my many reasons for joining Peace Corps was the opportunity to meet like-minded Americans dedicated to service, travel, and adventure. In addition, once my service was over, I could meet new friends through the network of RPCVs (returned Peace Corps volunteer).

This rationale was reasonable. As a friend wrote in an email, "My roommate here in Maryland is an RPCV from Honduras. She is really cool. It's always a relief to meet RPCVs - we are just a little superior from the average American."

Braggadocio aside, volunteers have garnered certain qualities from their respective stints abroad, for better or for worse, and some will always identify more with fellow volunteers, explaining the difficulties some encounter when they return to the United States. For example, in May 2004, while on vacation in the U.S., I visited a friend in Denver. One night, at a party, upon hearing I was a Peace Corps volunteer, some guests immediately introduced me to an RPCV from Ghana, who had just completed her service. Bundled up in a wool hat, scarf, and parka to combat the 50-degree chill, she complained about the cold, and we compared stories of getting by in West Africa. Her relief in coming across another volunteer was palpable.

In Zinder, I was reminded that volunteers have had exceptional experiences outside of Peace Corps. Kelly regaled me by recounting how she won a Dodge Neon on The Price Is Right, and Katie admitted how she was the inspiration for the Onion article "Area Girlfriend Still Hasn't Seen Apocalypse Now."

Tonight, I will say goodbye to another volunteer, Anne Claire, whose supercharged chatter rivals only her linguistic skills. The stream of departing volunteers will continue into February and March as we all head elsewhere, going ways that will never be completely separate.

Some Words on MLK...

2006-01-16T11:47:00.000+01:00

AS AMERICANS AROUND THE WORLD sleep in today—the U. S. Embassy and Peace Corps office close on all official American holidays—I must ask myself, What do I really know about Martin Luther King Jr.?

While reading about the Colts’ “Super Bust” in the Indianapolis Star, I noticed that my hometown paper compiled a comprehensive list of facts about the man and chronicled the development along “depressed” MLK Street. One of Chris Rock’s most famous remarks focused on the realities of such streets: “If a friend calls you on the telephone and says they're lost on Martin Luther King Boulevard and they want to know what they should do, the best response is 'Run!'”

Unlike some federal holidays, this day is worthy of celebration. I am ashamed that I know more about the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria from my days in elementary school than the details of King’s life. I cannot quote his writings. I cannot recite his famous speeches. All I can truly recall is the timbre of the voice that resonates to this day, inspiring a generation of orators from Cornel West to Barack Obama.

Today, I stayed in silence for a moment, and I swear I heard it, faint but potent, somewhere in my subconscious. I hesitate to use such a word, but it was, if I could choose only one, steadfast.

Do you feel the same way? Do you hear that voice today?

SPORTS!!!

2006-01-08T15:35:00.001+01:00

THE NFL PLAYOFFS kicked off yesterday.

Drew, why are you clogging this blog with comments about sports? I did not come here to read about such pointless activities. Why should I care?

Well, talking about sports can break the ice. For example, last night I met one of the American doctors who is currently here to perform surgeries on women suffering from fistula. (For more information on fistula, visit the program’s website.) Chuck, an avid Pittsburgh Steelers fan, asked me where he could watch the Steelers-Bengals shootout this weekend. I filled him in on how we expatriates get our football fill, and, tonight, we will watch the game together at the American Community Center.

Boy, you sure are clever, bringing an issue like fistula into this discussion.

Whether you like it or not, sports stars raise awareness about many health issues. The apotheosis is Lance Armstrong. His recovery from cancer has inspired millions.

OK, Drew...I will let you off the hook. Proceed with your commentary as I scroll past this post.

Before I begin my sports analysis, I recommend you all read more about my thoughts on sports’ benefit to society. Check out this post from July.

Now I may finally respond to my friend, fellow blogger, and Sports Guy enthusiast Michael Ferrario. He posted a comment yesterday asking about my beloved Indianapolis Colts and Pacers. For some reason, Ferrario wrote that the potential Colts-Patriots match-up is “the only thing to look forward to in the playoffs.” My friend from San Fran obviously has reasons to be a grumpy NFL fan:

1) He is bitter about his performance in fantasy league football.

2) His 49ers lost the Reggie Bush Bowl and ended up with the 7th pick in the draft.

3) Like everyone else in the world, he has yet to discover the beauty of the Seattle Seahawks, an underappreciated team in an underappreciated city.

Unfortunately, Ferarrio's desired match-up will not transpire this month. Why? Let me demonstrate. When the Steelers win tonight, the Patriots will have to fly to Denver, where they will lose next week. Wow. Was it that simple? Anyway, here are some other intriguing match-ups:

Must See Game #1: Steelers vs. Bengals. Cincy hosts its first playoff game since the days of the Ickey Shuffle. (The New York Times had a great profile about him in today’s edition.)

Must See Game #2: Giants vs. Bears. After the G-Men cage the Panthers, they will maul the Bears at Soldier Field. Then, they will shoot down the Seahawks, giving us…

The Most Intriguing Super Bowl Match-Up Ever: Giants vs. Colts. Two brothers face off. Older brother Peyton, quarterback for the Colts, and younger brother Eli, quarterback for the Giants.

Sorry, I just lied. I truly think the Seahawks will advance by beating the Bears in the NFC Championship Game. All I know is that advertister are banking on a Giants-Colts Super Bowl.

Though I will be able to watch the Super Bowl on American Forces Network (AFN), the satellite network that beams entertainment to our armed forces around the globe, I will be unable to enjoy the commercials. During commercial breaks, AFN blocks the network feed and airs public service announcements and military propaganda. I will put together a list of my favorites after watching the Steelers-Bengals game tonight. These spots are quite bizarre, including Greatest Moments in American Military History.

Now, the Bouncing Ball: Ferrario, as for your question about the Pacers, they have been dogged by minor injuries, which have consequently exacerbated their lack of chemistry and inconsistency (i.e. losses to Toronto and Atlanta). Jermaine O’Neal was out with pneumonia for several games, and Jamaal Tinsley tweaked his elbow. They should both be back tonight against the Kings. While playing without their starting point guard and All-Star power forward, the Pacers were 2-1, blowing out Seattle at home, laying an egg at Denver, and notching a huge win at Golden State. Here are keys to the Pacers’ success this season:

· Getting Jeff Foster healthy. He is an underrated center, but he still has not fully recovered from his offseason hip surgery. Without Artest’s physical presence and Foster’s textbook rebounding and hustle, O’Neal is being swarmed inside. In time, Danny Granger will replace Artest, but as a rookie, he should not be expected to perform miracles.

· Establishing a point guard rotation. Coach Carlisle has limited minutes for Jamaal Tinsley, Sarunas Jasikevicius, and Anthony Johnson. Since I have not watched a single game this season, I have no idea who should play. All I know is Carlisle needs to settle on something.

The most promising aspect of the season so far is Jermaine O'Neal. He has heeded the call to be a leader. His continuing maturity will assure that the Pacers remain a playoff team for years to come. Donnie Walsh's trade after the 2000 season, when the Pacers lost to the Lakers in the Finals, has to be one of the greatest deals in recent history.

As for the Pacers’ prospects this season, I believe they will finish with the fifth-best record in the East, behind Detroit, Miami, New Jersey, and Cleveland. Based on their playoff experience, they may have a shot against LeBron and Company. Cleveland could fade like last year, so the Blue and Gold could get the fourth seed.

I must not end this post without giving a shout out to the Northwestern Wildcats men's basketball team. They have won their first two games in the Big Ten, warranting more attention from me in the coming weeks.

Technorati tags: Indianapolis Colts, Indiana Pacers, fistula, sports

Go Colts

2006-01-05T20:16:00.000+01:00

I ROOT FOR THE INDIANAPOLIS COLTS.This article describes how they are family. If you do not follow football, here is the scoop: The Colts are the favorites to win the Super Bowl. Their head coach Tony Dungy puts faith and family above football, which is not common in the NFL. When his eldest son committed suicide Dec. 21, he relied on all three.

Cross your fingers for the Colts. It would be great for them to win it all this year.

David Letterman, Armenia, and Google Video (Among Other Things).

2006-01-05T18:41:00.000+01:00

TODAY I WAS ASKED BY Katy Pearce, one of the premier bloggers focusing on Armenia, to mentor Armenian foreign exchange students in an effort to create an independent Armenian blogosphere. I will post more information about this in the future.

Her request encouraged me to poke around the Internet for some interesting links and stories:

1) Google continues to diversify. Check out these videos from Niger produced by UNICEF.

2) People have asked me why I like David Letterman and despise Jay Leno. Dave proved himself by standing up to Bill O'Reilly. He may not have Leno's ratings, but he hails from Indianapolis, loves his mother, and entertains America. Plus, he sponsors a scholarship at his alma mater, Ball State University.

3) This blog is about the stenography subculture. Binita is studying to become a court reporter. Her husband was a Peace Corps Volunteer, and he also blogs. Coincidentally, Katy Pearce also asked him to be a mentor.

4) Before becoming a Peace Corps Volunteer, you must get medically cleared. Read one person's bloody account here.

5) Sean, Nate, and Tuuli are currently in Cameroon. They visited me in Niamey two months ago. Their journey started in the Gambia, and as you can see on the map, their destination is Ethiopia. Here is yours truly standing with Nate next to their ride, a 1979 Datsun Skyline.

Check out more photos here.

On that note, it is time for me to return home and revise my grad school essays.

Sai an jima.

Barka da Sabuwa Shekara! (Happy New Year!)

2006-01-03T16:12:00.000+01:00

HAPPY NEW YEAR, EVERYBODY.

2006 started at the Marine House in Niamey, the only place in Niger to watch the NFL on a big screen TV while relaxing in a leather recliner. A few of the fine and the proudest are deployed here to protect the embassy, and they hosted a small but lively party.

The excitement continued New Year's Day and yesterday as I stayed at home and read my remaining issues of the Economist (my subscription has finally expired) and back issues of the New Yorker that someone dropped off at the Peace Corps office last week. I especially enjoyed the profile of Steve Buscemi, the most unassuming actor in film.

Today, I was reminded that I soon will be able to purchase the New Yorker off the newsstand -- in America. In other words, my feet are in the lobby, not quite yet out the door. This afternoon, my replacement as HIV/AIDS Program Coordinator was selected, and I continued to work on my journalism graduate school applications.

While revising essays, I received two fascinating emails:

1) Jason, a former Niger volunteer, is working for Relief International in Pakistan. Here is how he spent his Christmas: "I was on a UN helicopter headed toward Muzaffarabad, the capital of Pakistan controlled Kashmir. There I was, flying over some of the most spectacular scenery and mountain ranges of South Asia, and, looking out the window, all one could see was a landscape littered with the remnants of civilization."

2) A senior staffer from Sen. Harry Reid's office replied to an email I sent this weekend. At the end of August, before Congress was swamped with debates about the handling of Hurricane Katrina and the war in Iraq, Sen. Reid sent two senior staffers to West Africa to report on the food crisis. Along with several volunteers, I had the opportunity to eat dinner with them at an embassy official's residence. The dinner was an open forum as we asked the staffers questions about the political climate in the States and answered their queries about the merits of our Peace Corps service. While cleaning out my bedroom this weekend, I came across one of the staffer's business cards, and my curiosity compelled me to write him a quick email to find out exactly what had come of his visit. What he wrote, which I will elaborate on in a future post, was quite interesting and prompted many questions:

* When the United States must deal with the clean-up of Katrina, how should the country officially respond to such notable humanitarian disasters in countries such as Pakistan and Sudan (Darfur) as well as intractable political situations in Zimbabwe and Myanmar? Where does one draw the line between humanitarian relief and politics? And how do governments respond to such an array of problems without neither neglecting their sovereign populations nor ignoring the plight of the impoverished worldwide?

Whoa. What dense, loaded questions. And I still have to write an 800-word essay for Northwestern about objectivity in journalism.

I have written enough. It is now Jason's turn to share his remarkable experiences from earthquake-ravaged Pakistan.

In the beginning of December, Jason informed his friends why he decided to take a job there:

"after much deliberation and reflection i have decided to take a leave of absence from my native land and accept a temporary assignment to work overseas. the real truth is that my passport has, in recent months, been collecting more dust than was appropriate, and was, consequently, a sight i could not bear to see. so on monday dec. 5th (coincidentally the same date i left for africa three years ago) i will get on the jet plane once more, destination pakistan.

the NGO that i am working with, relief international, has just been awarded a $3 million dollar grant from USAID for shelter reconstruction and rehabilitation, so i am being deployed to help implement this project and provide logistical support to get this program running. it is a really fantastic opportunity for me, to have the chance to get back in the field, doing the kind of work that excites me and challenges me. i will be stationed up in the northwest frontier province of pakistan, near the border with afghanistan, acquainting myself with the deep snows and freezing temperatures characteristic of that region. so its going to be a white christmas for me."

Here is the New Year's greeting I received from him this morning:

"hey everyone –

well another year has come and gone. i’m here, typing away, trying to remember exactly how 2005 managed to pass so quickly – it all seems so fresh in my memory, as if it was only yesterday that i said my goodbyes to all my friends in niger, took off on my great never-to-be-repeated adventure across africa, and finally returned to america. i didn’t even have any time to relax and reflect on all the deeper meanings and philosophical truths i encountered along the way, and now here i am, about to close the chapter on what i would term one of the more educational years of my life, and turn the page, and welcome (with reckless abandon, of course) the beginning of a new year.

so i’m sitting here, looking out the window, watching some not so-unexpected combination of rain and snow fall lightly on the ground. it’s been a long time coming. in a perfect world, a merciful one, it would not have come at all. it’s been like this for four days now, and it is the exact kind of weather that locals fear and dread most – it signifies the onset of winter. deep snow and rain-induced landslides have already made some roads impassable and threatened the humanitarian aid effort. this isn’t just any kind of winter. this is the winter that is following, less than three months later, the most devastating natural disaster in the history of pakistan. this is the season that will bring freezing temperatures to the millions of displaced persons without adequate shelter. this is the time of year of second tragedies.

during the last few weeks i have been trying, mainly for my own sake, to really understand the magnitude of this situation here. i suppose what i was really doing was attempting to reconcile the reality of my new life with all the articles and pictures that had lately been relegated to the backpages of magazines and newspapers. on christmas day i was on a UN helicopter headed toward muzaffarabad, the capital of pakistan controlled kashmir. there i was, flying over some of the most spectacular scenery and mountain ranges of south asia, and, looking out the window, all one could see was a landscape littered with the remnants of civilization. i spent the day walking on rubble and concrete, trying to imagine, unsuccessfully, what the city must have looked like had it had the good fortune to have been spared. this is the reality of the AJK (azad jammu & kashmir province) and the NWFP (northwest frontier province) – 99% of buildings damaged or destroyed, 90% of populations reduced to living in ghettoized tent cities, 90% of people dependent on food rations; 3.5 million internally displaced persons, unofficial reports that 150,000 died in the initial earthquake, and that 150,000 more may perish as a result of winter conditions.

i've gained an awful lot of perspective since I’ve been here. one moment, i’m feeling small and insignificant. it’s humbling to see others so powerless, vulnerable, mortal. we have this tendency to think of humanity as invincible and indestructible, and yet, in reality, it really isn’t at all. at other times, it's been empowering. it is something else to see individuals, young and old, rich and poor, man and woman, who’ve lost everything, their whole lives, their loved ones, their homes, their possessions, returning to the streets, getting back to work. The resiliency of the people here, despite all that happened, getting back on their feet, moving on, helping one another, it has made me believe that maybe there is hope after all. and of course, i never cease to be amazed at all the times strangers have invited me into the confines of their tents without hesitation, offered me hot tea and cookies from their own rations, and sent me on my way with nothing more than a smile. as if what matters most in the world is not what we have, or don’t have, but how we treat our fellow man.

so I guess, in these last few days, i’ve been reflecting a lot on how fortunate i am. on how grateful i am for all the wonderful things in my life. on how nice it is to be one of the 'haves' rather than the 'have nots'. and then i was thinking how nice it would be if, just this once, it didn’t snow anymore this year in pakistan, because i think everyone here has suffered enough. it would be neat if they could have some good fortune too.

i hope everyone had a fantastic holiday season and a happy new year’s. here’s to the next 362 days, for good and bad, for better and for worse.

wishing everybody the best in 2006.

jason"

Thanks, Jason. I could not have said it any better.

