Love One Another...

Writing about the moon and moon babies yesterday really got me thinking about Niger.  Niger is a wonderful country filled with wonderful people.  Watching the news with talk of Boko Haram entering southern Niger is so very sad to me.  My experiences found very welcoming people that have an immense amount of knowledge to share, with their arms wide open to visitors.

I hit on this a little in one of my previous posts, my host Mother, Hisa, showed me how to create a vegetable bed with one tool.  It resembled a hoe.  That’s it, no other tools or fancy gadgets.  Coming from a country of everything has to be bigger, better and faster this was eye opening for me.  “You mean you don’t need an impressive piece of machinery to start a garden?”  Then how about learning how to welcome others…

The Peace Corp Training Manager, Yves, explained how the Muslim faith/custom is to welcome with open arms ALL visitors.  He explained how a weary traveler may simply stop at huts along his way to seek shelter for the night and he would be embraced and possibly fed.  Are we that welcoming in the United States?  Not even close.  If someone came knocking at our door we would act suspicious of them and send them on their way to the closest hotel, whether they could afford it or not.  I realized we really have something to learn in the US.

The average person does not mean malice or harm.  If someone asks for help we look at them as though they are going to pull everything from underneath us.  We guard our “wealth” with real and simulated guns.  Instead of looking at our countrymen as brethren, we look at our fellow countrymen as competitors or thieves looking to take our next big break or the items/belongings we worked so hard to attain.  Wouldn’t those possessions be that much more valuable if we were sharing them with others?

We are all the same, the same beating heart, the same hopes and aspirations and the same needs and wants to connect with others and protect those we care for.  The key is to keep all of those needs and wants in check so that they do not spiral out of control leading to discourse, a disconnect in communication and an irrational fear of someone lurking around the corner waiting to take something from us.  When we meet others, especially those that seem so different superficially, take the time to learn something.

My third night in Fandoga Beri was a time I wish I had the ability to have recorded.  Hisa (my host Mother) and I were once again eating dinner under the stars.  Hisa made my dinner every night and never acted as though I was some sort of burden or annoyance.  Keep in mind, I may have looked like an adult, but my language skills were that of a baby just learning how to talk.

I figured at some point I would be working hands-on with livestock during my time in Niger so I brought one of my tools, my stethoscope.  Hisa asked me what I did in the US.  I explained that I am a veterinary technician and made a comparison to a nurse.  I explained that I wanted to work with the livestock in Niger.  Although this may seem like some sophisticated talk for my third night there, I’m leaving out the constant flipping through my language booklets, the incomplete sentences and fumbling through explanations. 

At this point I pulled out my stethoscope and asked her if she had ever seen one of these, Hisa said she hadn’t.  I flipped wildly through my language book trying to figure out how to say that this device listens to the heart.  I ended up using the word for beat, as in a drum, and placed my hand over my heart.  I asked Hisa if she understood, expecting her to say “Ay man faham,” I do not understand.  I sounded clumsy and was using words that may have had no connection specifically to what I was trying to convey.  Hisa said she understood and I felt like “OK, this language thing is coming along.”  I then took the bell of the stethoscope and placed it over my heart and showed her how to place the other end in the ears.  Keeping the bell over my heart, I handed her the listening end to place in her ears.  Hisa looked in amazement.  I then offered to place the bell over her heart so she could hear her heartbeat.  Hisa eagerly said OK.  Hisa was able to hear her heartbeat for the first time and she sat there, holding the bell over her heart for the longest time astounded.  It was a beautiful moment.  Hisa’s heart and my heart sounded the same.

The same, what does that mean?  Trying hard to prove we are so different, so much better, so much richer, so much smarter, so much more cunning, we forget how we are the same.  All of us.  We need to come together “…and whatever other commandment there may be, are summed up in this saying [namely] ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’  Love does no evil to the neighbor; hence, love is the fulfillment of the law.” (New American Bible, Romans 13: 9, 10)

I don’t want to sound as though I am critical of my fellow Americans.  I know and have met many nice people, willing to give the shirt off their back.  I have met many people that welcomed visitors from other countries as though they are extended family.  I have read about Americans, met many people and have worked alongside others doing amazing things like sheltering the homeless, feeding the hungry and giving assistance to families in distress.

