la vie au village

Well, if there are 9 hills to Nambonkaha, there are six to my village who's cool name must unfortunately go unmentionned. The past week in the village, where I will be an inhabitant for 2 years, was so often filled with disbelief that I could possibly be doing what I am doing where I am doing it. The village is quite far off in the bush (20km + or -) from the electrified and phone serviced prefectoral capital town . The red dirt roads bring one through the enclaves of Fulani/ Moba/ and Kabye farmers as you come into town, mosques built by Middle Eastern governments spring out of the landscape with their minarets and starred crescents. You get the sense talking to folks that Islam filled an organizational void and brought rules and even honesty to trade. The chief says I am the first white to sleep in their village in 100 yrs. The village had become known for its rejection of outsiders. But times have changed according to the chief after youth began to return to the village from Ghana. At the official welcoming ceremony, the round pink court house 30 ft wide began to fill, the men lining the wall in chairs with their gowns, muslim caps, and beards. The women and children assembled on colorful rugs in the center of the room surpassing the color intensity of the rugs with their veils and gowns of 1000 and 1 colors. Greetings were commenced and followed by the introduction of the Imam and the village nobles and heads of boroughs all wearing their finest. We moved quickly to the selection of my new name which the chief proposed I select from a list but I ceded this decision to my new chief, and the suggestions came pouring in from those present. "Kabir" fell as the final choice from a list of 3 that included Mohamed. Kabir apparently means 'great' in Arabic, and folks love being greated in Arabic. As tradition dictates, a woman is to cry out the new name, and that woman is to be given a small sum of money by her husband who happened to be the chief. The cry was a shrill almost squeal capped off by the pronunciation of the name itself. The week included many moments like this where I truly marveled at the universe I had just entered: The palm wine shared under a straw hut out in the bush with the nomad fulanis. The gift of peanuts and corn by a teacher who's salary paid by the community totals 11 US dollars a month, the very milky Milky Way high above the open air shower, the innumerable bent knee and back salutations from neighbors and from those come from afar having heard of my arrival. The community is rearing to go, meetings with the head of the village development committee and the heads of the women's groups give your heart the most humble of feelings as their eyes, smiles, and words say that they are eager to try anything and everything to improve their lot. The women are eager to learn canning and application of natural pesticides so their tomatoes grow well and don't rot so darn quick. With revenu from tomato sales they hope to better help out their members financially during hard times and pay for their children to go to school. The same women are very enthusiastic about incorporating the leaves and seeds of the nutritous Moringa tree into their families' diets. The chief immediately gave blessing to the idea of making a sacred forest out of their patch of 200 ft tall trees engulfed in a jungle like mix of plants and birds. According to elders the entire landscape resembled that lonely patch of ancient forest not even a generation ago, and the reasons for the lack of rain become more apparent...