My Niger boyfriend, Darey, finally rejoined civilization and was in an area where I could call him. I was so happy to hear from him, and hear how he and his family are doing.
Now who is this guy? I use the term "boyfriend" loosely. While I lived in Niger we had a kind of third-grade romance: we'd see each other every few months, bring each other little gifts, express how happy we were to see each other, etc. When I left he was like, "please don't forget me!" and how could I? I had a lot of adventures with Darey. He taught me a lot of Hausa (my Niger language), he taught me about his culture (the Wodaabe people), he taught me some cultural norms, and we just had fun together.
I first met him at a herders' meeting near Abalak. He is very much a politician, always meeting people, making contacts, trying to get help for his people. He's also handsome, with dark skin, high cheekbones, a straight, long nose, and beautiful white teeth. I also like his polite, soft-spoken manner. Never one to get angry or upset, and always gentle.
We were together for about a year, but only saw each other every few months for about a week at a time. He would come down to Konni to visit me, and a few times when I hadn't seen him in a while, I traveled up to Abalak to see him in his village and to stay with his people.
Staying in Darey's village was so different from living in my village. My village seems rich compared to his. In Darey's village (known as Teyiss), there are only about 5 houses. The houses are made out of sticks and old rags, and some don't even have a roof. The land is dryer as his village is further north, and so the lush, leafy Neem trees that we get in Korap don't even grow in Darey's neck of the woods. All they have are thorny Acacia trees and this invasive exotic tree from Asia that looks like a woody milkweed. You really gotta watch out for those thorny Acacias - the thorns fall on the ground and will pierce your foot right through your shoes. If you want to sit under one for shade, you have to be careful not to get stabbed in your butt and legs.
These people are truly bush. They don't listen to the radio like my villagers because they can't afford batteries. The kids don't speak Hausa (they are Wodaabe and they speak Fulfulde), and flashlights are a rarity. The Wodaabe people's livelihood is their cattle. Some cows have been around for a decade at least, and wherever there is grass, that is where the herders take them. They walk through trail-less, thorny bush land to get water from the wells and find something, anything for the cattle to eat. They camp out under the stars every night, carrying their possessions in a backpack or in calabash bowls they balance on their heads. There is never enough water for bathing. While some family members are herding, others are staying in the village, the homestead. These are the people I stayed with.
In the true Niger tradition, they gave me the nicest bedding - a cot with blankets and a real pillow. At nights we sat around fires (at least there's more firewood up north since they don't have farms), the old men making individual pots of tea, us young kids sharing our own pot of tea. The Wodaabe people are cuddly, young men and young women not shy about touching each other, and I would snuggle up with my friend Mariama as we huddled under a blanket. When darkness really fell, we would go to bed, where I slept warm and comfortable under the cold Sahel sky.
In the mornings I'd awaken to the sounds of fire-building, tea-brewing, and goats and sheep running around bleating. I'd find some kid to fill my water bottle, my Nalgene bottle which never left my side, and use the bathroom (go to some bushes). It's culturally appropriate to walk around to each house greetings its occupants ("
a waali jam?" "How did you sleep?"), then taking them up on any offers to have tea or eat food. It would easily take an hour to visit four houses.
To kill time, I'd read a book I'd brought (I remember reading "The Poisonwood Bible" in Teyiss) or do some sewing. When you live with others, you feel as though you have no personal space or time to yourself. Being a visitor can be trying on a person. Plus, I didn't speak their language, so the energy spent trying to learn Fulfulde would kick my ass. I also couldn't take part in conversations unless they were in Hausa, and listening to people speak in a language you don't know gets boring. Throughout the day we'd move our mats around to follow the shade, as it moved along with the sun. At midday they let me stay in the teacher's house, the only building with a roof, so I could get shade.
If school was in session, I'd go sit in class just for something to do and to talk to the teacher, my friend Boubacar. He had each of the kids draw a colorful bowl, then gave me all the pictures. These kids are about 7 years old, so the pictures were pretty cute. I still have them.
One afternoon Darey's grandmother invited me into her little home, a 4' by 8' tent made with a wood frame and rags. I walked in and it was just full of stuff, including a pair of Darey's shoes that I remembered giving him a while back. She laid out a mat and invited me to sit down. Then she laid down, saying she was tired. I realized she was inviting me to take a nap with her. It was so sweet. Unfortunately, I had just awoken from a nap, which I told her, and when she was close to falling asleep I left her on her own. It is not unusual for people to sleep together in Niger - men, women, kids, women and kids. Often grandmas will sleep with a couple of grandkids each night. I remember my neighbor/best friend Rabi offering me her daughter Habsu to use as a sleeping friend.
The beautiful Darey.
One of the old guys, I just call him "Baba" (Dad).
Zamani, who braided my hair and whose house I hung out at the most.
Darey's cousin, I forgot the guy's name. He was just stopping through. Notice the tea brewing on the charcoal stove.
My homegirl Mariama.
The kids! I taught this girl, Halima (the taller one), how to play cards. Jyo'di, the boy, is the little guy in the Niger shirt. And the baby is my little friend Zeina (we have the same name).
How could I have forgotten a picture of grandma?
