15 Things I learned in 2015

This year was a journey for me. I got married, visited some countries, worked a lot and learned tons about love, life, myself and this crazy world we live in. Since I don't believe in New Years resolutions, here are some words of wisdom from me to you from the year. In no particular order, here's what I learned in 2015: 

Hard Work pays off. Success feels best when earned. 

Save your voice, so when you use it people know you really mean it. 

You are not responsible for how you feel, only for how you behave. 

No matter how hard I try, I can’t save all the stray animals, but that won’t keep me from trying. 

Never be afraid to take a chance cause it might just be the best thing that’s ever happened to you. 

Instead of focusing on what you haven’t accomplished yet, celebrate what you’ve done. 

Be kind, even when you don’t feel like it. Maybe they were just having a bad day? 

Washing your underwear in the shower is genius.

Own your strengths instead of trying to be someone you aren’t. 

Santa is my favorite as A Cat or A Moroccan Man. 

If you feel like staying home that’s okay. 

It’s a big world out there. 

Be silly like no one's watching because who cares if they are. 

Placing expectations on people will only lead to frustration.

Marry someone who can make you laugh at yourself even when you're hangry. 

Happy New Year to all the Humans on Planet Earth. 

You Say Tabasco I Say Tabaski

After Ramadan I had prepared myself for the next big Muslim holiday of the year, Tabaski. It is where Muslims around the world sacrifice an animal, following the story of Abraham from The Quran. With the craziness of school and post grad school the holiday snuck up on me. Next thing I know it's a week away and I am frantically scrambling to make sure we have enough cash to buy our sheep. Once the cash was in hand Mohammed found or ram. I came home from school to a big, stinky, poop littering sheep. Unlike the Turkey we (meaning Mo) killed, and ate for Christmas I did not consider keeping him for a pet. I also learned from that experience and vowed to myself I would witness the entire process this time, including the slaughter. As an omnivore, who has spent time educating myself on the American system, where meat comes from, how it's done, etc. I love to get on my soap box and preach about how meat doesn't magically just appear in these perfect packages in the super market. Living in Asia, I made some progress with this, seeing the butchered animals in the market. I had never actually participated in, or seen the actually killing of the animal. When it was in my bathtub at Christmas time, I wanted nothing to do with it until the process was finished. Self- aware to see the borderline hypocrisy happening here, I honored that bird by cooking it properly and feeling an obligation to honor this animal while eating it. No love was lost between myself and the stinky sheep that made my kitchen smell like livestock in the morning when i went to get my coffee- his chosen hangout was that side of the house. It's possible I detached myself purposely knowing what was coming. So the day came. A few friends, of various denomiantions gathered to share in the tradition with us. I videotaped and took photos of the entire process for Mo and his family. This was his first time doing it on his own, and I felt a strong obligation to document and share with his family. The killing is done Halal. This means that the throat of the animal is cut quickly without severing the spinal cord, and drained of blood. It is humane and an important part of the Muslim belief to not consume any blood. As I watched, my consicous mind knew this was happening, however watching the spirit of a being drain from it's body, tears came to my eyes. After the sheep had passed, the muscles and nerves continue to contract, giving the appearance that the animal is running. Mo shared with us, that Muslims will say he is "Running to Allah" and is in heaven now.

The skinning must be done immediately, while the animal is still warm. This part I had no problem with. I took photos and was running around trying to help get whatever was needed. The butchering was done with the help of our guard and our American friend who grew up on a farm. She did a great job of coaching, while letting Mohammed run the show. All around it was the ultimate biology lesson. Ever.

Later that day we skewered and bbq'd the organ meat. Leaving the rest of the meat to dry out before being butchered. I ate what I could. Baby steps. I have tried lots of different foods, but you can only eat so many organs at once... After the day was finished and our friends had left it dawned on me how exhasuted I was. Between hosting, trying to be a support, talking to the family in morocco and attempting to take part in the process myself, I was spent. It was such a wonderful day and I couldn't have asked for it to go any better. I am so proud of Mo.