Christmas in Peace Corps Niger

2005-12-27T16:20:00.000+01:00

YESTERDAY, I RETURNED FROM MARADI, where I celebrated a relatively standard Christmas with my former Peace Corps teammates.

Though I have lived in the capital Niamey since March, I still regard the eastern, Hausa-speaking region as home. I started my service there, where I visited my closest volunteer friends in their villages. In Niamey, I go to work at the Peace Corps office, where I talk in English every day. I do not regret my decision to become HIV/AIDS Coordinator at all, but whenever I return east, I am reminded of how the typical volunteer lives.

After a grueling nine-hour bus ride Thursday, I arrived in Maradi, Niger’s second-largest city and economic capital. My friend Nicholas was there to greet me, and John, the volunteer team leader and chef extraordinaire, picked me up.

I stayed at the Maradi Peace Corps hostel, where volunteers retreat when they need to work or to escape from their villages. Twenty-five volunteers live in the region, but the hostel may accommodate only fifteen comfortably. Thankfully, the new volunteers decided to celebrate Christmas in Zinder, so the fifteen of us that remained did not step on each other’s filthy toes.

The Maradi hostel is comprised of two houses: John’s house, where he lives, and the team computer, modem, and telephone arelocated; and the hostel, with patio, living room, kitchen, three bathrooms, medical cabinet, storage rooms, and TV/VCR/DVD lounge. The majority of volunteers sleep outside, either on the patio or the roof.

When I arrived at the hostel, I was quite pleased to see that several volunteers had decked it out in tinsel, lights, and other festive decorations. A plate of cookies was sitting on the table, and a fake poinsettia and miniature metallic tree graced the red velour bar. The spirit of the season was everywhere. Even the camel puppet sporting aviator glasses was wearing a Santa hat.

During the days leading up to Christmas Eve, volunteers trickled in from their villages and immediately went to the post office to pick up their Christmas packages. A Charlie Brown Christmas soundtrack played as I caught up with those who were not watching The Sopranos in the TV lounge. I compared itineraries with friends leaving in February and March—China, Ecuador, and Thailand were the most exotic destinations—and I started to challenge everyone to games—especially Scrabble, euchre, Yahtzee, and cribbage. My first game of euchre was perfect as Laura and I drubbed our opponents Christine and Tyson 10-0. Tyson got his revenge by rolling three Yahtzees, easily posting the week’s high score. Monopoly, however, was the popular game of the week. For several nights, mimicking the greedy property owners they were impersonating, five volunteers took over the living room, forcing us to steal their dice on more than one occasion.

For the most part, however, we let the season imbue us with cheer. The seasonal desert wind, called the harmattan, started to blow, providing a Christmas chill. The requisite Christmas movies were viewed: Elf, The Grinch (the animated classic, not the live-action dud), Scrooged, Love Actually, and Catch Me If You Can. I was kept out of the kitchen as John, Laura, and Darin prepared our three Christmas meals: glazed doughnuts from scratch for breakfast, French toast and fruit salad (papaya, pineapple, banana, and watermelon) for brunch, and duck, stuffing, scalloped potatoes, squash, and green beans) for dinner. Then, we celebrated Christine’s Christmas birthday with Jello-brand cheesecake.

Celebration was not my only reason for making the 650-kilometer trip. In September, I organized a three-day HIV/AIDS training for teenage Girl Scouts in Maradi. They learned the basics of STI/HIV/AIDS, and then they were encouraged to talk to their friends about the disease. I went to Maradi to follow up on the project. I met with Habibou, the region's scoutmaster, who will meet with the girls in the coming weeks.

I also saw my friend Nicholas, who recently graduated from the University of Zaria in Nigeria. When I periodically see Nicholas, he is usually distraught, so I was pleased to see him in good spirits. He said he plans to move to Niamey to look for development work. On Christmas Eve, he invited me to his grandmother’s house, where his sister and her child also live. His sister is HIV-positive, and I wrote about her and her child in April. I was encouraged to see her in good health—she is still in the asymptomatic stage—and her baby Mohamed playing happily. (Unfortunately, his status will be unknown for several more months. Mohamed is still carrying his mother’s antibodies, so it is unclear whether he himself is HIV-positive.) Thanks to Nicholas’s constant care and support, she and Mohamed will continue to make monthly trips to the missionary hospital two hours from Maradi.

Yesterday, I got up at 4:30 a.m. to return to Niamey. The night had not yet yielded as I shuffled through the empty sand streets to the bus station. My stomach was still sufficiently full from the late Christmas dinner. I reached the station and waited to board. After claiming my aisle seat, I instantly fell asleep, only to awake when the bus stopped for morning prayer. Except for the crazy, possessed woman constantly screaming and chanting and the bags dropping on my head from the overstuffed overhead luggage rack, my trip back to Niamey was quite pleasant.

* * * * *

Now, my days in Niger are numbered. In the next few weeks, I will finish my graduate school applications, and I will complete the AIDS Bike Ride final report. Once March hits, I will shop for souvenirs, say my goodbyes, and ultimately pack my bags.

On my way back from Maradi, alone on the bumpy bus ride, I began to think about my forthcoming departure. Though I look forward to traveling and returning home, I do not want to dwell on it for too long. Change is always unsettling.

My time here has been frustrating yet rewarding, lonely yet comforting, and despairing yet hopeful. Those words suffice, for now.

Joyeux Noel.

2005-12-21T20:01:00.000+01:00

TOMORROW I AM OFF to Maradi, where I lived for one year, to celebrate Christmas. I will be back Monday.

Greet Santa for me. He does not come to Niger anymore after he suffered major heat stroke in the Sahara several years ago.

Autobiographical Essay

2005-12-20T12:42:00.000+01:00

FOR THE PAST WEEK, I have been focused on my graduate school applications. Next fall, I hope to get my Master's in Journalism.

I have listed the instructions for one of my essays, and my answer follows. I would appreciate feedback on my effort. Post comments here.

Essay A: Autobiographical Essay In a short autobiographical essay, tell us about yourself. You can write about your family, your education, your talents, or your passions; about significant places or events in your life; about books you have read, people you have met, or work you've done that has shaped the person you have become. Our only requirements are that the essay be informative, well written, and reflective of your own voice; our only cautions are that you avoid poetry, purple prose, or writing about yourself in the third person. (1000-word limit)

Response (964 words)

EVEN AFTER TWO YEARS as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Niger, long after the initial fits of culture shock, certain moments still strike me. Whenever the sun especially scorches, or a stranger’s gaze lingers, the simple revelation resurfaces—I am in Africa—and I consider, for that brief second, how I ended up here.

My ancestors never dreamed of such a life. Aubrey Earl Driscoll (Papaw), my maternal grandfather, happily settled in the small town of Devine, TX, for more than 90 years. As a rancher and owner of Driscoll Lumberyard, he went to the Lion’s Club meeting every Friday and prayer breakfast, Sunday school, and service at the Baptist Church every Sunday. My grandmother Nonnie, the first grade teacher in town, taught a generation how to read, and, now, members of the community may check out books at Driscoll Public Library.

Granddad, my paternal grandfather, is a thankful retiree of the Bell System. He whiles away the winter in his condo in south Florida and then migrates with his Orioles to Baltimore for the warmer months. Whenever I talk to him on the phone from Niger, he always asks me, perpetually puzzled, “How long is it now before you come home?”

My decision to join the Peace Corps has never failed to elicit such questioning remarks, and I must admit that I still struggle at times to express my rationale. In the end, my cultural curiosity is simply something I cannot quell, an innate quality I developed as a child.

I discovered difference when my family moved to Switzerland for one year when I was five. At the International School of Lausanne, I was an American among a sea of Europeans. At our neighbors’ dinner table, I was a rapt spectator to the multilingual volleys of conversation—French to Swiss German to English. In Paris, I wound my family through the subterranean maze of the Paris Métro. Once the year had passed, I was eager to ask about our next adventure. “Dad, what language do they speak in Indiana?”

The stimulation was tempered on the lawns of Carmel (by-the-Corn). Though I played along with American customs, I could not forget all those foreign sights and sounds. One day, in the carpool to Little League practice, the question was posed, “What is your favorite city?”

“Cincinnati.”

“Indianapolis.”

“Chicago.”

“Paris.”

Five years later, the city was one of many on my family’s itinerary when we found ourselves eating fondue again. My dad had accepted an 18-month appointment at IMD, an international business school in Lausanne, so with our green Michelin guide in hand, we viewed Florence in the rain, Salzburg and Vienna in the stifling sun, and Belgium by bicycle.

Soon, our passports were filed away again, and we were back in the same house we had left 18 months earlier. Puberty had rendered my former friends unrecognizable. Classmates asked if I spoke Swiss. Gradually, I learned to accept the trivialities of suburban adolescence, and, eventually, I graduated from high school.

When I got to Northwestern University, all I knew at first was that I did not know where to go. During high school, college had been the definitive destination, with countless signposts directing me there, but now that I had arrived, all I could do was follow the masses. Therefore, economics became my default major. Instead of poring over problem sets, however, I spent my time composing poetry. Instead of examining the wonders of supply and demand, I read books that were recommended by staff at Border’s Books and Music. While reading Dave Eggers’s A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius in my room, a bleary-eyed friend popped in and asked, “How do you have time to pleasure read during finals?”

Over time, I got back on the blue highways. Mustering enough courage to exit off the interstate to consulting and investment banking, I signed up for Introduction to Poetry and immediately lost any desire to crunch numbers. During spring break, while removing invasive species on prairie outside Olympia, WA with 15 fellow students, the rewards of service enlivened me. I led my next trip with Alternative Student Breaks, and, ultimately, I trained all the group’s site leaders.

The most significant event was when, for the first time in nine years, I went to the place that had first opened my mind. In 2002, my parents moved back to Switzerland, and I lived with them for the summer. My familiarity with the landscape was eerie, and I caught myself perusing the atlas once again. After taking intensive French classes at the University of Lausanne and backpacking across Europe, I headed back to Northwestern for my senior year. One day while considering the future, I figured I would go to Africa, the large landmass that I knew nothing about. One month before graduation, I received my Peace Corps assignment in my mail. Consulting an atlas, I located Niger.

Three weeks after donning my cap and gown, I disembarked onto the boiling tarmac in Niamey. On the way to the Peace Corps training site, the sights overwhelmed me: the camels lazing around, ramshackle shops constructed of scrap wood and chicken wire spilling into the dusty, bumpy streets, small boys perched atop donkeys, smacking them with long sticks, and the sharp light falling from another sweltering afternoon in the humid heat of rainy season. The memories go on and on from those first months, a cascading catalog of sensory overload.

Though I feel relatively comfortable now in Niger, with my service terminating in March, the adventure must continue. My curiosity will propel me to California and South America and on a bike trip through Wisconsin, Michigan, and Indiana.

The new Peace Corps slogan asks, “Life is calling. How far will you go?”

My reply?

Never far enough.

Leaving on a Jet Plane.

2005-12-13T14:07:00.000+01:00

IT IS OFFICIAL. I have purchased my ticket out of Africa.

The date: March 10.

The destination: Geneva, via Casablanca.

Now, I may put away the ticket till my departure date, and make sure that I do the things I have always wanted to do before I leave (i.e. eat camel meat, rent a boat on the Niger River).

Website of the Day: Engrish.com. This hilarious site illustrates the bizarre Japanese usages of English. As explained on the website, "Most of the Engrish found on Engrish.com is not an attempt to communicate - English is used as a design element in Japanese products and advertising to give them a modern look and feel (or just to 'look cool'). There is often no attempt to try to get it right, nor do the vast majority of the Japanese population (= consumers) ever attempt to read the English design element in question (the girl wearing the 'Spread Beaver' shirt for example, had no idea what it said until a foreigner pointed it out to her). There is therefore less emphasis on spell checking and grammatical accuracy (note: the same can be said for the addition of Japanese or Chinese characters to hats, shirts and tattoos found in the US or Europe)."

AIDS Ride Photos are Here.

2005-12-12T16:48:00.000+01:00

FINALLY, AS ADVERTISED, I have uploaded photos from the 2005 Peace Corps Niger AIDS Bike Ride. You may check out the 55 photos here. I must credit Omar and Katie for taking these excellent pictures. As you say in Zarma: Fonda goy!

Thoughts on Africa and the Cold.

2005-12-11T12:25:00.000+01:00

IT IS DECEMBER IN NIGER, and the cold season has arrived.

After the sun sets, the temperature plummets more than 30 degrees -- to the mid-60s.

I have refused to wear anything but flip-flops during my stint here, but I may have to start wearing socks soon.

If I am seriously cold, Nigeriens are absolutely freezing. Old men wear several T-shirts under their traditional clothing and tightly wrap a turban around their head. My guard confronts the frigid conditions with the following ensemble: a grey-pinstriped suit with grey T-shirt underneath, his Muslim skull cap, and flip-flops. A Nigerien jogger sported the most startling winter outfit I have ever seen. On a clear, crisp December morning when you had no chance to see your own breath, I saw a man running down the street wearing a trenchcoat and sneakers. In the American cultural context, he was quite suspect; in the Nigerien context, he was just getting his morning exercise.

A Strange Book to Go Along with this Odd Topic

The book is entitled An African in Greenland. Its back cover reads, "Tete-Michel Kpomassie was a teenager in Togo when he discovered a book about Greenland--and knew that he must go there. Working his way north over nearly a decade, Kpomassie finally arrived in the country of his dreams. This brilliantly observed and superbly entertaining record of his adventures among the Inuit is a testament both to the wonderful strangeness of the human species and to the surprising sympathies that bind us all." I cannot wait to read this phantasmagoric account.

Question: Has an African representing an African country ever medaled at the Winter Olympics? I am sure that someone of African descent has won a medal (the French female figure skater Surya Bonaly comes to mind), but has an actual African scored gold, silver, or bronze?

Getting Back in the Flow.

2005-12-08T15:44:00.000+01:00

RECOVERING FROM THE AIDS BIKE RIDE has taken longer than expected. I slept all day Saturday, but then some bug had the nerve to latch on to me Sunday. After staying in bed Tuesday and going home early from work yesterday, I am back in action.

With fear of a relapse, I must ease myself back into the blogosphere. Therefore, I must start simply, listing topics I will expound on in the coming week:

1) The 2005 Peace Corps Niger AIDS Bike Ride: Today, I finalized the budget, and next week I will work on the final report. Tomorrow, I will post photos on Flickr, and over the weekend, I will post a summary.

2) Graduate school: Application deadlines loom in January. First, I must update my résumé. Then, I must tackle personal statements and statements of purpose.

3) Hoop Dreams: This 1994 documentary chronicles William Gates and Arthur Agee, two black, inner-city Chicago teenagers who dream of NBA stardom, following them and their families from freshman year of high school to freshman year of college. I just got the DVD, and since watching the film for the first time in 10 years, I cannot get it far from my mind.

4) The Indianapolis Colts: For those of you who watch only one pro football game every year—the Super Bowl—let me explain the significance of the Colts. In professional football, only one team—the 1972 Dolphins—has ever finished the season undefeated. This year, the Colts are 12-0, seven games away from immortality.

The Pedaling Has Stopped.

2005-12-02T17:18:00.000+01:00

THE 2005 AIDS RIDE IS OVER. Even by the strict standards of Peace Corps Niger, the project qualified as quite the adventure.

As the Peace Corps Niger AIDS Program Coordinator, the project was ultimately in my hands. For the first time ever, I was the boss. Managing 55 people anywhere is not easy. Add the language barrier, Songhai sorcerers, triple-digit temperatures, and pounds and pounds of rice to the mix, and you have yourself quite a delicate situation.

During the next week, I will post daily installments from the week, including photos. It is time to strap on your helmets and join in the entropy.

The Last Adventure.

2005-11-24T18:03:00.000+01:00

TOMORROW, THE 2005 AIDS BIKE BEGINS. During the week-long, 120-mile journey, a caravan of 55 comprised of Peace Corps Volunteers, Nigerien cyclists, AIDS educators, drivers, and policemen will stop in 25 villages to raise awareness about the epidemic.

Once the pedaling stops December 1, most of my work as volunteer will be complete. My days will be numbered, and life outside of this unpredictable realm will call.

How will I answer? Well, I will contemplate that question on my return from the bike ride.

Until then, Happy Thanksgiving. And go Colts!

Busy in Niger?

