by Aaron Barlow
I started to panic, fearing that the lion was still alive, when the sounds again entered my mind.
This devil is dead they said. But there will be more. Maybe not here but elsewhere in your life, far from here or maybe even in your own heart. Strive for purity in all that you do. When the devil comes forth, come to us and listen. For you must fight him. We’ll be there and so will be another.
I swore I then heard a short chirp, the sound of knuckles popping and a faint voice saying, “No doubt.”
Jack Meyers (Somalia, 1968-69; Kenya, 1969-70) became a resource economist. His last career position was Director of International Programs for Resource Management International before moving into consulting and writing (currently he has two completed novels and two in progress).
Part Five
Sustainable Peace
Children of the Rains
Michael Toso
Context and culture: Africa was much before the coming of the Europeans, and continues to be Africa, for all the outside influence.
We are in Anza’s garden, watching a Harmattan sun sink over a mangled screw palm and what’s left of the season’s millet harvest. Thieves broke into Anza’s granary and, while they didn’t take everything, he is disheartened. Conversation has taken an unusually somber tone. Abdou says that what he wants in life, to feel secure, is a zinc roof over his head.
Most Djerma use braided grass and reeds for roofing. Some of the upwardly mobile have begun to buy sheets of zinc, a widely popular and sought after commodity because they do not leak during our short rainy season. Anza stares out into his garden and says that stored away millet is what gives his mind rest. When you have a sack of millet in the corner, he says, your wife and kids sleep soundly at night. You sleep soundly because they sleep soundly. As we watch the last rays of sun through broken millet stalks, Anza speaks in a quiet, measured tone, Nda wayno go ga kun ni ga, wa tun ga di, a go ga tun windi kulu bon. “You think the sun sets on your compound alone? Stand up and see how it falls on the entire village.” A succinct Djerma proverb.
I have seldom been accused of coming up short on words. Learning Djerma didn’t change that, but has taught me the value of spoken word. Discovering, memorizing, and learning to call upon just the right proverb, at just the instant, changed my life in Falmey.
These age-old sayings encompass much of what makes seemingly threadbare Djerma such a poignant language. As with a proverb, there are few words; each and every one has multiple meanings. This is the power of a living, spoken language, the power of a proverb; should you draw upon conventional wisdom, no one will argue with you; with the right words, you can silence your enemies, embrace your loved ones, and tell a fanciful story to toddlers—in the same breath.
Before the French came to unite the Djerma, Hausa, Fulani, Tuareg, Beriberi, and Gourmanche inside arbitrary lines on a piece of paper and began imposing head taxes, there were the Fulani Jihads of the eighteenth century. Before the Fulani spread across the Sahel to purify Islamic practices, there was the Songhai empire. Before the Songhai controlled the salt caravans, Tuaregs navigated the desert seas by starlight, marking each secret oasis town with a distinct silver cross.
Yes, long before white Peace Corps Volunteers arrived in Niger, people have been uprooted, supplanted, forced to migrate, learned to thrive in whatever place must now be called home.
The Land Rover dropped me off in the village in late October. Falmey was teaming with youth; the harvest was about to begin. Had I been dropped off in March, I would have met women, children, and old men. There is no economy to speak of in Niger and, with desertification growing worse each year, most young men travel south to Cotonou, Accra, Lagos, Kano to find work. They work until clouds gather above the Sahel, and then they follow these clouds home to begin the harvest. These are the kurmizey, taabusizey, children of the rain. They are the diaspora of this age.
Truly there is nothing new under the sun.
Kurmizey are the sons of Djerma farmers who travel across the Sahel, down through the savannahs to the seacoast in search of work, only to return for the season of rains and harvest each year. Taabusizey are children born in a foreign land, they are the fruits of a prodigal son’s harvest sent home to be claimed by their family. French-speaking Djermas named this diaspora, this scattering of youth, Exode. A Djerma folk hip-hop poet, the late Moussa Poussi, sang a song, “Taabusizey.” Moussa wove old farmers’ songs of longing for their children’s return with the rebellious songs of youth ready to seek greener pastures.
Every young traveler in my age-set knows this call-and-response. When you travel to a foreign place, when the bright city lights hit you for the first time, when you first taste Coca-Cola, when you learn to eat foods other than millet, baobab leaves and peanut sauce, and you don’t know a soul in the world because you can’t speak the language, you begin to whistle this song. You sing the song as you walk along, and more likely than not, your song will find its companion.
Another Djerma youth’s whistle will join yours and you are no longer a stranger in a strange land: You have found someone to look after you and to look after.