The next day we gathered to have a feast. In Niger the first day of Tabaski the animals, which can be sheep, goat, cow or camel, are strung up on x shaped lines and bbq'd. We did ours Moroccan style, so the feast came on Friday. Mohammed slow roasted the rack ribs, coating it in butter. It was amazing, we ate and ate and enjoyed the animal that had given it's life.

 Every part possible to use was used and overall the experience taught me so much about myself and the people around me. Taking that first step to watch the killing was huge for me in my evolution as a human who eats meat. I have second graders in my class who have seen it since they were able to walk, and wouldn't think twice about it, but as an American who came from an urban area, it's taking some getting used to.

Last year I was disapointed when I did not receieve an invite to celebrate with anyone here in Niger for Tabaski. Not long after, I went to Morocco where Mohammed and his Mom had saved some of the best meat from their sheep, and I was welcomed my first night with a "Tabaski" feast. A day or two before Tabaski this year, I decided to check out the hash tags on instagram to see what sort of things people post- and to get an idea for where the line might be drawn for what's appropriate to share for the world, and what's too gory. I was met with mostly images of women and their fabrics and designs, getting ready for the big day when one post stuck out to me. It was a photo of hot sauce somewhere deep in rural america. The hash tags were #tabasco #tabaski and I giggled to myself thinking about how this instagramer likely had no idea where his photo would end up being grouped. Just the same as I had never heard of Tabaski until I moved to Niger. Can you imagine that I ever would have been asking for cash to buy a sheep as fast as possible to get the best deal, or be slaughtering it in my driveway? It's amazing the things life brings our way, and part of the fun is the uncertainty of it all. I wish peace for all Muslims throughout the year, and especially on holidays.

What You Need to Know About Why I Love Niger

The Goats: Since the first week I moved here I am convinced; there are more goats than people in Niger. I am certain that there are more pressing matters to study, like hunger, famine and drought rather than goat to person ratio however there is no doubt in my mind. It’s true.

 Buying things on “Credit”: Niger is primarily a cash society. Some people have bank accounts but debit and credit cards just aren’t used. I have had countless experiences where I go into a store and underestimate the amount I have spent. The answer is always the same, write down your name and phone number and come back in a day or two to pay. This once happened to me in one of the larger grocery stores and I owed close to $40 USD. It was two days before I could make it back to pay my debt. Can you imagine going in to a Safeway and them telling you it’s no problem, just take your food and pay me when you can?! This is one of those examples of how the so called “first world” could learn a thing or two about humanity from the “third world.”

 The Laid Back Slow Pace of Life: This one is not always my favorite but in the end it’s a valuable lesson. Try to wrap your mind around the concept of being late as not being rude. As someone who has been perpetually 5 minutes late to everything my entire life with the exception of work, I have no problem with waiting a few minutes for someone. In Niger people often don’t show up for up to an hour without a text or phone call. Literally like you are sitting at a restaurant waiting for them. I am fairly certain this is true in other African countries, like Morocco. American etiquette considers this rude but the reality is the concept of time is subjective. There’s “Thai Time” and “Korean Time” but there’s nothing quite like “Niger Time.” Even with all my experience I sometimes get frustrated with this one because let’s face it, there are certain cultural norms that are engrained in us and we have to fight to be aware and overcome them. Neither is right or wrong, it just is. As I mature in my life I have come to a point where I prefer to be the one that waits for someone rather than the opposite. I am usually able to respectfully communicate to those I have relationships with if their concept of time is upsetting me, or if a mere text or phone call would remedy any frustration. In the end the lesson here is that learning patience and being more laid back is valuable in life and there are many of us who could stand to slow down and enjoy life a little more. Nigeriens certainly have this one down, and culturally they’re laid back, easy going demeanor is something I admire.