2005-11-17T20:32:00.000+01:00

THE 2005 AIDS BIKE RIDE. The Marine Ball. My last Peace Corps party.

Time has definitely accelerated since my first lonely months in Mirriah when time crept along like an overworked donkey. This week has been the busiest yet, both socially and professionally. Of course, it continues tomorrow: the day-long meeting with AIDS educators and my roommate's girlfriend's fashion show. Then, after the AIDS Bike Ride, Niamey will come alive while hosting Les Jeux de la Francophonie -- a cultural and athletic extravaganza for French-speaking countries. Niger is hopping.

Congratulations, Maggie. You are married. Have fun in Jamaica.

The Desire to Journey.

2005-11-09T13:10:00.000+01:00

THE SCIENTIFIC NAME: Desiderium itinerari—meaning “the desire to journey” in Latin. The common name: the travel bug, wanderlust (German). Major symptom(s): severely itchy feet.

Long suffering from this ailment, Kaitlin easily recognizes others afflicted by the condition. In her testimony on Friendster, she wrote, “Drew asks you to take your shoes off, but beware: he has itchy feet that can't stay still, always looking for the next country, the next adventure, the next hurrah.”

She made an astute diagnosis, for my feet have started to itch again. I am already planning my most ambitious trip yet, a three-continent, five-month blockbuster which I first unveiled in August. This effort will only add to my travel résumé, which I outlined in the following mass email sent in May 2004 upon arrival to the States for vacation.

* * *

The first trip I planned for myself established the style in which I travel today -- purposeful, multi-city jaunts. You have to rendezvous with family and friends before all spontaneity breaks loose. In other words, someone had to coordinate the first Woodstock; the spirits must convene before they coalesce.

In 2001, after my summer school classes ended at Northwestern, I set out on a weeklong road trip. I refined my Southern accent while drinking beers on a bluff in Sewanee, TN, paid homage to Babe Ruth at his birthplace in Baltimore and my grandmother at her gravesite in Wilkes-Barre, PA, and bet on racehorses in Saratoga Springs, NY. When I arrived home in Indianapolis, I could not wait to get back on the road.

Since my parents were moving to Switzerland, I did not have to wait long to take my intricate itineraries to another continent. For spring break in 2002, I arranged my class schedule so that I could spend three weeks in Europe. With several friends studying abroad, I had to incorporate them in my plans. After arriving in Switzerland, I whisked around Spain in a week. My travel partner and I were exhausted when we came back to Switzerland; minutes after plopping his backpack down and settling in a sofa, he fell asleep with a half-full Red Bull can in his hand. We eventually re-energized, and I served as tour guide for hosts of friends who visited me to the land of cheese and chocolate.

In 2003, as I counted down the days until graduation, my next adventure—Peace Corps—was mired in bureaucracy. I was itching to go to another continent, become a volunteer, and stay there for two years. When my friends inquired if I would come back to the States during my two-year stint, I confidently responded no.

Unable to resist dreams of orbitz.com, baseball (Go Cubbies!), food (specifically stuffed spinach deep-dish pizza and my mother's meatloaf), and faces of family and friends, I plotted my return Stateside. May was the ideal month. I could avoid the stink and sweat of stifling triple-digit temperatures in Niger while basking in spring's blossoms across the States. I could munch on popcorn in air-conditioned multiplexes and peanuts in Wrigley Field and Oriole Park at Camden Yards. I could sport traditional Nigerien garb and a turban and present my experiences to interested audiences -- high school French students, my former elementary school teachers' classes, and my friend's anthropology classmates. I logged on to the Internet in Niamey in January, checked the Major League Baseball schedules, plugged in a variety of options to orbitz.com, and finalized my 34-day, six-city campaign to ensure all who know me that I am alive and sane.

Unbelievably and unexpectedly, here I am.

* * *

There it is, spelled out for all to see: the effects of Desiderium itinerari.

In due time--four months--I will hit the road. In the meantime, however, I will continue to scratch my feet.

Peering Into the Past.

2005-11-08T12:05:00.000+01:00

IT IS NOW OFFICIAL: I am coming home. On March 29, after spending three weeks in Switzerland and Italy, I will fly from Geneva to Indianapolis via Paris and Chicago.

At times, these two years seem like nothing out of the ordinary, but then I only need to remember my reaction the morning I received my Peace Corps assignment to Niger: I immediately combed my apartment for an atlas. Only three weeks after graduation, I arrived here, yet after the initial culture shock subsided, my life as a volunteer has become more and more routine. Nine months of clarity remain -- four months of service and five months of travel -- followed by a future as hazy as the blazing Sahelian sun shrouded by windswept Saharan sands.

In an effort to rediscover the sensations and sensibilities that struck me here during my first year, I asked my mother to send me my correspondence from that period, those mass emails and letters that helped me to process all the unfamiliarities that now seem so everyday. I will post these over the coming weeks so that your flow of reading material is not interrupted even as I plan the 2005 AIDS Bike Ride.

We begin with the first mass email I sent, sometime in August 2003. (Note: I have made some slight editorial corrections and additions from the original text.)

* * * * *

AFTER ANOTHER FULL DAY OF TRAINING, my roommate Chris and I walk down the dusty road from the training site to our host family's compound. The daily cries of "Anasara, anasara" bombard us. The village children swarm us and paw at us, asking our names and for small gifts. We tell them our adopted African names - Salim and Razak, respectively - and ask them for gifts. The mob follows us, finally loses interest, and returns to a game of soccer or tag. After five minutes, Chris and I open the rickety wooden gate to our home, announcing our arrival by saying, "Salamu alaikum!" Aisha, our unabashed two-year-old host sister, charges toward us, squealing with arms outstretched. We pass through the yard and greet Hinda, our host mother, on her work and health. Her newborn son Laminou, two months old this week, is cradled in her arms. Chris and I then enter our concession - our private space enclosed in mud brick - retrieve our mattresses and mosquito nets from our hut, set up our beds, light our lantern, and wait for Lawali, our host father, to return from the fourth of five daily prayers. He comes back, chuckling as always, and calls us to dinner. After spreading the meal on a communal platter, we begin our dinner of rice and beans. If we ever hesitate, Lawali exhorts us, "No stop." After washing our hands, we play several games of Crazy Eights. Then, tired of losing to wily Lawali, we bid our family good night, retreat to our concession, and fall asleep under a bright blanket of stars.

Such is the latter part of my daily routine as a Peace Corps Trainee in Hamdallaye, a small village 45 minutes outside of the capital Niamey. Training lasts from Monday to Saturday, with Saturday afternoons and Sundays off. After waking up to the muezzin's morning prayer call at 5:30 or the incessant crowing of the village roosters, I take a bucket bath, greet my host family, and eventually climb the stairs to the training site, situated on a mesa overlooking the village. Breakfast is promptly served at 7. A community meeting of staff and all 31 trainees convenes at 8, and then we attend 90-minute sessions ranging from French and Hausa classes, medical lectures on diarrhea and malaria, technical training for our respective health and education programs, and cross-cultural panels covering topics from Islam to bush taxis. We break for lunch and sieste, gather for more sessions, and close the day at Mickey's buvette sipping Cokes or guzzling one of Niger's two beers, Biere Niger or Flag.

I have now been in Niger for one month. Training lasts for six more weeks, the end marked when I swear in officially as a volunteer at the U.S. Embassy Sept. 26. Before I take my oath, I will travel to my yet-to-be-revealed post for a week in order to discover and explore my home for the next two years. I will serve as a Community and Youth Education volunteer. I will not teach English, as Peace Corps does not believe in taking jobs away from Nigeriens; instead, I will work as a community facilitator, improving communication between teachers, administrators, students, parents, and local NGOs (non-governmental agencies). More coordination will enable local literacy programs and parent-teachers organizations to reach more people. Teacher training and girls' education are other priorities of the program. Even if I help one woman, man, or child learn how to read, these two years will be a success. The literacy rate (15 percent) is one of the lowest in the world. It is only one of the sobering statistics that describe Niger's plight as arguably the world's poorest country. Niger has the world's highest population growth rate, yet it does not grow enough food, specifically millet, every year to feed its current population of 11 million. With 6.35 million under the age of 18, malnutrition and starvation will only worsen as the population soars to 25 million by 2020. Arable land is running out, and the Sahara is encroaching on currently cultivated land. Niger is slowly becoming a ghost country.

Yet in the face of such a daunting existence, Nigeriens are the most giving people I have met. A proverb in the predominant national language Hausa states, "Your guest is your God." While spending the night with current volunteers in the bush, I met every family in the village of 250. In melodic exchanges of greeting, they all expressed their gratitude for my visit. After dinner, the village convened for a health meeting organized by volunteers. Dressed in their newest clothes, all the villagers stayed after the skit on family planning to sprawl out on woven mats and bask in a night of dancing. All the unmarried girls gathered in a semicircle, clapping hands in simple rhythms as they took turns flinging their limbs and stamping their bare feet
into the ground. The laughter and joy were infectious, sailing into the dark, desolate desert night.

* * * * * *

After describing these scenes in my mass email, I gave people my address and urged them to write me letters. Instead, I now ask you to sign my new guest book.

Who will be the first person to sign? Mom or Dad?

It is time to go now. I have to watch the rebroadcast of the Colts-Patriots Monday Night Football game. Go Horse!

The Third Goal of Peace Corps.

2005-11-07T08:16:00.000+01:00

AS I HAVE NOW POSTED more than 100 entries, it is time to spruce up my blog. I took yesterday afternoon to check out Blogger Help, and with its guidance, I added a guest book which you may sign and tinkered with the page's design.

As others inspired me to create a blog, now I am motivating others to start their own. The ultimate goal is to build a site like this one designed by Nam, a volunteer in Morocco, while Take Your Shoes Off was the impetus for Amy to create Living in the Questions.

Yes, I am aware that I am getting dorkier and dorkier, but this forum provides me with more surprises than I ever imagined.

Exhibit A: I was interviewed for a Purdue student's persuasive speech about why college students should consider Peace Corps after graduation.

Exhibit B: A volunteer's mother emailed me. Her daughter is posted across the border in Benin, and she wanted to ask me some questions.

Now I can actually justify my work on this blog since I am fulfilling the third goal of Peace Corps: “Helping promote a better understanding of other peoples on the part of all Americans.” And, naturally, the Peace Corps Third Goal blog is a community site.

Before I moved to Niamey to be AIDS Program Coordinator, I seldom used the Internet. Before I started this blog, I sent out mass emails. In a nod to nostalgia, I will post those emails this week as well as writing about the city life.

And I plan to rag on Wilbert some more.

The Meandering Art of Conversation.

2005-11-06T14:57:00.000+01:00

LAST NIGHT WILBERT DID NOT bring up his intestinal anxieties. While drinking margaritas with friends at his girlfriend's house, our conversation ranged from the chances of Africa's representative teams in the 2006 World Cup, the status of Lima as the eyesore of South American cities, the whereabouts of former Niger volunteers, the importance and ability of CIA spies compared to international corporate spies, and the intended uses of Astroglide. The varied volley of conversation here never fails to shock and surprise.

On that note, let me bounce around myself...

Friendster is a remarkable service, but my mother rivals this social mainstay with her updates on long-forgotten acquaintances from Carmel High School. As a substitute teacher in local elementary schools, Mom is well-positioned to run into and engage fellow teachers and former classmates in conversation and then report their happenings to me. The most interesting tidbit she relayed to me this week was the presence of another member of the Class of 1999 in West Africa. Erika Hinshaw is a volunteer in the Gambia.

Joining Friendster was not the only first of the week. Tuesday, in the Marine House gym, I found myself supine, psyching myself up for my first serious encounter with the bench press.

One of the reasons that I brought up the bench press was my desire to use the word supine. In one of my dad's most memorable dinner table performances, he demonstrated the difference between supine and prostrate by leaping out of his chair and splaying his limbs on the kitchen floor.

As for any family, the kitchen and dinner table were central places for my family. Our interaction there exemplified my parents' contradictory roles: my father as the indefatigable, punctual taskmaster and and my mother as the spontaneous, piddling collector of clutter. Though we supposedly had assigned napkin rings, it always seemed that our corresponding colors were changing from week to week. Though my brother and I were drilled to show up at the dinner table on time, it always seemed that our family could not keep up with the leftovers that were crammed into the mishmash of Tupperware in the fridge and the eclectic products stacked and shoved into the nooks and crannies of the pantry.

This dichotomy even manifested itself when either of them prepared the evening meal. Whenever Mom was away from home, Dad would call me up from his car phone on his way home from work to discuss what we should eat for dinner. After a a quick strike at the grocery store, he then would whip up a delicious plate for me. He also mans the grill with purpose and efficiency. On the other hand, Mom approaches the kitchen from a social angle. Rather than merely focusing on the objective of preparing an all-around nutritious meal, Mom revels in the social aspects of the act. I am by no means questioning her culinary skill, but my memories of our times in the kitchen emanate less from dunking oyster crackers in one of her hearty stews than from peeling carrots with her chattering away and fluttering around the room.

With that last image, I now leave you.

More Peace Corps Fecal Matters.

2005-11-05T14:19:00.000+01:00

IF YOU READ LAST MONTH'S POST in which our Country Director exhorted us volunteers, saying, "You can once again lay claim to serving in Peace Corps' shittiest program!" you know that we do a lot of shit-talking in Peace Corps Niger. It is actually socially acceptable to talk about your bowel movements to fellow volunteers. In fact, it is an unwritten rule here that you are not a "true volunteer" until you crap your pants.

Taking all of this into account, I still was shocked last night when my friend Wilbert asked me as I was devouring a chicken breast, "Can you do me a favor? Can you turn in a stool sample for me Monday?" The question initially shocked me, but it did not take me long to understand why he wanted me to do this.

Here's the deal: Wilbert officially completed his Peace Corps service several months ago, but he has stuck around Niamey to spend time with his girlfriend while he searches for jobs online. Finally heading home Tuesday, he wants to make sure that no parasites are still lingering in his system. Since he is no longer a volunteer, Wilbert is not allowed to see our Peace Corps doctor, so he wants me to submit his stool sample under my name so he may get medicine if any amoeba, giardia, or bacteria are brewing in his intestines.

I thought I had seen it all, but I now may truly say that I have had to deal with a lot of shit as a Peace Corps Volunteer.

Friendster.

2005-11-03T16:40:00.000+01:00

TODAY I DISCOVERED FRIENDSTER. The invitation to which I had earlier failed to respond reappeared in my inbox, and this time I curiously clicked on the link in the email, signed up for an account, and got sucked into the vortex of profiles that occupies that infinite social cyberspace.

This networking service is a digital Rolodex. Friendster will remind me of my friends' whereabouts, interests, and birthdays, while my profile will inform everyone where I am located during next year's five-month jaunt across Europe, the United States, and South America.

AIDS Bike Ride Countdown: 21 days. The caravan of more than 50 will be ready to educate more than 10,000 Nigeriens about HIV/AIDS come November 25.

AIDS Awareness Campaign.

2005-11-01T09:42:00.000+01:00

THIS 1979 DATSUN SKYLINE has carried Sean, Nate, and Tuuli 6,000 miles through West Africa, and this team of intrepid journalists covering HIV/AIDS initiatives across the continent hopes their vehicle will whisk them through Nigeria as quickly as possible and then refuse to break down through Cameroon and Gabon, Congo and the DRC, Angola and South Africa, eventually allowing them to complete their adventure all the way to Ethipioa.

Follow their journey and read their stories and blogs here. Browse through more of their photos here.

Tomorrow I will highlight their one-week stay with me as I write about all the guests and visitors I have encountered here.

BOO!!! Did I Scare You?

2005-10-31T16:05:00.000+01:00

OCTOBER 31, 1974 was the beginning. Thanks to the foresight of Clint and Chris, Roger William Schmenner and Barbara Nell Driscoll met on a blind date 31 years ago.

Although Halloween was central to my creation, it is not my favorite holiday; the Thursday late in November is more filling and memorable.

Halloween’s magic was fleeting. Once the costume was taken off, and the remnants of candy were wiped from my face, the fact that Halloween was just another school night would dawn on me.

Thanksgiving, however, meant a four-day feast far outside the confines of the school cafeteria. Candy bars and M&M’s were consumed during all seasons, but Cool Whip and pumpkin pie were served only on this special day. And stuffing and gravy and mashed potatoes and sauerkraut…(I have to stop this account for several reasons. First of all, I am torturing my stomach. More importantly, I need to save room for next month’s post.)