My friend Yaye taught me this song shortly before I was to begin my preparations for departure. He insisted that I learn it, that I know the words elders sing from their fields as clouds gather on the horizon: rain clouds gather and bring your children home for the harvest. Elders and children sing to one another from across the savannahs and cloud-filled skies that separate them.
Children of the rains, prodigal children: give birth and send your children home.
We are leaving, until we come again. Father mustn’t look for us: mother mustn’t look for us.
Those that searched for us were belittled.
The water of belittlement catches one in the eyes.
The automobile is leaving, mother is crying.
The guitar and its strings should never separate.
The old kokoroba-made hoe leans against a kokoroba tree.
The sleeper and his millet spoon are sleeping underneath the granary.
Wild millet is waiting to become porridge, the family awaits its arrival.
And this millet drink left in the sun must speak of its place and look to the sun.
For if it ferments and turns to poison, it will be the family who dies.
Yaye’s mother is a Fulani herder, his father is a Djerma farmer. He was born in Falmey; he often travels to Ghana to find work. The year I came to the village, he married. The week before I left, he and I slaughtered a sheep for his son’s naming ceremony. Yaye speaks the pigeon English spoken in Accra, but we converse in Djerma. We had never related with words.
He and I were friends because of the knowing stare I would catch out of the corner of his eye, as some passer-by made comments about my “foreignness.” We connected because he knew what that was like.
I packed to leave Falmey as the third season of rains fell down around us. A Djerma proverb says life is like a mango, just as it becomes ripe, if falls from the tree. Yaye taught me to sing “Taabusizey,” and as I sang it for my age-set before leaving, I realized that Yaye wasn’t teaching me this song so that I could find a Djerma friend in the United States: that was the fanciful story for the toddlers. Yaye was silencing those who had mocked him, who had mocked me, for being different, because some had never left themselves. Because some of them had never sung the song in a foreign land. Yaye’s gift to me was a word to associate with a precious time in my life. He was wise enough to know that it isn’t the spoken word that matters, but the layers of meaning you can fold beneath its sound.
Michael Tosso was a Community and Youth Educator in Niger from 2004-06. Since 2009 he has been a Preventative Health Educator with the Peace Corps responsible for improving rural environmental and nutrition outcomes through non-formal education and community action in Senegal.
Acknowledgeme
nts
When Jane Albritton asked me to edit the Africa volume of Peace Corps @ 50, I had no idea what I was getting into, no idea what a wonderful project this is or of the power of the essays that she had collected (though one of them was mine). Jane had a vision for this series that I only learned to appreciate as I worked on it, coming to understand something that I may have forgotten in the years since my own formative Peace Corps experience: Peace Corps changes lives, both of the Peace Corps Volunteers (PCVs) and those they interact with. Few development projects or organizations (if any) have had such a continual and personal impact as Peace Corps.
So, the first person I have to thank here is Jane. Though my name may be on the cover of the book with hers, this is really her project, a result of her vision. My hat goes off to her.
Then I have to thank the contributors. We have had an overwhelming response to Jane’s call for submissions, and I have had the unfortunate task of winnowing them down to a still-unreasonable (but workable) size, sometimes cutting much of what these passionate Returned Peace Corps Volunteers (RPCVs) have written so that more of them can be included. They have reaffirmed the importance and power of the Peace Corps experience, but have pulled no punches, depicting the bad and the difficult as well as the good.
This volume owes a great deal to Production Director Susan Brady, who demands a higher level of work than I can provide, getting more from me (and from the stories) than would otherwise be possible. Any success this book has will come because she has made it welcoming and accessible.
Finally, I want to thank my wife, Jan Stern, who not only has assisted me, but who has been willing to accommodate the work into our already over-extended lives, finding ways for this project to be included even as it became more and more a labor of love and more and more consuming.
Story Acknowledgments
“Why I Joined the Peace Corps” by Robert Klein published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Robert Klein.
“There at the Beginning” by Tom Katus, George Johnson, Alex Veech, and L. Gilbert Griffis published with permission from the authors. Copyright © 2011 by Tom Katus, George Johnson, Alex Veech, and L. Gilbert Griffis.
“Learning to Speak” by Tom Weller published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Tom Weller.
“First and Last Days” by Bob Powers published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Bob Powers.
“Hena Kisoa Kely and Blue Nail Polish” by Amanda Wonson published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Amanda Wonson.
“Coming to Sierra Leone” by Sarah Moffett-Guice published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Sarah Moffett-Guice.
“Shattering and Using Book Learning” by Susan L. Schwartz published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Susan L. Schwartz.
“The Adventures Overseas” by Larry W. Harms published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Larry W. Harms.