 If you know a Guy who knows a Guy you can Get Anything: Need a cord for your computer? Car part? Vegetables? A better deal on your car insurance for the year? To change some currency? Passport photos? All ya gotta do is know a guy who knows a guy. All it takes is a phone call and voile! You got it. Be sure to take into account the “concept of time” factor, instant gratification is rare but “the guy” will make it happen. Complete and Utter Chaos: I am convinced that if I were to create a “Grand Theft Auto Niamey” I would be a billionaire. You get extra points for goats. You have a choice when you drive in Niamey. You can take days off your life with high blood pressure or you can giggle to yourself about the utter ridiculousness of what you are encountering. I (almost always) choose the latter. A few examples, two men on a motorbike, with a goat and a sheep. A man riding a bicycle with a mattress on his head. A car or van piled high about the equivalent of a story high building with people and/or stuff. A herd of cattle, including ginormous bulls that would be chained up or at least be wearing a bell in other countries, A cart being pulled with large containers that are either gas, or water. Now take any one of these and put it into the middle of a roundabout where “the right of way” does not exist. Even better in the middle of a busy intersection while the power is out so there are no working traffic lights and it’s a free for all. Every driver believes they are the most important and need to be first so cutting someone off or driving around people in the wrong lane is just normal. In Reality, driving in Niamey is actually rather tame in comparison to other large West African cities that are more developed and populated. It’s the dudes with the mattresses and the goat traffic that make it so chaotic. It’s no secret that I love a little chaos so for me running errands is often just a form of entertainment.

 Learning What Patience Really Means: Nothing is easy here. Seriously, nothing. Convenience is just not a “thing,” at least for foreigners. You might know the guy that knows the guy and be fine with dealing with the chaos of driving to meet him, but it’s never going to be convenient or simple. When I travel to Europe now I am a perplexed at first when things are convenient again. It’s just the way it is and I no longer take modern conveniences for granted. I want to give you an example here but it’s literally just everything you do. Going out to buy groceries is an ordeal. Going to put credit on your internet at 11 am and they are closed, they say they are going to reopen at 3 but when you go back at 4, they are closed. As you read this you might be asking yourself why I see this as a good thing. It is the ultimate lesson in problem solving and patience. You learn to find ways around it. Make friends with the man who owns the internet store so you can give him a call and he will come down and recharge your internet for you. Be prepared that a “quick run to the store” is probably going to take 3 hours. When you have a recipe for something you want to make and it just doesn’t exist here, learn how to make it yourself. Adapt, learn, change and your definition of patience will be completely different.

 The People: Niger is an amazing place in a “bad neighborhood.” Al Qaeda, Boko Haram, “Bad Guys,” Yea, they’re here. I’m not talking about them. Bear in mind that the same rule applies in all countries: there are jerks and crazies everywhere, that’s just the world we live in. I am talking about day to day interactions with regular Nigeriens. The people here have hearts like I have never known. Once you earn respect and friendship with a Nigerien your problems are their problems. Your pain is their pain. They will literally give you the shirt off their back because they don’t need “things.” When you live in a place where people struggle for basic human needs such as food, water, and shelter that stuff doesn’t matter the way it does in the developed world. As outsiders we too often look at people in rural villages or poor countries and impose our own ideas about what we think they need. Or think to ourselves, “How sad, look at them that have nothing they must be so miserable.” Take a closer look and you will often see they don’t want us to build them toilets. I use this example because I recently learned that when toilets were built in a village the people didn’t use them and the well intentioned idea of eliminating raw sewage in the ground water was not solved, thus wasting resources and funding that could have been put to better use with taking the time to gain insight to what the people actually want. Basic necessities come first, always. I am not saying that people are perfectly happy when they have no clean water, are malnourished and dying of famine. My point is that less is often more and what people hold in their hearts, minds and souls is far more valuable than any “thing.” You name any NGO and they are here in Niger. The work they do is invaluable but if your intention is to come into a community and help them, take the time to ask them what they need before you decide for them. Remember that children are just as happy whacking things with sticks as they are playing on an ipad and mothers love their children the same bare naked playing in the dirt as they do at the park in a suburb playing on the swings. The saying “less is more” holds a new meaning to me I could never have imagined and I have the people of Niger to thank for that.