Vignettes and Rants Inspired by this Day

Tricking and treating ceases to be cute once the five-year-old whose father must coax him to reach into the dish of candy turns into that thirteen-year-old who either complains about the selection of treats or snatches a hoard of wrappers without saying thank you; once the boy whose plastic pumpkin candy carrier is about as big as his head becomes a big-headed teenager who believes he is entitled to troves of sugar without assembling a costume; and, once the high-pitched whisper—Twick o’ Treat—morphs into the shrugged-shouldered snap—Trick or Treat.

I do not believe in ghosts or ghouls or goblins. (What are the differences between these forms, anyhow?) If they did exist, we would have heard the stories of William Henry Harrison and Zachary Taylor haunting the White House.

In first or second grade—Mom, I am in need of your fact-checking skills—I had a palatal expander glued to the roof of my mouth in order to correct my crossbite. I could not offset the flavor of metallic nausea by chewing Bubble Yum or munching on Snickers. In fact, during a particularly horrific Halloween, I had to face the humiliation of relinquishing my stash of caramel-glazed goodies for my friends’ entire collection of Three Musketeers. Claims of fair trade were not convincing to me because everyone knows the bar inexplicably named after Porthos, Aramis, and Athos is the most cloying piece of chocolate on the market. (Moreover, its outer shell of chocolate is not a solid, crisp coating, and its silver packaging does not catch the eye.) Thankfully, the nightmare soon ended, and I reveled in once-forbidden flavors.

E. T. dressed as a ghost. Reese’s Pieces. What a classic family film.

And, last but not least, let us make sure that we are all safe tonight. Here are some selected Halloween safety tips from the National Safety Council:

Only fire-retardant materials should be used for costumes.

Costumes should not be so long that they are a tripping hazard. (Falls are the leading cause of unintentional injuries on Halloween.)

When buying special Halloween makeup, check for packages containing ingredients that are labeled "Made with U.S. Approved Color Additives," "Laboratory Tested," Meets Federal Standards for Cosmetics," or "Non-Toxic." Follow manufacturer's instruction for application.

Knives, swords and other accessories should be made from cardboard or flexible materials. Do not allow children to carry sharp objects.

Walk, do not run, from house to house. Do not cross yards and lawns where unseen objects or the uneven terrain can present tripping hazards.

Omnipresent Ronald.

2005-10-26T13:13:00.000+01:00

MY FRIEND TAMARA participated in the hurricane relief effort in Mississippi, and she has shared many photos of the damage: overturned vehicles, decimated shells of houses, and countless uprooted trees. The photo above, however, far surpasses the rest.

Answers to Kim.

2005-10-26T12:17:00.000+01:00

I NEVER KNOW who exactly is reading my blog. I have always believed that only my friends and family read this site, along with the audience my publicist (Mom) gets to check it out.

This morning, I was pleasantly surprised to learn that people outside my circle of family and friends occasionally visit "Take Your Shoes Off." Kim, a student at Purdue, posted a comment with questions for me about my Peace Corps service. For her persuasive speech in her communications class, Kim will talk about why college students should consider Peace Corps service as an option after graduation.

I have emailed her my answers, but I thought I would also post them here. Who knows? Maybe some other strangers interested in Peace Corps will stop by from time to time.

1. Throughout college, was the Peace Corps something you had always wanted to do?

Once I began to think about my future after college, Peace Corps was definitely an option I considered. I did not want to pursue a career right out of college, so I looked at service and volunteer organizations such as Americorps, Teach for America, and Peace Corps. The spirit of adventure and volunteerism, the opportunity to get to know another culture and language, and the time to step away from my "American life" and mull over my career options were all factors that ultimately propelled me to join Peace Corps directly out of college.

2. What things were holding you back?

Several aspects of the Peace Corps experience naturally forced me to seriously consider the ramifications of the two-year commitment. First of all, I would be far away from my support network of family and friends. If I had a problem in Africa, I would not be able to call them, and they could not rely on me for constant support. Self-doubt and fear also sometimes entered my thoughts. Would I be able to adjust to the difficult living conditions in Niger, one of the world's poorest countries? Would I be able to handle the heat, intestinal discomfort, and language and cultural barriers? I continued to consider these questions during the first few months in Niger.

3. Why did you decide to travel where you did?

During the Peace Corps application process, you are able to make a preference for a certain region of the world (Africa, South America, Asia, etc.) Since I speak French and expressed interest in West African culture, my Peace Corps recruiter attempted to match me with programs in this region. Obviously, she was successful.

4. What kinds of things are you learning?

I have developed a variety of skills during my two years in Niger. By surviving the challenge of living in one of the world's poorest countries, I have matured and become more confident in ways that will continue to manifest themselves once I return to the States next March. By working and communicating in French and Hausa, I have developed communication and project-planning skills. By dealing with Nigeriens in a cross-cultural context, I have improved my "people skills." And, ultimately, I have cultivated certain intangible, immeasurable qualities -- patience, open-mindedness, curiosity -- that will be invaluable wherever I end up in the future.

5. How do you think the Peace Corps will help you with your career?

Though I did not join Peace Corps for to gain the "international experience" needed for certain careers or solely to list it on my resume, I have to admit that I am proud of what I have experienced and accomplished here. Not many people on the job market can claim such a unique, cross-cultural experience, and employers will notice that I not only took the risk to join Peace Corps but I also produced certain "results" as a volunteer. While I do not necessarily place utmost importance on the professional aspects of service -- I tend to think of Peace Corps as a "life experience" rather than "work" -- I do realize that the lessons I have learned and the hardships I have endured here will translate to better creativity, problem solving, and management skills in all aspects of my life, including the workplace.

From One to Ten.

2005-10-24T12:43:00.000+01:00

ONE (D'AYA): The best song from U2’s best album.

Two (Biyu): The number of people it takes to tango. (Who came up with this expression anyway?) Since Argentina is on my extensive 2006 itinerary, this dance particularly intrigues me—or, I should say, certain people dancing these steps intrigue me. My friend Roy claims he is taking tango lessons. If this is true, his girlfriend Laura is truly a courageous woman for venturing out on the dance floor with him.

Three (Ukku): Kings. Musketeers. Stooges. Amigos. Beatles. (Sorry, Ringo.)

Four (Hudu): The number of girlfriends I had at one time in first grade. When I ran into Mamie in Indy during college, she still remembered how I had announced to her mother that she was my girlfriend. Juggling Mamie with Amanda and the two others took quite the cunning. (I forget their names….I know. I will admit it: I was a bad boyfriend.) Lunch and recess were especially difficult. Buying milk for all four cut into my allowance, and trying to fit in time at the swings, the jungle gym, the slide, tag, and four square—without getting caught, mind you—really tired me out before learning my addition and subtraction tables during the afternoon.

Five (Biyar): In Niger, the number five is signified by clasping your fingers together like you are making a crocodile shadow puppet. If you display five the American way, it is like you are giving someone the middle finger. Technically speaking, you are calling whomever your hand is pointed to a bastard, meaning “your mother slept with five men before marrying your ‘father,’ and she doesn’t know who the real father is.”

Six (Shidda): Shouldn’t the minimum wage be at least this high?

Seven (Bakwai): Jermaine O’Neal’s number. Pacer It Up!

Eight (Takwas): The number of wins the Colts will have after defeating New England Nov. 7. Go Horse!

Nine (Tara): The number of wins the 2005 Big Ten champion Northwestern will have after beating Michigan, Ohio State, Iowa, and Illinois. Go Wildcats!

Ten (Goma): According to the World Book, here is the tenth of the Ten Commandments: “Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's house, thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife, nor his manservant, nor his maidservant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor any thing that is thy neighbor's.” I did not realize that this commandment included the neighbors’ manservant, maidservant, ox, and ass. Over the years, when local and state governments publicly posted the Ten Commandments, did they include this part?

Bunches and Bunches of Books.

2005-10-18T13:28:00.000+01:00

THREE WEEKS AGO, after creating my wish list on amazon.com, I realized that my appetite for books is insatiable. If a library were an all-you-can-eat buffet, I would weigh down my tray with every savory offering available, yet I would eat only the honey-glazed ham, creamed corn, and mashed potatoes, leaving the chili, jello, fruit cocktail, lemon creme pie, and apple pie a la mode for the Dumpster. With less than five months of service, I have to increase my intake of literature, or some of the books that I initially packed for my two years here, plus the array of titles accumulated from my raids of Peace Corps hostel libraries, will go unloved. It will take an effort worthy of Bluto in Animal House to devour all the pages on my shelf.

If I pace myself, however, I will not need to resort to the "chipmunk cheek" strategy. I just read The Lady and the Monk, Pico Iyer’s seasonal account of one year spent in Kyoto—autumn 1987 to summer 1988—while I paced myself through American Prometheus, a comprehensive biography of America’s martyred creator of the atomic bomb, J. Robert Oppenheimer. Currently, I am sticking to nonfiction, immersing myself in Will in the World, a surprisingly readable, imaginative account of how Elizabethan culture and society influenced Shakespeare's masterful art. I am countering that with The Village of Waiting, George Packer's honest, sobering memoir of his Peace Corps stint in Togo in the early '80s. For anyone interested in how West Africa ticks (or fails to), I recommend this book highly. As a staff writer for the New Yorker, Packer is one of the best journalists covering the war in the Iraq, and his latest work, a detailed, ideological account of the war's origins and its bungled aftermath entitled Assassins at the Gate, was just released to rave reviews, calling it the definitive book on the quagmire in the Middle East.

Another ridiculous reality awaits me when I go back to the States. My parents have been able to stuff their shelves with the countless spines I purchased over the course of my four years in college, including William T. Vollmann's 3,000-page treatise on the nature of violence.

The pages are calling, meaning this bookworm will continue to burrow for years to come.

Articles of Note

Ever wonder how food aid gets to the malnourished in Africa? Well, thanks to Congress protecting the American farmer, and anarchy in Somalia, they are lucky if it even arrives.

J. Robert Oppenheimer is getting the artistic treatment his tragic character deserves. First, the comprehensive biography American Prometheus. And, now, a Faustian opera.

When college freshmen, still bright-eyed teenagers, leave their parents behind every fall, they begin their four-year rite of passage by jostling for position near the keg during the week of new student orientation. Binge drinking has steadily increased ever since the drinking age was increased to 21, and beer companies have learned how to prey on the underage population. This New York Times article chronicles how the tradition of drinking games, now unabashedly commercialized by "responsible" companies such as Annheuser-Busch, has dismayed college administrators and encouraged students to get hammered every weekend.

Romance in Peace Corps Niger.

2005-10-17T15:34:00.000+01:00

THE FOLLOWING wedding announcement appeared in the New York Times in May:

Emily Anne Fishbein and Patrick Phillip Johnson were married yesterday at the Einstein Memorial in Washington. Jason N. Ilstrup, a minister of spiritual humanism, officiated.

Mrs. Johnson, 28, is to receive a law degree today from George Washington University. She graduated from the College of William & Mary.

She is a daughter of Ruth Fishbein of Belmont, Mass., and Herman Fishbein of Boca Raton, Fla. Her father is the coordinator of adult services at the University of Miami Center for Autism and Related Disabilities in Coral Gables, Fla. Her mother is the manager of performance improvement and risk management for the Massachusetts Institute of Technology's health center in Cambridge, Mass. The bride is a stepdaughter of Marcia Fishbein.

Mr. Johnson, also 28, is an Uhuru fellow in the Africa division of the International Republican Institute, a Washington-based nonprofit organization that promotes democracy. He graduated from the University of Notre Dame and received both an M.B.A. and a master's degree in international affairs from George Washington University.

He is a son of Toni and William Johnson of Syracuse, Ind. The bridegroom's mother is a director and a former chairwoman of Greencroft, a retirement community in Goshen, Ind. His father retired as the chief executive and the chairman of Goshen Rubber Companies, which manufactured custom-cut rubber seals and gaskets. He is now the chairman of the Economic Development Corporation of Elkhart County, in Goshen.

Ms. Fishbein and Mr. Johnson met in January 2000, while beginning a stint in Niger in the Peace Corps. They became friends during their three-month orientation with 40 other volunteers in the city of Hamdallaye, Niger.

"It was friendship at first sight, but definitely not love," Ms. Fishbein recalled, adding that she was far more focused on being a good volunteer than on finding a life mate.

Mr. Johnson, however, was smitten "within minutes" of seeing her, he said.

"She was focused, intelligent and happy," he added. "And she was not overly melodramatic about our new environment, unlike some of the other volunteers."

In March, they were dispatched to their posts, which were separated by about 100 miles of rugged country. She went to a village of about 1,000 called Garin Hamani; he to a village of about 100 called Darey Bangou. Ms. Fishbein and Mr. Johnson communicated only through the village messenger who came by monthly, and they didn't see each other again until a July 4 get-together of their entire group of volunteers in Maradi.

"I thought this is going to be my chance, but she was giving the friendship sign," Mr. Johnson said, and was unreceptive to his subtle overtures. Fearing he would be stuck forever in the friendship zone, he decided to make a move the following month and boarded a 100-foot boat that would be passing near her village. The only other passengers were the captain, his helper and 100 sheep bound for market. Over the course of the 30-hour trip, Mr. Johnson said he sat - and slept - on a "two-inch wide support strut." When the boat reached a point near Ms. Fishbein's village, Mr. Johnson debarked and bicycled the final 10 miles to make his surprise visit.

"It looked like he'd just been through a war," Ms. Fishbein remembered. "I was impressed that he wanted to see me that badly."

They spent five days together, Mr. Johnson working in the fields with Ms. Fishbein and the villagers. It was the first time the two had spent time together without other Peace Corps volunteers around.

"The people in my village adored him," she recalled. "They are very discerning and good judges of character. That they loved him was important for me. It is like when your family gives a guy the O.K."

Five Months to Go.

2005-10-13T15:46:00.000+01:00

TWO DAYS AGO, on the 27-month anniversary of my arrival in Niger, I found myself listening to the Verve’s Urban Hymns and glancing through the mementos—stacks of letters from home, the medical form diagnosing my first case of acute diarrhea, score sheets from nightly games of Crazy Eights played with my host family—that I have stored away to chronicle my days here.

One of the items I came across was a letter I sent to family and friends upon graduating from college and before leaving for Peace Corps, written all the way back in July 2003. It reads, in part:

Instead of sending you an overpriced, impersonal graduation announcement replete with snazzy seal and florid script, I have decided to write you all a letter. The practice will soon become a ritual as I serve as a Peace Corps Volunteer in the West African, French-speaking country of Niger….

Yes, Niger—I am shocked too—120 degrees, malaria, a void of sand. The country’s only natural resource is uranium….

Such a decision prompts the question, “Why?" My…commitment…is not solely a question of sacrificing myself for a greater cause. It would be shortsighted to enter the Peace Corps with infinite idealism, believing that I could save the world. The forthcoming months will be the most austere period in my life, yet the most enlightening as well. My generation grew up in an era of unbridled prosperity and conspicuous consumption, but since the tragic events of September 11th and the vagaries of the current economy, we have had to face the stark realities of the busted bubble. We did a gut check and asked ourselves what we wanted from our lives. I decided that I wanted to experience how the less fortunate of us live—in the [developing] world, facing the fear of famine and the scourge of AIDS without the blessing of a university education (or even an elementary education, in fact.) What I will learn will remind me of how damn lucky I am and will inform me of what one truly needs in order to live.

As I look back at those words, I realize how futile it is to pose that impenetrable question, “Why?” Here, I have captured countless images of a profoundly different culture, and the inexpressible litany of these visions will continue to drive me unconsciously till the day my breath is taken away. The expansion of the imagination is justification enough for this experience.

In 2006, the adventure will continue. Before I begin graduate school in either New York, Bloomington, Columbia, MO, Evanston, IL, or Pasadena (granted that one of these schools accepts me), I will travel to Switzerland, Italy, New York, Philadelphia, Washington, DC, Baltimore, Texas, California, Chicago, Mammoth Cave National Park, Argentina, Brazil, and South Carolina.

In other words, this blog will go on the road.

Softball is Sacred.

2005-10-10T14:59:00.000+01:00

THIS WEEKEND, I participated in NUTS: the Niamey Universal Tournament of (Slow-Pitch) Softball. Organized by the American School of Niamey and the Sahel Academy, a boarding school for Christian missionaries' children, the three-day event featured six teams in both the social and competitive brackets.