How easy is it to love someone you CAN understand, you CAN relate too or you CAN connect with.  How about those you feel little or no connection too?  Saint Paul in Colossians 4: 5, 6 stated “Conduct yourselves wisely toward outsiders, making the most of the opportunity.  Let your speech always be gracious, seasoned with salt, so that you know how you should respond to each one.”  All of us have something to learn, something to gain with understanding or wisdom and something to contribute to with gained knowledge.  When everyone is united, maybe even in what we call diversity, love abounds good things happen and organizations like Boko Haram are extinguished.

The Moon and the Moon Babies...

I took my dogs out one more time for the night at about 11 o’clock and the sky looked beautiful.  There were so many stars out.  Whenever I’m out at night I cannot help but look up and marvel at how beautiful those little specks light up the dark sky.  If not every time, pretty darn close to it, I think of when I was in Niger.

My first day at Fandoga Beri was quite interesting and I had a dim bulb moment.  We were told at the training site we would be receiving a Muslim name from our host family and for some reason, this slipped my mind.  It’s so strange to be so excited that you would forget you would no longer be called by your birth name.  So two other Peace Corp trainee’s and myself went to Fandoga Beri and when we arrived we sat before the Chief and the people of the village.  I had been in the country for two days and could barely speak Zarma, so I wasn’t sure what was being said other than I felt very welcomed.

When I arrived at my hut I was met by my host Mother, Hisa and my host sister.  I had my Zarma language cards in my hand to help with basic “How do you do’s?”  I quickly understood my host Mothers and sisters name’s however I couldn’t understand why they didn’t understand that my name is Meresa.  At one point they acted like it took everything in them not to hysterically laugh.  So then I became concerned “What am I saying?!”  I would look back at the language cards over and over again perplexed wondering what exactly I was saying, thinking “Maybe Meresa just doesn’t sound right to them, the combination of the vowels and consonants.” 

A Peace Corp Volunteer (PCV) that had been in the country for one year made her rounds to each of our huts to see how we were doing.  She looked around and was surprised that I had everything already situated…my bed was made, everything was put away and in its place.  I commented “I feel now that I’m situated there’s no distractions to jump right in.  Speaking of which, I think there’s some miscommunication.  I tried telling my host family my name and they didn’t understand.  If I understand my host Mother is Hisa.”  My fellow PCV went to speak to Hisa and came back.  She sat down next to me on my bed, trying not to laugh and said “Well, there seems to be a misunderstanding.  She’s trying to tell you your name is Fadila.”  At that point I felt really, really, really stupid.  It all came back to me, the meeting we had prior to going to our villages when we were told we were to be given a Muslim name.  I laughed, a tad out of embarrassment.  That night, however, made up for that awkward moment.

Hisa brought me my dinner (my host Mother made me dinner EVERY night) and her and I sat down to eat under the amazing star filled sky.  I couldn’t help but stare in awe at the gorgeous moon illuminated sky.  I was in heaven.  I learned a phrase in Zarma that I would use so much I about worn it out, “Ifo no?”  I was pointing at the stars and moon asking “What is that?”  Hisa repeated “Hondu nda hondu izey.”  I couldn’t find anything in my intro cards so I wrote it down to ask the next day during training about the translation.  The PCV came to check on everyone after dinner one last time to make sure everything went well.  I excitedly pulled out my notebook to ask what the new phrase meant.   The PCV looked at me shaking her head and said “You’re getting into the culture pretty quick.  I’m jealous.  It took a few days to converse with my host family, except brief short phrases like ‘Hello’ and ‘goodbye.’  That phrase means the moon and moon babies.”  She proceeded to explained how everything, in terms of big and little, was translated in Zarma.  Especially after my little thick moment of not accepting my name, this more than made up for it.  The moon and the moon babies.

By the way, I asked the next day what my name, Fadila meant.  The Peace Corp training staff member looked at me and said, “That’s a good name for you.  It means ‘one with dignity.’”  The time I spent in Niger were amazing.