"That Girl"

I am the girl who travels alone. Fearless. Solitary. Independent. I always thought this would be who I was forever and sometimes wondered if it would cost me a chance at a husband and a family one day. Then just over a year ago everything changed. I met a man, on the street. Literally. That day my life changed forever. Our love story is not the focus of this post but rather how it has changed me without me even realizing it. It began when I went to visit him last October. I knew we couldn’t go 6 months without seeing each other again but I wasn’t willing to give up my Christmas break and forego a chance to travel. I am not “that girl.” As more time went by my heart won over my mind and I decided to stay in Niamey and have him fly down to spend the holidays with me in Niger. He had a return ticket to Morocco for January. A week after he arrived he proposed and has been here ever since. Skip to this summer. Same scenario. We should be spending time in Morocco with his family while we are only a 3 hour flight away, who knows which continent will be next. I struggled with this because I felt like I had already sacrificed exploring new countries. At first the compromise was we travel in Europe a bit and spend 2 weeks in Morocco. Then flights and visas got really complicated really fast. It turns out when you are from two different countries visas are tricky, and it works both ways. Take for example when we wanted to go to Ghana for spring break. He can go no problem. I couldn’t get a visa. In the end we settled on two weeks in Tunisia with its beautiful Mediterranean beaches, followed by a month in Morocco. A few weeks before we left I snuck in a week in the Canary Islands and the only reason I didn’t book him a flight was it meant a visa that’s too complicated for only a week long trip. Well you know what they say about making plans… The first four days in Tunisia were magical. Then Ramadan happened. Then Sousse happened. By the time we left we both felt like it was a bit of a bust. Things weren’t much better in Morocco because everyone is hungry and yelling in Arabic all the time. I was struggling. I decided to leave for the Canaries a week early, a decision we mutually supported. Now, here’s the part I didn’t see coming. I was physically affected by the absence of my fiancé. Unable to sleep, anxious, nervous, awkward, and probably the most unsure of myself I have been on a trip, well, ever. The best part is I was in a country where usually I feel the most at home. I still enjoyed my trip and my experiences but something had changed. I couldn’t even sleep in a bed, if there was a couch in my apartment I slept on it because it made me forget a little that I was sleeping alone. He did the same back in Morocco. I realized that I don’t want to do this alone. I want the adventure and the travel but I am not “that girl” anymore, because I don’t even know what “that girl” means. My life has changed in more ways than I realized but I have changed and that was the biggest revelation of all. Suddenly being on a beautiful beach or amazing volcano just made me wish he was with me. Even on our worst day I would take that over being there alone. A little perspective goes a long way. As our self evolves it’s a process, one that we are often unaware of. It’s like a child that grows two inches since the last time you saw them but when you say they’re taller their parents haven’t noticed because they see them every day. Once you remove yourself from your comfort zone, your day to day, whatever you want to call it, you have a chance to take a step back, and reflect. It’s all about perspective. I never imagined I would be 30 about to marry a man from Morocco living in Sub Saharan Africa. When I stop to reflect on everything that has led me to this point I see the evolution of my relationship. My relationship with myself, which in the end is the most important of all.