Last year, Peace Corps Niger won the social bracket, which was less a testament to the team's athletic ability than the pint-sized nature of the competition. This year, rather than beating up on the 18-and-under crowd, we decided to get bullied by middle-aged men determined to relive their ache-free days when their facial hair, instead of turning gray, was just beginning to sprout.

To summon such sacred times, these men performed the game as a solemn ritual. They did not cheer; they exhorted. After an errant throw or lazy pop-out, they hung their heads in shame. Whenever one of their brethren hit a home run, they did not slap him on the back; they simply praised him. While watching us commit softball sin after softball sin (they are too countless to enumerate here), they must have asked the powers above to save our sporting souls.

Our ragtag, foul-mouthed crew -- for we truly were heathens -- had only practiced once, three weeks prior. We had to borrow the opposing players' bats and gloves while watching them stake their claim to the diamond by grounding their cleats into the dirt. One particularly devout player wearing a headband, knee braces, and salt-and-pepper beard reluctantly allowed me to use his piece of leather. "Don't get it too sweaty, and keep it out of the dirt," he pleaded.

Naturally, the results were lopsided. The score to our first drubbing was 25-5, after which our team was told, "It was quite courageous for you to be out there this morning." We did actually win our next game 19-11, beating the ebullient Japanese volunteers. Then, the sacrifice continued -- 26-7 and 20-4 (it is obvious why it is called the 10-run mercy rule) -- yet somehow we miraculously qualified for the semifinals. (Forced 2 Play was 0-4. We and the Japanese finished at 1-3, but by virtue of our victory, we advanced.) Under the sweltering midday sun, the eventual champions scorched us once again, so, finally, during the championship game, we were able to assume our rightful positions in the congregation, swigging bottles of ice-cold Biere Niger, lamenting the fact that we were truly the ones who needed the ice packs and Ibuprofen, and learning from the ageless, graceful acts performed as witness to the sister of America's pastime.

The Absurd.

2005-10-08T11:57:00.000+01:00

YESTERDAY, MY FRIEND CHRIS got back from his vacation in Ghana. As a fellow Hoosier, graduate of Butler University in Indianapolis, and avid Pacers fan, Chris is the fastest friend I have ever made. Within five minutes after we met, we were sharing seminal moments from our lives (i.e. our favorite Pacer moments).

My friendship with Chris reached a new level yesterday. He brought back a gift for me from Ghana. While shopping for second-hand clothes, he found a T-shirt from my high school. The royal blue T-shirt has gold lettering outlined in white. It reads, "Carmel Swimming & Diving -- Parents." Whoa.

Now, a Double "Whoa" Moment

Here is an excerpt from the June 2005 issue of Vanity Fair. It comes from the profile of Angelina Jolie:

When I [the writer] asked how the current tabloid mania had been affecting her, she said, "I live in England," with an elegant shrug. "When [Pitt and Aniston] separated, I was in Niger in a place where there are no newspapers and nobody gossips."

I have one question for the author of this piece: What is an elegant shrug?

Fecal Matters from our Country Director.

2005-10-07T11:42:00.000+01:00

THE FOLLOWING IS AN EXCERPT from a letter sent from our Country Director this morning:

PC/Niger Volunteers:

In 2001 and 2002, PC/Niger was the undisputed, highest ranking, number one PC program in the world...in terms of the incidence of acute diarrhea among the Volunteers. However, the newly-reopened program in Chad squirted ahead of us in 2003. Now, in the recently released report from PC/W's Office of Medical Services on "The Health of the Volunteer, 2004," we have regained the lead. Here are the figures, in cases per 100 Volunteer-years:

* Niger - 333
* Chad - 299
* Burkina - 280
* Bolivia - 243
* Togo - 241
* PC global average - 87

You can once again lay claim to serving in Peace Corps' shittiest program!

Seriously, while I sometimes joke (perhaps even brag) about this, I recognize that it's a very difficult problem for you, and one that's largely unavoidable given the conditions in which most of you are obliged to live. Frequent sickness is yet another reason, along with extreme poverty and extreme heat, lack of electricity and running water, and poor transportation and communications infrastructure, why PC/Niger is "hard core Peace Corps," the most challenging physical environment for PCVs of any program in the
world.

You guys are tough!

Numbers, Words, and Football.

2005-10-05T14:56:00.000+01:00

LAST NIGHT, I was reacquainted with an old friend. We used to hang out all the time. Yet over the years, we lost touch, and I stopped thinking about him.

Who is this friend?

Algebra.

While studying for the GRE, I realized how much math I have forgotten since I calculated integrals and derivatives during my freshman year of college. Before long, I hope that, like any old friends, the letter ‘x’ and I will no longer be strangers.

We have two weeks to rekindle our relationship. I will wield my Number-2 pencil Oct. 22.

These Words are Now Official

Merriam-Webster’s latest edition includes new words. Here are my favorites:

brain freeze (noun) 1991 : a sudden shooting pain in the head caused by ingesting very cold food (as ice cream) or drink

metadata (noun) 1983 : data that provides information about other data

“Chick flick” was also listed, defined as a “motion picture intended to appeal esp. to women.” This meaning is inaccurate. The correct definition is “a motion picture that men will only watch if their significant others withhold something of value from them (i.e. sex, the remote control, Journey's Greatest Hits CD).”

Somewhere, Icky is Shuffling Again

The biggest surprise of the NFL season so far is the resurgence of the Cincinnati Bengals. Yesterday, I wrote two friends/Bengals’ fanatics to congratulate them on the team’s undefeated record. I have already received one response, which amazed me with its fervor. Obviously, fans in Cincy have been waiting many years to cheer on their team. Here is the email in its entirety:

First of all, it's great to hear from you. Okay, now that that's out of the way...yes, the Bengals are for real starting our season at 4-0 for the first time since 1988 (the year that Cincinnati began to hate everything associated or even sounding like Montana or Rice -- Chinese food sales took a dip). This town is electric, chanting Who-Dey at any chance (editor's note: at the end of the Bengals fight song there is a little chant that goes, "whodey, whodey, whodey think gonna beat them bengals...nooooooooobody!; and then in 1987ish to compete with the bears' rap they turned it into a remix with icky doin the shuffle and boomer and Chris Collinsworth being charming. This phrase may be used as a greeting: Whodey! or a salutation: I'll call you later, whodey! or even a verb: I wanted to stay awake and watch the Sunday night game but I started to tailgate at 10, got who-deyed and passed out at 7. thus who-dey.)

We have the number one offense in the NFL right now (because it took Peyton a few weeks to get his numbers), one of the tightest offensive lines, and super speedy defense. For the first time in ages we are playing to our potential and not how people suspect us to play. Marvin Lewis is a god.

Now, how will we fare in the rest of the season? Who's to say? That's the brilliance of the NFL -- every week is different. I think we can beat the patriots. Our defense is so fast that their disheveled offensive line won't be able to protect their cute QB. We play the Steelers at home in three weeks. If we beat the Jags (I think our defense can hold their average offense, and I hope that our offense can get out of the gate), then the following week we play McNair and his crew, who have been struggling, to say the least. Of course you can't just assume that you'll win, but let's for one moment. If we do go 6-0, then face the Steelers at home (Paul Brown Stadium now has a top 5 position of attendance behind the likes of Oakland and Arrowhead), it would be hard for them to beat us...just like i think it will be hard for us to beat them at home later this year. Also that first game at home against the steelers is Jeremy's birthday [note: Jeremy is our mutual friend], and obviously the bengals are going to win on that day.

As for the colts I think that could go either way, but now that freeny (feeny? whatever -- that enormous dline you got) is around, it will be harder. But our o-line is sick. And I have a hard time believing that our secondary can hold the peyton-harrison combo (despite already forcing 18 turnovers this year; that's a true fact, by the way).

But who knows? It's going to be a good year. I assure you that the bengals will be in the playoffs and that I will shit myself when it happens. I was 9 the last time the Bengals had a winning season, and 7 the last time they were in the Super Bowl.

So, yeah, thanks for noticing.

Who-dey,

hillie~

An Exercise in Self-Awareness.

2005-10-03T13:32:00.000+01:00

FOR ONE OF my grad school apps, I have 1,000 words to write about myself; another limits me to just 250. Here are the instructions for the former:

Essay A: Autobiographical Essay Give us your best writing. Tell us about yourself. You can include information on your family, significant persons, places and events in your life, what interests you, etc. You have some leeway with the writing format however overly dramatic or comedic writing including poetry or writing in the 3rd person is not encouraged. After reading your "feature" the reader should be both informed and hopefully want to find out more -- about you. (1000-word limit)

I am considering starting with the following:

The questions began when I was five. “Dad, do they speak English in Indiana?”

I believe these first two sentences capture the reader and my best qualities: my curiosity and open-mindedness.

What do you think? (In others, HELP ME!)

Only in Niger...

2005-09-30T11:50:00.000+01:00

Cattle in Front of Embassy
Originally uploaded by drewniger.

...would you find cattle crossing in front of the American Embassy.

Urban Legends and Malapropisms

2005-09-30T10:50:00.000+01:00

TOMORROW MY ROOMMATE (notice the spelling, Erin?) Kate’s dog will get dumped by his girlfriend down the street. Yes, that’s right. The rambunctious 18-month-old is getting castrated. Kate had been hesitant to dejewel Teku, but during a visit to her former village last week, Teku humped everybody, including the village chief and his wife. It will be a sad day, but my house’s caretaker Abdou (here he is with his family), says a sadder day will come in a year’s time. He claims he read in some science book that a dog will die if it does not have sex for one year. Abdou is quite fond of urban legends. He once insisted that the Chinese soccer team, during World Cup competition one year, fielded two teams (the teams switched during halftime), but no one noticed because, as Abdou rhetorically asked, “They all look the same, don’t they?”

The Category: Words Beginning With the Letter “E”

While studying vocabulary for the GRE (the test is offered in Niger, but I will have to make sure that my Number-2 pencils are sharpened beforehand), certain words have triggered vivid memories. After briefly glancing at “ephemeral,” I came across the word that has been forever etched in my mind.

It was a typical evening at the Schmenner Family dinner table. All Things Considered was on in the background. We were shuttling our plates and Tupperware containers in and out of the overworked microwave. After saying grace, we all started to dig in, except my brother Will, who had just begun to flaunt the vocabulary he was learning in junior high English. After staring forebodingly at his plate, he raised his head and uttered his famous malapropism, “This is the epiphany of leftovers.”

My dad did not miss a beat. He got up swiftly and brought back the dictionary to the dinner table (not the World Book or the World Almanac, which was more commonplace). The definition of “epiphany” was read aloud, followed by “epitome.”

The funniest malapropism I have ever heard, however, was uttered at the Peace Corps office here in Niamey. Since arriving here, my friend Chris had lost more than 30 pounds, and his parents were coming to visit. Volunteers were ribbing him that his mom would freak out at his skeletal frame. When Chris and his parents came to the office, one particularly loud-mouthed volunteer came up to them and said, “Mr. and Mrs. Deery, you gotta look after your boy. He’s gotten quite emancipated since being here.” He obviously forgot to mind his P’s and N’s.

What a Welcome.

2005-09-29T16:45:00.000+01:00

What a Welcome.
Originally uploaded by drewniger.

HERE'S A REMARKABLE SCENE from last year's AIDS Bike Ride. (For more information, read the post directly below.) When six vehicles, with one blaring traditional Nigerien music from speakers strapped to its roof, and twenty-five white people on bikes arrive in a village, a celebration naturally ensues.

Soon I Will Have Some Visitors.

2005-09-29T15:21:00.000+01:00

CHECK THIS OUT. Three Americans, starting in the Gambia and ending in Eritrea, are travelling overland while attempting to make sense of the HIV/AIDS epidemic. Are you familiar with the numbers? More than 42 million people are infected with HIV, two-thirds of whom reside in sub-Saharan Africa. Sean, Nathaniel, and Tuuli will soon be in Niamey, and following the Peace Corps code of social behavior, I have asked them if they would like to stay at my house.

The AIDS Ride, the major activitiy I plan as AIDS Program Coordinator, is less than two months away. At the end of November, a caravan of volunteers, Nigerien cyclists, and AIDS educators will travel 220 kilometers, reaching more than 10,000 people with a message about HIV/AIDS transmission, prevention, and treatment.

I will have more on all these events in the coming weeks.

You Should Read...

2005-09-28T10:45:00.000+01:00

1) The New York Times has a front page article about fistula in Sub-Saharan Africa. This condition, suffered during “obstetric nightmares” yet easily prevented by Caesarian section, causes endless incontinence and suffering for millions of African women. Their stories will tear at your heart.

2) The November issue of Atlantic Monthtly has been released. The cover story by William Langewiesche, author of Sahara Unveiled recounts how A. Q. Khan spread nuclear secrets and materials through the black market. I believe this is an essential article for understanding the contemporary threats to America’s national security.

3) Like any true Cubs fan, my friend Ben, motivated by my questions on his blog, has analyzed this year’s sub-par season at Wrigley Field by speculating what will happen next year.

4) Have you been trying to wade through the glut of American media? Check out Metacritic, a website which compiles reviews from various outlets, tabulates them, and then calculates an overall rating for new books, music, movies, DVDs, and video games.

5) There are Hindus living in Indianapolis? Really? You have to be kidding. Well, this morning, the Indianapolis Star is offering a crash course on Hinduism for its readers, another sign that Midwestern cities are becoming more heterogeneous and, therefore, hip.

To Get Right, I Must Write.

2005-09-28T09:09:00.000+01:00

FOR SEVERAL WEEKS THIS MONTH, I deserted this domain — Take Your Shoes Off— and my negligence poisoned my well-being. My friends asked me if anything was wrong; they missed my smile and spark. This concern reaffirmed the simple yet inexplicable fact: if I quit writing for extended periods of time, I become miserable. If I do not engage in intense wordplay daily — and listen to TLC’s “No Scrubs” frequently — I lose the charming powers of my personality.

I need solitude in order to be social. Like Mr. Incredible, who morphed into a overweight lump of grumpiness once the government forbade him from protecting and saving the innocent, I languish when I ignore my passion: the English language. Therefore, to go from funk to spunk, I decided to come back here and take my shoes off for an extended stay.

One of my greatest strengths is my ability to get along with most anybody. In fact, the person that most annoys me is myself. Abhorrent of cliques, I attempt to galvanize disparate personalities. I acquired this ability from my mother, the one who closes down St. Mark’s Methodist Church every Sunday and the last person to exclude anyone. My mother, in turn, acquired this ability from her mother. If Willie Mae Driscoll, dedicated member of the Devine Current Events Club, where all the south Texas town’s pertinent issues were discussed, encountered a stranger while eating at Triple C Steakhouse, she would know that stranger’s life story before finishing off her lunch basket of brisket and trimmings.

Such genetic societal urges conflict with my innate need to write. The solitary practice is diametrically opposed to the social acts of mingling and mating, yet I have to balance these two activities or I drift into pensive pointlessness.

I first encountered this dichotomy when I belatedly switched my major from economics to writing, specifically poetry. Here’s a typical bungle: After an evening trying to string together rhymed couplets in my cacophonous mind, I would meet my friends at the bar conveniently close to my apartment. Upon entering the hall of hormones, I would make my way through the jumble of bodies to my buddies’ table. When I would open my mouth, however, I would have trouble conversing because I would inexplicably pause in mid-conversation to search for the perfect word. (In an effort to speed up my dialogue, I have religiously studied the rapid-fire exchanges Aaron Sorkin penned for Sports Night and West Wing on DVD.) And here’s another social slip-up: Halloween 2002 coincided with my study of Robert Frost. After frantically finishing my reading assignment, I realized I had no costume for the evening’s parties. In a fit of misplaced poetic inspiration, I ran outside my apartment, collected fallen leaves, and taped them to an orange T-shirt.

This dilemma, of course, has reached me in Peace Corps. For once, and most likely the only time in my life, I have endless hours with which to do nothing but read and write, yet the adventures of an alien culture wait outside my door. Foreign language immersion was one of the main reasons I joined Peace Corps, yet I find myself head over heels with my mother tongue. Volunteers are flabbergasted when I tell them, “Sorry, I can’t go out tonight. I have to finish something I am writing for my blog.”

After an unusual string of depressing days last week, I am resigned to the fact that in order to have a social life, I must have a writing life. It is a baffling idea, one that defies explanation to all but my family and my closest friends. In the future, I just hope I have a better excuse for people, something along the lines of, “Sorry, but I gotta go write and make some money for my family.”