“A Toubac in the Gloaming” by E. T. Stafne published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by E. T. Stafne.
“Family Affair” by Arne Vanderburg published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Arne Vanderburg.
“Your Parents Visited You In Africa?” by Solveig Nilsen published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Solveig Nilsen.
“What I Tell My Students” by William G. Moseley published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by William G. Moseley.
“Slash and Burn” by Kelly McCorkendale published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Kelly McCorkendale.
“Two Years Lasts a Lifetime” by Sally Cytron Gati published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Sally Cytron Gati.
“Sister Stella Seams Serene” by Starley Talbott Anderson published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Starley Talbott Anderson.
“Late Evening” by Lenore Waters published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Lenore Waters.
“The Forty-Eight Hour Rule” by Martin R. Ganzglass published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Martin R. Ganzglass.
“Full Circle” by Delfi Messinger published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Delfi Messinger.
“A Promise Kept” by Beth Duff-Brown published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Beth Duff-Brown.
“The Utopia of the Village” by Heather Corinne Cumming published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Heather Corinne Cumming.
“The Engine Catches” by Susanna Lewis published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Susanna Lewis.
“Yaka” by Kelly J. Morris published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by .
“Nous Sommes Ensemble” by Anna Russo published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Anna Russo.
“The Sweetest Gift” by Jayne Bielecki published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Jayne Bielecki.
“The Conference” by Marcy L. Spaulding published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Marcy L. Spaulding .
“Girls’ School” by Marsa Laird published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Marsa Laird.
“Testimony” by Stephanie Bane published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Stephanie Bane.
“African Woman” by Dorothea Hertzberg published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Dorothea Hertzberg.
“My Rice Crop” by Edmund Blair Bolles published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Edmund Blair Bolles.
“Gentle Winds of Change” by Donald Holm published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Donald Holm.
“La Supermarché” by Jennifer L. Giacomini published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Jennifer L. Giacomini.
“Mokhotlong” by Allison Scott Matlack published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Allison Scott Matlack.
“Changing School” by Sandra Echols Sharpe published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Sandra Echols Sharpe.
“The Season of Omagongo” by Alan Barstow published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Alan Barstow.
“Tapping” by Eric Stone published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Eric Stone.
“The Drums of Democracy” by Paul P. Pometto II published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Paul P. Pometto II.
“Boys & Girls” by Ryan N. Smith published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Ryan N. Smith.
“I’d Wanted to Go to Africa, But the Peace Corps Sent Me to Sierra Leone” by Bob Hixon Julyan published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Bob Hixon Julyan.
“Breakfast” by Jed Brody published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Jed Brody.
“Daily Life” by Kathleen Moore published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Kathleen Moore.
“Watoto of Tanzania” by Linda Chen See published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Linda Chen See.
“Begging Turned on Its Head” by Karen Hlynsky published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Karen Hlynsky.
“Time” by Patricia Owen published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Patricia Owen.
“Learning to Play the Game of Life” by Lawrence Grobel published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Lawrence Grobel.
“A First Real Job” by Joy Marburger published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Joy Marburger.
“It’s Condom Day!” by Sera Arcaro published with permission fr
om the author. Copyright © 2011 by Sera Arcaro.
“The Civilized Way” by Bryant Wieneke published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Bryant Wieneke.
“Who Controls the Doo-Doo?” by Jay Davidson published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Jay Davidson.
“The Ride Home” by Bina Dugan published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Bina Dugan.
“The Little Things” by Stephanie Gottlieb published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Stephanie Gottlieb.
“There Will Be Mud” by Bruce Kahn published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Bruce Kahn.
“The Hammam in Rabat” by Shauna Steadman published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Shauna Steadman.
“Straight Razors in Heaven” by Paul Negley, Jr. published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Paul Negley, Jr.
“Big Butts Are Beautiful!” by Janet Grace Riehl published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Janet Grace Riehl.
“Monsieur Robert Loves Rats “ Bob Walker published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Bob Walker.
“Imani” by Daniel Franklin published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Daniel Franklin.
“Hail, Sinner! I Go to Church” by Floyd Sandford published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Floyd Sandford.
“A Visit From H.I.M.” by Carol Beddo published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Carol Beddo.
“Moon Rocket” by Robert E. Gribbin published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Robert E. Gribbin.
“Bury My Shorts at Chamborro Gorge” by Thor Hanson published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Thor Hanson.
“Near Death in Africa” by Nancy Biller published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Nancy Biller.
“Boeuf Madagaskara” by Jacquelyn Z. Brooks published with permission from the author. Copyright © 2011 by Jacquelyn Z. Brooks.