Mind Games

As I wandered in a busy shopping area in the city of Las Palmas in the Canary Islands I had a realization. For the first time, in a long time I forgot where I was. That's when it dawned on me how constantly aware of my surroundings I am in Niger. My summer hasn't proved much different with time spent in Tunisia and Morocco. Living in a place like Niger is difficult to put into words. I often have a hard time explaining it to people without sounding condescending. Like, "Oh you just can't understand unless you've been there," but the truth is there just aren't any words to describe it or compare. I know I have said this before, it's like another planet. How do you work that you drink your morning coffee while waiting for a bomb sweep into casual conversation? My time in Tunisia and Morocco this summer has been great but with Ramadan and constant Arabic it has been hard for me to truly relax. I'm just hungry all the time and I don't know what anyone is saying. Ever. Arriving in the Canary Islands proved to be a welcome mental break. My first day out I walked around the city and found the beach. I wore a dress, knee length and sleeveless. Out of habit I wore a cardigan to leave the apartment. As I walked down the street I realized it was 30 C which is practically 90 F and I didn't need it. No one cares. For once no one looks at me or pays any mind. I fit in here and nobody cares what I wear! The extremes went as far as a nude beach- Toto we are not in the Muslim world anymore. It got me thinking about the impact our environment has on the psyche. I have programmed myself to abide by the cultural norms of the society I live in out of respect for the people because I am a visitor in their country and quite honestly I don't want to give people any more reasons to stare. It got me thinking about my time in Korea. So many rules! What struck me the most once I left was how I continued to unconsciously use two hands when handing something to someone. After I left I continued this custom until I eventually had to train myself to stop when I realized it wasn't relevant anymore. I don't have to do this anymore. I can just relax. However, being back in Spain made me feel like an alien at first. The Internet actually works, I can just go sit in a park or a coffee shop, walk around with headphones and get on a bus to wherever I feel like whenever I feel like it. What is this place? Who are you people all half-dressed and modern? It's crazy but the longer you live in one of the least developed countries in the world the more disconnected you feel from the modern world. When I finally return to a developed country I feel this weird juxtaposition of comfort and familiarity along with confusion and awe. You mean I can just sit in a park? Just sit there and people watch? It feels so special like I have to be sure to appreciate everything I see and do because we can't take anything for granted in this life. As I gain more experience as an expat I am becoming more aware of the impact my experiences have on my psyche. This can cause anxiety, fear and loneliness which have no correlation to how developed a country is but are certainly some of the less glamorous side effects of choosing this lifestyle. I have this theory that if every person on this planet knew what it felt like to be the minority we would all be a lot nicer to each other. I remember when I lived in Thailand it used to drive me crazy to constantly hear "farang," Pronounced fa- long, their word for foreigner, that I would have to just put on headphones. It's not a good feeling to know people are talking about you but not know what they are saying. My best guess was they weren't saying, "Wow she looks like a really nice person." I recently had an experience in Niamey where a man made a scene because he was upset that the "white woman," his words, not mine, was being helped first when in reality it was just my turn, I had taken my number ticket and waited in line just like everyone else. I felt no ill will to him rather a sudden urge to go wait in the car to avoid a scene. It's not a good feeling when you are just a person trying to do everyday things. The reality is this is the world we live in and people are shaped by their environment and experiences. There is more truth to the saying "walk a mile in another man's shoes" than I ever could have imagined. My mental endurance continues to be tested and I wouldn't have it any other way. About a year ago I was talking with my mom about Niamey and complaining about something stupid. She just sighed and said, "C'mon Meggie you and I both know if it wasn't at least a little chaotic you would be bored and hate it." She is right. We often define ourselves by where we come from and our cultural norms. Coming to the realization that mine are constantly changing to the point where I am not even sure what they are half the time empowers me to continue to change my perspective and adapt.

Coming to Terms with Being a Non- Muslim in a "Muslim World"