Ah, how lovely would that be?

Leslie and Erin in Paris.

2005-09-27T14:17:00.000+01:00

Leslie and Erin in Paris
Originally uploaded by drewniger.

ERIN'S VISIT TO PARIS to Paris is the Number-2 reason why I love her. Scroll down for the "Top Ten Reasons I Love Erin -- Part II" as well as my criticism of the Bush Administration's HIV/AIDS policy.

Morality in the Face of Crisis.

2005-09-27T14:04:00.000+01:00

PRESIDENT BUSH’S PAST ACTIONS demonstrate that he believes he may impose morality on others in the fight against HIV/AIDS. In June, the administration informed organizations that if they did not endorse policies “explicitly opposing prostitution and sex trafficking," then they would cease to receive federal funds from PEPFAR (President’s Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief), the mechanism the President introduced during his 2003 State of Union Address that doles out billions of dollars to groups trying to stem the epidemic. Because of this policy, the Open Society Institute has filed a lawsuit against USAID (the United States Agency for International Development), claiming that the regulation “undermines efforts to provide lifesaving services and information to sex workers, who are at significant risk of infection and can also transmit HIV to others" and “requires private organizations to adopt the government's point of view in order to receive funding.”

Though commercial sex work is reprehensible, it is unfortunately one of the many grim facts of life in Sub-Saharan Africa. In Niger, the food crisis has destroyed many families, and, for some women, the only thing left of any value is their bodies. Unable to deny their innate will to survive, some women have no other choice but to have sex for money. As Hajara said (in the linked article above), “It’s not with pleasure that I do this work. Tradition, Islam and even just plain common sense forbid a woman to sell her body. Today, I feel shamed to my very core. But we left our village; we are without any resources. We lost two cows, three sheep and five goats to the famine.”

Wed to a Manichean worldview, the Bush administration needs to learn that during times of crisis, when people have lost everything and have no way to provide themselves with life's basic necessities (food, shelter, and clothing), morality becomes quite fuzzy. This shocking lesson was quite apparent in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans. In a troubling article in this week’s New Yorker, David Remnick recounts Walter Hays' unbelievable story of exodus from the ghost city. After Hays’ family, including newborns and infants, received food, water, and diapers from a heroin addict, a police officer suggested to him that he find a vehicle to steal. Walter and his best friend then went to a nearby bus barn, where they found a key to an operational bus. After rounding up his extended family, Walter headed west to New Iberia. En route, the bus was pulled over. Taking stock of the situation, the officer decided to escort the family all the way to New Iberia.

President Bush, unlike the millions of Africans suffering from the AIDS epidemic or the hundreds of thousands who have lost their homes in New Orleans, has the blessing of abundant choice. With that blessing comes responsibility, and the obligation to suspend moral judgment.

The Top Ten Reasons I Love Erin -- Part II.

2005-09-27T13:22:00.000+01:00

HERE ARE THE TOP FIVE REASONS I love Erin:

5) Erin is as competitive as territorial grizzly bears, making her grace in defeat even more surprising. I observed this contradiction several years ago in her basement while beating her mercilessly at air hockey, ping pong, and eight ball.

4) Pieces of metal have been momentary fixtures on both of our faces. Once, an infinitesimal shaft of metal poked through Erin’s nostril. For some reason, I let a burly, tattooed man insert a 17-gauge needle through my eyebrow.

3) When I made a brief appearance in the U. S. in May 2004, Erin was my only friend in Indianapolis. And what a good friend she was—accompanying me to Paramount’s King Island so I could satisfy my appetite for the daunting drops and thrilling corkscrews of Theme Park America.

2) While studying abroad in Florence this summer, Erin and her delightful friend Leslie flew out to Paris to hang out with me for 36 hours. The two put up with my endless stories about Peace Corps—“Well, in Niger, I….” Always the selfless sport, I reciprocated by putting up with more than two hours of shopping at Galéries-Lafayette, including more than 30 minutes in a designer handbag (is that the correct term, Erin?) store where Erin meticulously inspected handbags (i.e., purses, the must-have accessories of the season, an overpriced amalgamation of fabrics engineered to carry a cabal of cosmetics) like she was purchasing produce at a local farmers’ market.

1) Erin has overcome her nerdy days as a champion speller. (Folks, have you seen the unexpectedly entertaining documentary Spellbound? Well, Erin qualified for the National Spelling Bee three years in a row.) She has unabashedly abandoned this persona. Need proof? Well, in the email I received from her this morning, the word “roommate” was misspelled. (Orthography is a pointless vocation, anyway. Hell, F. Scott Fitzgerald could not even spell Hemingway’s name correctly.)

The Top Ten Reasons I Love Erin -- Part I.

2005-09-26T18:46:00.000+01:00

MY FRIEND ERIN TURNED 25 THIS SUNDAY. For her birthday, I promised her a shout-out on my blog.

First, some backstory. Erin and I have remained friends since our days as awkward overachievers at Carmel High School.

Now, without boring you further, the first five reasons I love Erin:

10) For that unfathomable coincidence we unearthed four years ago, when we realized that we not only lived in Chapel Hill at the same time, but also -- get this -- went to the same preschool for overachievers.

9) Though she left the Hoosier State long ago, she has never disavowed her allegiance to the Blue and Gold, even while dating (excuse me for a second, but a feeling of extreme evil has come over me like Frodo in the Lord of the Rings) someone (for many years I should add) who roots for the "professional" basketball team that calls Madison Square Garden home. Erin, you are a patient, kind, and forgiving soul.

8) For her quirky emails. My favorite included the following remark, "ok ummm...." which prompted the reply, "Who writes 'ok ummm....' in an email? Do you have a stuttering problem when in cyberspace?"

7) For being the sole witness for my first legal purchase of alcohol. It was a cold glass of Heineken savored at lunch in Nashvegas while en route to Naptown (that's Indianapolis for those not in jive with the hip Midwestern lingo) from my first Bonnaroo Music Festival.

6) For making me remember my days as Andrew by refusing to call me Drew.

Come back tomorrow for the Top Five Reasons...

Do I Hear What I Think I Hear?

2005-09-20T12:22:00.000+01:00

Roosters
Originally uploaded by drewniger.

When I got in a cab several weeks ago, I was puzzled by the sound I heard. I asked the cab driver, "Akwai zakara baya?" (Are there roosters in the back?) He answered, "Haka ne." (That's right.)

Thankfully, I had my digital camera with me to document this moment.

I Am Growing Up...

2005-09-17T12:24:00.000+01:00

...TAKING RESPONSIBILITY FOR MYSELF, and improving my character. Why do I say this? Well, I woke up this morning and cleaned the shower and bathroom sink. I had had enough of the grit and grime that had built up since the last time I cleaned the shower (yes, I have done it before) ten days ago. And, now, for the rest of today, I will feel invincible.

On a more serious note, the World Food Programme has halted large-scale food distribution, but Medecins Sans Frontieres (Doctors Without Borders) has criticized the decision. The last line of the report particularly intrigues me: "Niger is ranked the poorest country in the world and has suffered years of neglect by the outside world." I must reiterate this fact once again, but one of the main reasons why Niger, along with Mali, Burkina Faso, Chad, and Mauritania, remains one of the poorest countries in the world is due to this massive desert to the north that is roughly the size of the continental United States. Perhaps, the report should read, "...and has suffered years of neglect by the outside world and Mother Nature."

On My Mind.

2005-09-15T12:39:00.000+01:00

IN THE LIFE of Peace Corps Niger, this week is particularly bittersweet. I have had to say goodbye to my friends with whom I shared three months of training, yet tomorrow the Ambassador will officially swear in thirty-six new volunteers. The juxtaposition of the experience is always striking. Volunteers are always coming and going. The truth is that though the first lonely months of service creep along, once you get used to the stark beauty of this experience, the days are not plentiful enough, and, then one day, the adventure is over. And the real world beckons…

…in that vein, less than six months remain of my service, so the march toward an actual career has begun. Today I printed out graduate school applications (Columbia, Indiana, Missouri, Northwestern, and University of Southern California). I am crossing my fingers that one of these five programs will allow me to get a Master’s in Journalism.

Sunday I met an alumna of one the schools I wish to attend: Alexandra Huddleston, a freelance photojournalist, who received her Master’s in Journalism from Columbia in 2001. She gave me some advice and background information on the school that Joseph Pullitzer spawned. Check out Alexandra’s website. Her portraits of everyday Malians are striking.

In Other News

Believe it or not, planning can be fun. I cannot wait to orchestrate my blitz on Argentina and Brazil. My best friend and his girlfriend are teaching English in Buenos Aires, and I will head to the Southern Hemisphere next May or June, the highlight of my five-month campaign to reconnect with my constituents, i.e. my friends.

Over the past few months I have been all over the Nigerien media. During the nationwide youth conference, I was on Nigerien TV and international radio. On Telesahel’s hour-long program “Jeunesse Au Micro” (“Youth On Mike” ) I was the Peace Corps representative sharing my thoughts on the week’s theme, “Youth and Citizenship,” and my voice was heard across West Africa on the BBC’s French service as I contributed to a correspondent’s report about the conference. On regional Nigerien radio two weeks ago, I talked about how the fight on HIV/AIDS involves everyone, and, during a radio interview in Maradi last week, I struggled in Hausa to explain the objectives of the three-day AIDS training I had organized, which were to educate 40 teenage girls about sexual health and HIV/AIDS and train them as peer educators so that they may share their knowledge with other girls.

Believe it or not, but...my media exposure started before I left for Niger, when I was quoted in BusinessWeek.

Condom Demonstration

2005-09-12T11:43:00.000+01:00

Condom Demonstration
Originally uploaded by drewniger.

AT THE BUSH TAXI station in Dosso, this young man confidently demonstrates to the curious onlookers how to properly use a condom.

2Pac Haircuts

2005-09-12T11:34:00.000+01:00

2Pac Haircuts
Originally uploaded by drewniger.

WHILE IN DOSSO, a city 120 km east of Niamey, a week ago Saturday for a day of AIDS awareness sessions, I had to leave behind the team of educators and volunteers for a split second in order to take this photo.

Column

2005-09-11T10:54:00.000+01:00

THE INDIANAPOLIS STAR published my column about Niger Friday. Due to space constraints, they cut several paragraphs. They changed my two references to "Nigeriens" to "people" and "residents," and they corrected my misplaced modifier, the type of error I should not be making.

I am back in Niamey after helping out with an AIDS awareness day in the city of Dosso (80 miles east of Dosso) and running a three-day AIDS training for 40 teenage Girl Scouts.

The blog is back this week, so please check daily (yes, daily!) for updates.

I'm Leaving Town.

2005-09-02T16:31:00.000+01:00

IT IS TIME AGAIN to hit the road. Tomorrow the volunteers in Dosso (pop. 50,000), a town 75 miles east of Niamey, are putting on an AIDS Day, and Sunday I head to Maradi for the girls' peer educator training concerning sexual health and HIV/AIDS. I will be back in Niamey Saturday, Sept. 10, in time for the Ambassador's going-away party.

The Week In Review

2005-08-27T12:16:00.000+01:00

DURING THE PAST WEEK:

1) I was elated to hear that the U. S. Embassy will once again fund the AIDS Bike Ride, which I helped plan last year. As AIDS Coordinator, I will have more responsibility in organizing this year’s installment, which will start Nov. 25 in Ayorou, the last major town on the way to Mali, and end Dec. 1, World AIDS Day, in Niamey.

2) Kofi Annan visited Niger.

3) I further investigated the graduate programs in journalism to which I plan to apply: Columbia, Indiana, Missouri, Northwestern, and University of Southern California. Print journalism, specifically international journalism, interests me.

4) I hosted two RPCVs (Returned Peace Corps Volunteer, meaning PCVs who have completed their two years of service) from Mauritania, one of whom was my neighbor in Evanston in 2003. Tomorrow my post will compare the volunteer experiences in Niger and Mauritania.

5) I suffered my first, and, with any luck, last, GI problem of 2005.

6) I received the SPA (yes, it is another Peace Corps acronym: Special Program Assistance) check for the girls’ sexual health and AIDS training that will take place Sept. 6 to 9 in Maradi. Over the course of three days, fifty girls, with ages ranging from 12 to 15, will be trained as peer educators on the topics of sexual health and HIV/AIDS.

7) I uploaded more photos on my Flickr photo website. I have put the pictures in albums so that they are easier to browse. Enjoy.

8) I decided I will stick to Switzerland and Italy when I travel in Europe next March.

Have You Commented on the Film of the Summer?

2005-08-24T14:11:00.000+01:00

EVERY SUNDAY SINCE I have been in Niger, my diligent father has written me a one-page, single-spaced letter. In the fall the correspondence includes detailed play-by-play of Indianapolis Colts’ games. In the winter, he clips out the NBA standings; in summer and fall, the MLB standings. Over the past two years, I have learned more about his daily life, specifically the drama at the Kelley (Indiana University) School of Business, than I ever believed possible.

Last week I received his latest letter (#83), and I was amazed by the details in first paragraph. I do not know if my dad took notes during the film, but his enthusiastic synopsis proved that, perhaps, the penguin is the patron saint of the Schmenner Family: “Mom and I saw March of the Penguins last night. What a great nature film! It followed the emperor penguins of Antarctica as they went through the year. As the southern hemisphere’s summer ends, they come out of the sea and march (and slide) about 70 miles to their breeding grounds. It’s that far away because that is where the ice is solid all year. (After the young are born and ready for the ocean, the water is only several hundred meters away.) It will take nine months for mating, gestation, incubation, of the egg, and the initial raising of the young. What is amazing is that after laying the egg, and depleting about 1/3 of her weight, the female needs to go feed and she passes off the egg to the male who then keeps the egg on his claws and under a thick pouch of skin through the dark of the winter. The males press against each other to keep warm but must also keep moving; it’s a vast, rotating huddle. Then, the females reappear just as the males have succeeded in incubating the eggs….” After summing up the life cycle of penguins, Dad eloquently concludes, “It’s a fabulous orchestration under unimaginably harsh conditions.”

Even my brother has been commenting on the success of documentary films this summer. As director of the Block Cinema at Northwestern, he has the authority to talk about movies.

Where do the Pacers Spend the Offseason?

2005-08-21T16:13:00.000+01:00

AS A TRUE FAN of the Blue and Gold, I have always wondered what the players do after the season is over. To get the answer, I wrote Conrad Brunner, who answered my question as his Question of the Day on the official Pacers website.

Ile de Goree

2005-08-21T15:20:00.000+01:00

The Door (Ile de Goree)
Originally uploaded by drewniger.

I HAVE UPLOADED quite a few pictures today, including those from my family's trip to Senegal in January. In this picture, my brother stands at the door where so many slaves embarked on their hellish journey across the Middle Passage.

To view more photos, click on my Flickr badge in the sidebar.

On the Blogging Disabled List.

2005-08-21T15:03:00.000+01:00

TYPING IS QUITE AWKWARD when your right pointer finger is covered in gauze. How did I sustain this bothersome injury? Well, while searching for my contact lens case in the small pocket of my backpack Thursday night, I sliced my finger on a stray Mach 3 blade that had fallen out of the blade holder. By Wednesday I hope I am able to write multiple-paragraph entries.

Cafe Indiana

2005-08-20T15:05:00.000+01:00

Cafe Indiana
Originally uploaded by drewniger.

THIS CHAIN RESTAURANT serves Tex-Mex food, not sweet corn and apple cider, in locations throughout Paris.

What Happened to the Reynolds?

2005-08-20T14:14:00.000+01:00

AFTER THE REYNOLDS called me last week to tell me they had arrived here safely and they did not need my help, I wondered what they had been up to in Maradi. Well, thanks to a chat forum with Craig Timberg, an African foreign correspondent from the Washington Post, I found out:

Washington, D.C.: Simple question: What can I really do to help?

Craig Timberg: Well, that is the best question and the hardest to answer. I think I've already listed the organizations that are working there. And they do help, not always and not perfectly, but I can tell you there'd be a lot more sick children in Niger if aid groups weren't there.

BUT... if I may be preachy for a moment... the best thing Americans can do if they want to help Africa is to get to know Africa and Africans. As a country, we just don't know anything about how Africans live, what their problems are, or what their achievements are. We don't know how the world looks from their perspective. And neither did I, at all, until I got this job and moved here.

