A Glimpse beyond Niamey

Hello All,

Today was a rare and beautiful breath of fresh air. After a fruitless day of house hunting yesterday, we'd made plans to see more houses today, but the plan fell through when we discovered that they were going to be the same houses we looked at and rejected yesterday. Don't ask. So, after swimming, a nap and a brief skype video call with Dad, we set out. ( By the way, just to interject on behalf of skype- for those who don't have it, get it, then we can see eachother and talk for free!)

So, at 5pm we found ourself with a driver and a car, but nowhere to go. Then, Cheikh suggested we just take a drive and see the other side of the river. Just crossing the bridge felt like an adventure after 3 weeks travelling circles on the same roads. The other side of the river (Harobanda- meaning the "other side of the river") is another world. Suddenly we'd crossed into a village, with mud brick houses, Peuhl kids herding cattle and toddlers running naked. The pace of life seemed to slow and the city noise faded away. It felt right to take it in riding in a car with broken AC and the windows down. I know village life is hard but I felt no pity in my heart, only respect. I wanted to get out and walk along those dusty roads under the palm trees. Something about the place echoed of Kouna, where I spent more than two years in Mali, and of every northern village in the Sahel. 

We visited an MC project where herders pool resources to keep cattle under one roof, so they can minimize the distances they travel for grazing and increase the quantity and quality of milk the cows produce. K enjoyed the cows, especially the calves.

Then we piled back into the car for the highlight of the trip that we didn't even realize was yet to come. We got on the main road headed south from Niamey. We drove nine kilometers on the toll road. (the toll was about fifty cents- and we even got a receipt!) then we headed to "the place where you can walk by the river." I don't remember the name of the beach, but that's exactly what it was. We drove by mango orchards and dry river beds (which we were told will quickly fill when the rain starts) and sand dunes. There were bluffs and palm trees and well constructed bridges. Cheikh aptly put it when he said "I think I'm falling in love." We both are. This is a truly beautiful place and it steals your heart without you even noticing.  

We paid about two dollars to access the beach, where we parked in deep sand and walked/ran to the water. I haven't seen Karim that excited since we got here, possibly since we left Portland. He ran and ran. He kept counting "1,2,3 . .go!" and off he'd dash. He laughed and sweated all the way to the water. Plenty of people were swimming in the river. Some waded, some swam with strong strokes. I even saw a fellow execute a beautiful back flip. I guess the love of water is universal. We didn't touch the water though, much as I would have loved to go in. Visions of Schistosomyesis (sp?) danced in my head, so we kept to the shore. It was enough though, to walk by the river, with a herd of cattle on the opposite bank and the sun setting into the desert in a white disk. 

That magic hour before the sunset is so powerful here. It's an hour of prayer calls and changing light. The wind picks up and the heavyness lifts, promissing a warm, sultry night. It is the time for appreciation walks and whispers of thanks. That is the hour I missed the most over the past decade in Oregon. Maybe it's part of what pulled me back to Africa.

I love and miss you all. Your words and letters are sacred gifts. Thank you for your love and for your support of this new adventure.