Last week, I ran into a family from Florida that diverted a vacation to help out in Niger. They bought several tons of grain, put it in the back of a truck and handed it out. (Their teenaged son got malaria as well, though he was recovering when I left). That level of commitment is hardly required. But I do believe that the only path to more sophisticated and caring relations with Africa is for more Americans to get on planes and visit (and not just the big animals in game parks). It's a big, wonderful continent, with some of the warmest, most-open people I've ever met. A visit won't save a starving kid, but it will gradually lay the groundwork for a better world in which we understand each other and, over time, can help in the right ways.

Youth Conference, Day Three.

2005-08-17T18:30:00.000+01:00

I HAVE STOPPED BRIEFLY in my office tonight, but I am going back to Kollo after dinner. The Nigerien correspondent for the BBC's French service interviewed participants and Peace Corps Volunteers this afternoon, so I might be on the radio tomorrow morning. My HIV/AIDS sessions went well today, and my remaining responsibilities include DJing tomorrow's dance (there have been many 50 Cent requests). I will be back this weekend with many pictures on my Flickr account. Sai na dawo.

Sai Na Dawo. (Until I Return.)

2005-08-13T20:15:00.000+01:00

TOMORROW I AM GOING to Kollo, where the first Youth Leadership Conference will take place. Organized by the Peace Corps and the Ministry of Youth and financed by UNICEF, this initiative will give 32 youth and their counterparts the opportunity to meet their peers from across the country and to plan projects for their respective communities. I will be back Saturday with photos and many stories.

Go Pacers!

2005-08-13T19:25:00.000+01:00

Hollywood Prom 2005 - 14
Originally uploaded by drewniger.

AT A PEACE CORPS PARTY last month, I donned a Reggie Miller jersey, and my friend Ryan, who cheers for the Chicago Bulls, was harrassing me the entire evening.

On April 7 I plan to attend a Pacers-Knicks game at Madison Square Garden, fulfilling one of lifelong dreams. Does anyone wish to join me?

Two Down, Three To Go

2005-08-12T16:57:00.000+01:00

Boys and Christina
Originally uploaded by drewniger.

AT BEN LEVIN'S WEDDING, all the guys from 614 Clark were reacquainted. I lived with Nick and Matt (bottom, left to right), and Ben (upper right) was our unofficial fifth roommate. The woman in the center, anchoring the photo, is Christina, Ben's fiancee. At some point in the future, we will happily reunite once again.

The Campaign Begins.

2005-08-10T14:01:00.000+01:00

VACATIONS REQUIRE PLANNING. It was no one’s fault but Clark Griswold’s that he and his family traveled for hours in a cramped station wagon only to discover that Wally World was closed. In other words, to have fun, you cannot expect the neighborhood kids to just ring your doorbell out of the blue. You have to invite them over to play, have enough snacks, juice boxes, and diversions for everyone, and let your imagination spin out of control.

In June, I orchestrated a five-city, sixteen-day blockbuster: Paris, New York, Manchester, VT, Baltimore, and Washington, DC. In order to assemble all the necessary places and players, I verified the number of vacation days I had remaining, worked around the date of my friend’s wedding, and consulted the Baltimore Orioles’ baseball schedule for a game which all three generations of us Schmenner men could attend. After configuring these key details, I dispatched a stream of emails asking about friends’ and family’s availability. Upon receiving their confirmations, I gave Delta Airlines the go-ahead to book my plane reservations, and then I finalized the dates of the itinerary. Before the jet had taken off, and the Air France flight attendants had wished me a pleasant journey, I had meticulously compiled note cards for each stop and reviewed reservations and public transportation maps. The actors and scenery were finally all in place, and the ambitious five-act, one-night only performance ended as a critically-acclaimed work of art.

After producing such a hit, the pressure to relive such success is haunting. With five months between the end of my Peace Corps service and the beginning of my studies of journalism in graduate school, however, I finally have the opportunity to put together a three-continent epic featuring drama and adventure, song and dance, and endless comedy. And, believe it or not, but this effort is already in pre-production.

When I say goodbye to the continent of Africa March 10, I will head to Europe for three weeks. Then I will return home to Indianapolis where I will embark again on the campaign trail, ensuring that all my constituents hear my stump speech, “Although I was in Africa for more than two years, I did not forget you. In fact, our bonds of friendship got stronger. And now, here I am, ready to let the good times roll once again.” This message will be heard on both coasts, in Madison Square Garden and Dodger Stadium, in the Heartland, and in Buenos Aires.

It behooves me to ask you all, Are you ready for this?

Reading. Watching. Thinking.

2005-08-08T13:13:00.000+01:00

WHILE READING AMERICAN PROMETHEUS, the excellent new biography of J. Robert Oppenheimer, I cannot get over the eerie fact that "Oppie" was drawn to the landscape of New Mexico well before he headed the Manhattan Project at Los Alamos. Yearly retreating to the isolated mesas and mountains for hiking and horseback riding, he always wished that he could combine his two loves--physics and New Mexico--giving new meaning to the idea that our passions kill us in the end.

My friend Walker has the most hilarious competition on his blog. He writes, "So, seeing as I am surrounded by law firms and lawyers and law possibilities, I definitely see a lot of law firm websites with lawyer directories. One thing I have noticed is that most firms have pretty darn terrible pictures of their attorneys. So I am proposing the Irritant competition to find the hottest female attorney picture. Now, it has to be the picture, not how the actual attorney looks in real life, otherwise my older sis would win hands down." He goes on to critique the offerings on the Atlanta law scene, "a market where I have pretty much zero interest in practicing."

Proving that the Antarctic's finest are irresistible creatures, the documentary March of the Penguins is the summer's surprise box office smash. In theatres for seven weeks, the film was the sixth-highest grosser this weekend, topping Jamie Foxx's flop Stealth by more than a million dollars even though it screened at almost half the amount of multiplexes.

Fun Facts and Embarrassing Events From My Childhood.

2005-08-07T14:49:00.000+01:00

HERE ARE SOME LESSER-KNOWN FACTS AND STORIES from my childhood:

1) If I had been born without a penis, my name would have been Callie.

2) A speech therapist taught me how to blow out a candle as well as pronounce the hard 'k' sound, making my requests for "a Coke and a cookie" phonetically correct.

3) Every morning, when entering my preschool classroom, I would announce, "Me here."

4) While belted into the grocery cart, instead of screaming for candy or soda, I would demand to examine each bar code.

5) My favorite stuffed animal was a koala bear.

The Reynolds are Coming.

2005-08-07T13:39:00.000+01:00

EVERY SUNDAY BEGINS with brunch at LR's house. As the new Administrative Officer for Peace Corps Niger, LR arrived earlier this year, and she has kindly opened her home to us for delicious French toast (with warm syrup), fruit and yogurt, and coffee. With her husband still working in Madison, LR's family consists of the Peace Corps and expatriate community and her two cats. While washing dishes in the kitchen and eyeing the French toast sizzling on the stove, she told me to stop and go eat. "You don't want to get hit, do you? It gets busy in here," she said, swinging around and handing another platter of French toast to another PCV helping in this intricate brunch operation.

After LR reluctantly let me soak and wash more dishes, I came here, to the Peace Corps office, to pick up and deliver a bag full of pagnes, brightly patterned fabric worn as a long skirt or tailored as a matching blouse and skirt, for my friend Ado in Maradi. After dropping off the garments to his friend Mariama, I came back to the office to write a few emails. The brief messages were sent. The computer was shut down. And I was ready to bike home for a quiet afternoon reading and writing. Alas, the phone rang, and, of course, it was for me.

Jeff Reynolds was calling back, and he asked me if I could meet he and his parents at the airport when they arrived Tuesday. I said that I would still be working, but I could meet them for dinner that evening as well as book a hotel for them. Although I do not believe the Reynolds should come here, especially without any language skills, experience in international development, or strong ties to the region (remember, Jeff's father was a volunteer in Turkey, but supposedly had a remarkable experience here 30 years ago), I must admit, that as a writer, I am intrigued by their character, namely their naivete and their unbreakable urge to help. Such impulsive altruism motivates me to check out Philip Caputo's latest novel, Acts of Faith, about a renegade group of misguided humanitarians in contemporary, war-torn Sudan. While Niger's dilemma thankfully does not count war as one of its variables, this utter lack of violence ironically makes the death and suffering here even more morally unacceptable and, with the world's belated recognition of the crisis, morally reprehensible. Should not we stop this suffering? And is it not our moral imperative to do so?

As much as I would like to avoid this cliche, I feel that it is particularly poignant in this case. For some people in Niger, life is a lost cause, especially when women, on average, have eight babies. As an essay in TIME Europe so eloquently concludes, "So what to do? It's worth pushing on with debt relief, reduced agricultural subsidies and increased aid —and shaming those countries that don't follow through on their promises. It's also incumbent upon us to feed the starving victims of the drought — and figure out a way to get aid to people more quickly. But it's also important to recognize that the path out of poverty will not be found in a single meeting of a rich club or even a dozen of them. Niger represents the hardest case in any serious effort to help Africa. Morally, we should do all we can to assist the poorest. But we need to understand that sometimes even that will not be enough."

Sports In Indianapolis.

2005-08-06T14:38:00.000+01:00

WHEN I COMPLETE my Peace Corps service March 10, I will have several weeks to travel before I must get back home for some major sporting events. The men's Final Four will take place at the RCA Dome April 1 and 3, and Thursday the Professional Bowling Association announced that the 2006 Denny's World Championship will take place at Woodland Bowl, where I occasionally went bumper bowling during elementary school. The televised final will take place at Butler University's Hinkle Fieldhouse, where the final game in Hoosiers was filmed.

Not only may the state of Indiana claim such sports stars as Larry Bird, Jeff Gordon, Reggie Miller, and Peyton Manning, but Mike Aulby, one of the greatest bowlers of all-time and the first to claim bowling's Grand Slam, grew up in the Indianapolis area.

It Is Time To Move On.

2005-08-06T12:01:00.000+01:00

TUESDAY MORNING an email I received from an RPCV (that’s Returned Peace Corps Volunteer) got my mind back on the ongoing food crisis. Since I have related to you all my current thoughts on the subject, it is time to discuss other matters:

1) The name of a basketball fan’s newborn baby, Parker Duncan Ginobli Till, named after the three stars of the NBA Champion San Antonio Spurs, reminds me of my next-door neighbor’s son, whose name is Anthony Michael Jordan Z. (I have withheld the last name in order to protect Tony’s reticent nature.)

2) Yesterday I went to the Peace Corps training site at the village of Hamdallaye to speak to 36 trainees, who arrived in Niger three weeks ago, about HIV/AIDS. It is remarkable how white, clean, and well-fed these trainees are. They just need to wait a month or two before their first gastrointestinal incident. I dropped 25 pounds during my first six months here, but fortunately I have gained it all back, plus an extra fiver.

3) The last remark reaffirms the fact that my health remains of utmost importance, irregardless of what is going on around me. If I am not happy and healthy, I am a detriment to those around me.

4) When The Economist would arrive at my home while growing up, I just could not understand how my father could read a newsmagazine without many pictures. Now I cannot wait for my new Economist to arrive at the Peace Corps bureau every week. My other favorites include The Atlantic and The New Yorker. In this day and age, I wish photos were chosen as carefully as words.

5) This afternoon I am spending time with several groups of HIV-positive Nigeriens. I will give them an old laptop, which a former AIDS Coordinator has donated for their use. Yesterday, Mamoudou, a president of one of the organizations, and his wife spoke to trainees about living with the disease. With free anti-retroviral drugs available here, they now have hope, in the form of a baby due later this year.

Will The World Feed Niger Next Year?

2005-08-05T15:16:00.000+01:00

THE MALTHUSIAN CAN OF WORMS has opened. Today the World Bank gave Niger $120 million in emergency food aid. Such assistance will help Niger’s hungry in the short-term, but as I mentioned previously, hunger is a way of life here. In a country with the highest population growth rate in the world—women on average have eight children—arable farmland has been virtually exhausted. Potable water is in short supply, and diseases such as malaria prey on the weak. In many areas, the population has simply reached its demographic limit. The simple truth is that malnourished children have always died here in large numbers (one out of four die by the age of 5), but exacerbated conditions (poor localized rains and locusts) in some of the least inhabitable areas in the country have caused the world to pay attention this year. And, as humans, it is difficult to ignore the dying and needy, especially when the population here is not war-torn or extremist, but dignified and generous. The question remains: After the media has broadcast such sensational pictures across the globe, does the world plan to commit its resources to alleviate chronic poverty not only in Niger, but across the developing world (Mali, Niger’s better-governed neighbor comes to mind), or will those pictures amount to nothing more than more hunger porn? If the world wishes to keep pictures of dead babies off the front page of the New York Times, it must begin seriously debating how it plans to deal with burgeoning populations in the developing world.
Walker raised some pertinent questions in his comment on my post “There Is No Food Here.” He asks, “Are there solutions other than international aid? And by that I mean, are there solutions that would not provide food for the Nigerians (sic), but rather solutions that would help them develop systems-- whether that means starting with government or agricultural infrastructure-- that could help them take responsibility for dealing with a situation they should have been prepared for?” In an Op-Ed piece that Peace Corps Director Jim Bullington has submitted to the Washington Post, he writes, “The sad fact is that the current food crisis is not a temporary emergency. It is the inevitable result of a downward spiral of chronic poverty that has been underway for many years. It cannot be effectively addressed by emergency relief operations, however generous and welcome they may be. In the absence of greatly increased development assistance (as opposed to relief handouts), sustained over many years, Niger is doomed to recurrent famines and other humanitarian disasters that are likely to become more frequent and more severe with each passing year.” The question remains, though, if a country cannot produce enough food for its growing population, what is the difference between “increased development assistance” and “emergency relief handouts”?
In response to these comments, I must recount to you another one of my reading experiences. Last summer, I read a haunting book called Bad Land about homesteaders in southeastern Montana. Lured by misleading brochures about fertile farmland, immigrants were drawn to an area which was virtually impossible to farm. Slowly but surely, families left for Oregon and Washington, leaving abandoned schoolhouses and homes in their wake.
After reading that book amid reports from volunteers north of Maradi that the locusts had arrived, I became rather frustrated. Rural villagers here are so ignorant that they truly believe that rain comes from God. While talking to a village teacher once, he admitted to me that his students could not explain the concept of a village to him. Do they even know that there are greener pastures out there? Or do they truly believe they are resigned to this fate?
It is time to go home tonight—it’s almost dinnertime. Tomorrow, I will have to write a phone call this afternoon, which ironically interrupted me from completing this entry. On the phone, I spoke with Jeff Reynolds, who is coming to Niger Tuesday with his mother and father after watching the reports on the news. Though Jeff’s father was a Peace Corps Volunteer in Turkey, he supposedly had a spiritual experience here thirty years ago. I tried to convince his family to donate money to the World Food Program or some other charitable organizations, but he said that they were deadest on coming to Niger to do whatever they could to help. What can you do when you are compelled to help, and you have the means to come here?
There are always more questions.

Books On The Shelf.

2005-08-04T14:29:00.000+01:00

JULY 19—NINE HOURS. MORE THAN 400 PAGES REMAINING. I had to relinquish Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince to its rightful owner before boarding a bus at 4 a.m., or else. To guarantee that I completed my mission, I chugged two Cokes at dinner and then a Red Bull back at home. Racing through the final chapters, aided both by my caffeinated veins and the charged storyline, I slammed the book shut triumphantly with several hours to spare.
I have had many electrifying reading experiences in the past two years, notably To Kill A Mockingbird, Into Thin Air, and The Remains of the Day. For all Peace Corps Volunteers, reading is a serious vocation. We forget the time on our hands by putting a book in them. At our regional hostels, our libraries are organized alphabetically and topically, but the most popular titles are either hoarded at volunteers’ posts or circulated according to the order on the book’s waiting list, which is quite long for Harry Potter.
Edification, not turn-paging thrills, is what I will gain from the book currently at my bedside. American Prometheus is all about J. Robert Oppenheimer, the director of the Manhattan Project.
I hope that by the end of the year I will have made a dent in the following, fourteen-book reading list:

FICTION
Spartina, by John Casey
The Sound and the Fury, by William Faulkner
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, by Ken Kesey
The Complete Stories, by Flannery O’Connor
Atlas Shrugged, by Ayn Rand
Midnight’s Children, by Salman Rushdie
Angle of Repose, by Wallace Stegner

NON-FICTION
Will in the World: How Shakespeare Became Shakespeare, by Stephen Greenblatt
The Lady and the Monk, by Pico Iyer
Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith, by Anne Lamott
Typee: A Peep at Polynesian Life, by Herman Melville
Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim, by David Sedaris
Roughing It, by Mark Twain
Black, White and Jewish: Autobiography of a Shifting Self, by Rebecca Walker

The Best Report on the Nigerien Food Crisis.

2005-08-04T12:07:00.001+01:00

THE FAMINE EARLY WARNING SYSTEMS NETWORK (FEWS NET), an activity funded by the United States’ Agency for International Development, recently released its concise, six-page assessment of the food crisis here, which clears up some of the inaccuracies bandied about by the media, specifically that a famine in Niger (which is really a food crisis or food shortage) threatens the lives of 3.6 million (which is merely the number of people living in the geographic areas affected by last year's inadequate rains and invasion of locusts). The following are the first three questions and answers from the report.

1. Is there now or will there soon be a famine or mass starvation in Niger?

-- There is a very severe, but localized, food security crisis in some pastoral and agro-pastoral areas of northern Maradi, Tillabery, Zinder, and Tahoua departments caused by an early end of last year’s rains, locust damage to some pasture lands, current high prices of food, and chronic non-food causes of malnutrition. In these areas, high malnutrition rates, some of which reveal severe local problems, will inevitably be accompanied by increases in the “normally” high levels of infant mortality.

--This food crisis is not just a temporary emergency. It is the predictable and inevitable result of inadequately-addressed chronic poverty in the world’s second poorest country. Although the willingness of much of the world to address these “famine” conditions in Niger is appropriate and welcome, without a similar commitment and prolonged attention to addressing the chronic issues that are at the heart of the current localized crises, the same problems will re-occur again soon.

2. Are there differences of opinion in Niger about whether there is or will soon be a famine?

--Collaborative monitoring by the Niger government (GON), WFP, FAO, CILSS, and FEWS NET since last October’s harvest, and a joint national assessment completed in April 2005, found a relative consensus in these groups on the locally severe, but non-famine nature of the crisis.

--Recent media coverage and NGO reports have claimed famine conditions and the potential for the starvation of as many as 3.5 million people. The heavy and sensational media attention, and the possibility that more resources will be made available to treat the problem, create enormous pressures and incentives to agree with these claims, and may actually impede the market in delivering lower-cost food to those who need it most.

3. How many people are involved?

--The April 2005 joint food security assessment by the GON, FAO, WFP and FEWS NET estimated that 2.4 million of the 3.6 million people living in agropastoral areas were highly vulnerable to food insecurity. Of those, 1.2 million were judged to require some level of food aid. The latest estimate is that 874,000 persons face extreme food insecurity conditions, and need free food. This number could temporarily grow in the next 6 weeks as pastoralists return north with their remaining livestock.

--Some press reports indicate that from 150,000 infants to 3.5 million people are threatened by starvation in Niger. There is no basis to expect that starvation is a likely outcome for these numbers of infants or people. Children will likely die from malnourishment but a substantial proportion is probably dying from conditions related to poor water quality, or other non-food related problems.

CNN Live From Maradi.

2005-08-02T12:39:00.000+01:00

FIRST OF ALL, I am interested how Anderson Cooper prononuces Niger and Maradi. Is this country knee-JHER or NI-jurr? Is the town MAR-ah-dee or ma-RAH-dee? Mispronunciation announces geographic ignorance. My favorite examples include Houston St. in New York (HOW-ston, not HUE-ston) and San Antonio's Bexar County (the 'x' is silent).
To find out if anyone watches Anderson Cooper's program, specifically last night's live report from Maradi, I went to Technorati, the best blog search engine on the Web. I uncovered a few noteworthy sites. This blog honestly explains the disconnect between Western culture and humanitarian disasters worldwide. It also quotes a relevant comedy routine from Sam Kinison. The other notable blog is an example of someone disconnected, for it is a site solely dedicated to Anderson Cooper.
I am now going to read the transcript from last night's program while I eat my lunch of rice and beans. Tomorrow, along with my thoughts on Harry Potter, I will comment on Anderson's program.

This Week...

2005-08-01T18:25:00.000+01:00

…I WILL TELL YOU, among other things, about eating at my family’s dinner table, reading the latest Harry Potter book, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, and mourning the death of Andrew, my first true friend.
For photos, check out my personal page on Flickr, which I have posted a link to on my sidebar.
Sai gobe. See you tomorrow.

Peace Corps Blog Webring.

2005-08-01T17:22:00.000+01:00

OVER THE WEEKEND, I stumbled upon the Peace Corps blog webring, which lists some 60 or so Peace Corps blogs worldwide. My West African cohorts include Lindsay in Cameroon, Chris in Togo, Bonnie in Guinea, Kristin in the Gambia, Clare and Gretchen in Senegal, and, last but not least, Alyssa in Chad.

Turning It Up A Notch.

2005-08-01T17:08:00.000+01:00

NOW THAT I HAVE been writing daily for three weeks, it is time to tackle topics of a higher degree of difficulty, that is, more serious issues, ones that settle in the soul. I knew this hour would arrive. One of the reasons I had avoided the page during college was the inevitable subject matter I knew I would have to confront — love and death, loss and pain — if I wanted to make my words more meaningful. After attending a friend’s funeral my senior year of high school, and subsequently interviewing his family for his obituary in my high school newspaper, the HiLite, my willingness to take risks in writing, which my ninth grade writing teach once lauded, was sapped. Now I am ready to lay bare again.
I trust you that I will not flood this page with darkness daily, but, as the new tagline to this blog suggests, I can no longer ignore the heavyhearted aspects of my experience. Pleasure and pain accompany any sort of exercise, especially when you test the limits of language.

Suisse/Schweiz/Svizzera

2005-08-01T16:42:00.000+01:00

Lutry
Originally uploaded by drewniger.

IN 1986, I first fell in love with the view above. For one year, my family and I lived in the Swiss town of Lutry, several miles east of Lausanne, the French-speaking capital of Switzerland.
During the first weeks of kindergarten at the International School of Lausanne, I was as friendly as Oscar the Grouch. Replying to my mom’s requisite questioning after my first day of school, I announced, “I met Axl. He’s Swiss. I can’t be friends with him.” Yet after realizing Winnie the Pooh, Tigger, Christopher Robin, and friends were bilingual, my good-ole American ethnocentrism was forever forgotten. Before moving to the Midwest, I asked my dad, “Do they speak English in Indiana?”
Periodically, I will share stories from my times overseas, for, without doubt, they propelled me to sign up for my current adventure in Niger.

White People are Weird.

2005-07-30T16:55:00.000+01:00

WHEN WE VOLUNTEERS are learning local African languages, we sometimes make rather embarrassing mistakes without realizing it. During her first few months, while getting on crowded, rundown vans called bush taxis, GV would sometimes need to carve out a space for herself among the masses of people, their belongings, and, sometimes, their goats and chickens. After clearing room, the Nigeriens would begin laughing. GV, thinking at the time she was particularly clever at crossing cultures, later realized she had been saying, "Move over. I have a huge asshole."

Mun Gode, Indiana Fever. (We Thank You, Indiana Fever.)

2005-07-30T14:24:00.000+01:00

Ado's Team
Originally uploaded by drewniger.

MY FRIEND ADO (seated, bottom left) coaches a girls' basketball team in Maradi. Teenage girls living in this city of 150,000 are expected to cook, clean, take care of their younger children, study, and do other chores. They are not expected to play sports. Fortunately some parents are enlightened enough to let their daughters play basketball on one of Maradi's few basketball courts.
This picture was taken when I visited Maradi at the end of April. Volunteers and I got up at six one morning, before the temperature reached triple digits, and played full court, five-on-five with mixed teams.
Asked by Ado to look for equipment, Darin (seated to my right) got on the Internet and emailed several WNBA franchises. Which team came through? The Indiana Fever are sending shoes, jerseys, and other gear for the girls.

The Whitest Volunteer in Niger.

2005-07-30T14:15:00.000+01:00

TO MY SURPRISE, JC has not proclaimed me the "whitest volunteer in Niger." Instead, that distinction goes to fellow Midwesterner NT.
NT hails from suburban Des Moines. I hail from suburban Indianapolis. We are both tall and quite white. We have vehemently argued whether Iowa or Indiana has the best sweet corn. One topic we have not debated is state fairs, since I am certain that Iowa's is the cream of the crop.
JC is one of five black volunteers in Niger. While growing up in St. Louis, JC aspired to play at the best playground court in his neighborhood, the invitation-only blacktop which Cleveland Cavs' star Larry Hughes first stepped on at age 13. JC reached his goal at age 16 and then walked on at Missouri. At his going-away party last year, Nelly stopped by. They played on a basketball team together, but JC claims they are just acquaintances. "His music sucks," he said. "He's not a rapper."
If NT attempts to use any of Stuart Scott's "boo-yah" vocabulary, JC says, "C'mon, man. Stop it." JC forbids me from doing the same, but for some reason, NT receives more of his wrath even though I love to sing TLC's "No Scrubs" a cappella.
Last night, NT was in rare form, and I regret that JC was not around to witness our conversation. While drinking the West African beer Flag, instead of going for the locally brewed Biere Niger, NT, AH, and I were having our conversation steered by the music videos playing on the 12-inch TV propped up in the open-air bar two minutes from my house. Though Thong Song knockoff Cote d'Ivorian videos filmed next to the Seine are usually blaring on the television there, I was thrilled to have the chance to watch videos to songs, such as "Drop It Like It's Hot," that I have danced to at 100% (Cent Pourcent).
Trying to defend his well-earned moniker, NT was making references to Snoop's lyrics, saying such things as, "Even I know that blue is the Crips' colors." Little did I know, but NT was just getting started. When Usher videos came on, NT was visibly excited. While watching Usher's entrance to "Yeah!" at the 2004 MTV Video Music Awards, he exclaimed, "Usher is awesome. JT is trying to be the new Michael Jackson. But Usher is a better singer and dancer, plus he is better-looking." When the question--"Who the best looking male celebrity?"--was posed, NT's answer was "Usher." When the video to "U Remind Me" came on, NT said, "This was the part I was talking about--with Usher's silhouette. The album it was on tanked, but it was his transition album."
If JC prefers Kanye, Jay-Z, and 2Pac to Nelly, I am sure he dislikes Usher. From our past disputes, I know NT can get his point across. What is an argument I would like to transcribe? JC and NT debating the merits of Usher. One day, I promise, it will be posted here.

Barka Da Haihuwa, Aissa. (Blessings for Giving Birth, Aissa.)

2005-07-29T18:36:00.000+01:00

Aissa and Boubacar
Originally uploaded by drewniger.

ABDOU, MY GUARD, his wife Aissa, their daughter Mariama, and their newborn son live in my compound. Thursday, July 21, Aissa gave birth to a boy. Yesterday, he was baptized as Boubacar. I will upload more photos from the ceremony over the weekend.

The Idiot of the Year.

2005-07-29T18:15:00.000+01:00

THIS UMPIRE has to be in the running for some dubious distinction this year. He banned fourteen-year-olds from speaking Spanish during a Little League baseball game. What punishment does he deserve: No television except Telemundo for the rest of this lifetime? No music except Gloria Estefan and the Miami Sound Machine? No food except refried beans and flour tortillas?

September 9!

2005-07-28T20:53:00.000+01:00

I GOT AN EMAIL from the Star reporter an hour after sending her my column. She said the column should run September 9! Well, count yourselves lucky--all three of you--that you are able to read the column here, on Take Your Shoes Off, today, July 29, in its unedited, unadulterated form.

Babaye Ya Iya Dafawa. (Babaye Knows How to Cook.)

2005-07-28T20:39:00.000+01:00

Babaye and Kim
Originally uploaded by drewniger.

BABAYE IS MIXING EGGS for one of his delicious omelet sandwiches, for which Kim impatiently waits.

Ina Jin Kishirwa. Akwai Abinsha? (I'm Thirsty. Got Beverages?)

2005-07-28T20:31:00.000+01:00

Babaye -- Fridge
Originally uploaded by drewniger.

THREE YEARS AGO my friend Babaye in Zinder started with one table, baguettes, a can of Nescafe, boiling water, sugar, spoons, and some glasses and cups. Now he has a fully-stocked fridge.
Sannu ka da aiki, Babaye. (Good work, Babaye.)

Finally, CNN is Reporting the News.

2005-07-28T20:17:00.001+01:00

THIS TIMELINE illustrates how the ongoing food crisis in Niger could have been averted if Africa was on the world's radar for longer than just a weekend of concerts. CNN has come to Maradi to report on the food crisis as well.

My Experience In 705 Words.

2005-07-28T20:00:00.000+01:00

SEVERAL MONTHS AGO, I wrote an email to the Indianapolis Star from their website, asking whoever would be reading the message if he/she would consider publishing a column about my experience in Niger. Two weeks passed, and the email slipped from my mind. One morning, however, I received an email from a reporter who asked for a column. Cross your fingers, for the deadline was today, and if all goes according to plan, the following 705 words should be published August 12:

Two years ago, when I found out I would serve as a Peace Corps Volunteer in the West African nation of Niger, I had to consult an atlas since I had no idea where it was.
Now after living and working in the world’s second-poorest country, according to the United Nations Development Index, I could not imagine being anywhere else. This experience has shaped me and will continue to influence me long after I leave here next March.
I have learned countless, invaluable lessons here. As a health volunteer working specifically in the HIV/AIDS sector, I have learned how this epidemic affects Nigeriens’ lives. Thankfully Niger has one of the lowest infection rates in Sub-Saharan Africa—1.2 percent—but ignorance of the disease still abounds. Those raising awareness include Salifou Ibrahim, who announced that he was HIV-positive on national television, becoming the first Nigerien to publicly reveal his status. Though he showed remarkable courage, many who are infected still live in fear. AIDS is regarded as a death sentence, but the stigma should gradually change since life-prolonging anti-retroviral drugs are now available free of charge.
I have learned to communicate in two languages, French and Hausa, the most widely spoken language in West Africa. Though I mainly use French at work, my basic Hausa is indispensable when I go to market, for I do not get ripped off when I exclaim to an unsuspecting seller, “Haba! Rage mini.” Come on! Lower the price.
I have learned how powerful nature is. In a country on the edge of the Sahara, a desert roughly the size of the United States, Nigeriens annually struggle to grow enough food for themselves. In the villages closest to the desert, last year’s harvest was a disaster due to poor rains coupled with an invasion of locusts. Now more than three million people are facing a food crisis, surviving only on leaves and grass. Thousands of children are dying, and since the world has finally heeded the call for aid, the United Nations and other aid organizations are beginning to distribute food in the most ravaged areas.
I have learned how generous and dignified people can be. Despite the widespread poverty here, I have never witnessed such giving hearts. Villagers with next to nothing have invited me into their homes and fed me, expecting nothing in return.
I have learned how women can be second-class citizens in the world. In many villages, fathers marry off their daughters as soon as they are able to give birth. On average, women have eight children, the highest fertility rate in the world. The day after giving birth, they are back to work, nursing their newborn, pulling water from the well, and preparing the day’s meals. Women, especially in the developing world, do not get the respect and recognition they deserve.
Lastly, I have learned how small the world is. When I came to Niger, I believed that I had left behind everyone and everything I had ever known. I was proved wrong during my three-month training, when I met a volunteer who was the best man in a neighbor’s wedding.
The connections continued to surface. While shopping at Border’s at River Crossing, my mother asked an employee’s help in searching for African music. After displaying impressive knowledge on the subject, my mom asked him, “How do you know so much?” He replied, “I was a Peace Corps Volunteer in Niger.”
Even in my wildest dreams I could not have concocted the next coincidence. In March, I met a volunteer who looked rather familiar. I did not place her until I was looking through mail at the Peace Corps office. My jaw dropped when I saw a letter addressed with an Indianapolis return address to Julie Snorek. (Who forgets a name like Snorek, really?) After emailing fellow Carmel High School graduates and former members of the Ambassadors, I confirmed the fact Julie and I had both danced onstage at Dale E. Graham Auditorium.
Two years ago I could not have told you the difference between Nigeria and Niger. But from now on, whenever I look at a world map, the world will seem much less foreign to me. And for that, I will be forever grateful.