June 18 2015 Ramadan Day 1: I knew going into Ramadan that there would be some grumpy blowouts. My fiancé is not a morning person and you know those e cards that say "I’m sorry for what I said when I was hungry?" Yea, well he pretty much wrote that one. I am not far behind him. I went into it planning to start a day or two after him as a sort of buffer. The first day he had his 3:30am food and I got up at 9 and went down and had my espresso and a little bit of fruit. While paying for a 5 star hotel I am getting my damn breakfast. I shoved some food in my bag for later and the rest of the day committed to "fasting" with him. He spent most of the day in bed and I went down to the pool. Feeling a little neglected but trying to be supportive. When I came back I told him how I felt and he said he was sorry he didn’t realize. He’s had 28 years of practice of this and I am like a child doing this for the first time. He never asked me to do this. I volunteered to support him and out of respect for what Ramadan stands for. It’s a time to fast and feel the challenge of hunger which happens all over the world. It’s a beautiful tradition to appreciate what we have in this life and what Allah has given us, and I chose to participate to better myself and my understanding of the values and religion that are so dear to the man I love. It was hard. I cheated with a piece of fruit in the afternoon and some water. By the time breakfast came everything went tits up. We had had a large miscommunication earlier because the term “breakfast” to me means morning but in terms of fasting it’s what you eat at sundown. This meant he thought food was coming and I didn’t understand and so of course didn’t listen to him. Long story short we argued, he stormed off, I went to a store and did my best to buy what I know people usually eat (from last summer when I was in Morocco at this time). He came back and said I did a good job, but we ate in silence. After a little more awkward silence we had a long embrace and talk about the how this Ramadan thing works. I feel like I am going into this with no clue what I am doing and I need him to teach me. That is a lot to ask on the first day of fasting and clearly a conversation we should have had sooner. I have talked to many of the staff at the hotel and Mo and they all say the first few days are the hardest, so hopefully it will get easier for both of us. My plan didn’t work. It has to be all or nothing so tomorrow I am going ALL IN. We shall see. To be continued. Time to eat more, cuddle, and watch a movie. Bon Nuit. Day 2: On only an hour of sleep got up for Sahour (to eat before the last prayer and sunrise) and took a shower to get ready for our 6am bus to Sousse. Mo got up at 4 and we went about our packing, passed an amazing sunrise, and made it on the bus no problem. A few hours in I had to pee like crazy and when we stopped at a bus station along the way, I ran in and when I got back Mo had waited with our stuff and there was no time for him to go. About 114km before Sousse he put on his shoes and told me he was going to see if they would let him stop to pee. I said ok and continued listening to the “serial” podcast, slipping in and out of consciousness in the very back of the bus. He never came back to his seat but I figured he was just up front chatting with the drivers or some dude in Arabic and fell asleep, or something. There weren’t many people on the bus. When we arrived in Sousse I stood up and saw a man two rows in front of me stand up and get off the bus. I thought it was Mo. I grabbed all our stuff, annoyed he wasn’t helping but figuring we never got to stop so he just ran to pee. Then I got off the bus and he was nowhere to be found. The driver yelled at me to grab our bags. I dragged them up the walkway increasingly annoyed he hadn’t reappeared. I stumbled my way awkwardly with all our bags into the terminal of the bus station, Mo still nowhere to be found. Increasingly mad, and I sat down and waited. Ten minutes went by. Then Twenty, forty, an hour…. This is when my anger went to worry. I had pre- arranged a place to stay and was in touch with the woman from air bnb who owns the apartment, but she was in Tunis and couldn’t help in any way. Finally I decided to talk to the police man at the station. He was mildly helpful, going through all the same things with me I had already explored in my mind. At that point I knew one of two things; Mo got off the bus to pee and we left him, or he ran outside the bus station to find a bathroom and something happened to him. The former wasn’t as concerning because I knew he would find his way to me, all I had to do is wait. The police man asked me if he left me- and it took me showing him all our money, credit cards, id cards, passports, to prove to him Mo couldn’t leave me even if he wanted (this guy didn’t know us and in Tunis Moroccans are often the source of problems and even violence, two were arrested in connection with the shooting in Tunis recently, so it was a reasonable concern of his), but I told him that if he was gonna leave me he would do it once we got to Morocco. We went round and round with this for about two hours when Mo appeared!! I was so happy to see him I didn’t care about anything else. He knew I would wait for him, and I knew he would do whatever it took to get to me. It turned out he had gotten off the bus when we stopped without telling me OR the driver, and we left him. The man who had picked him up took us to the area where we were staying- telling us how we shouldn’t stay here, he knows a better place... blah blah blah. I appreciated his kindness but I was running on one hour of sleep,fasting, just got my fiancé back and just wanted to get to the apt and rest. Under normal circumstances this would be a stressful situation for a couple traveling. Now take into account one hour of sleep and fasting for Ramadan. It’s all a bit of a blur, but let’s just say things went from fine to crazy real quick. During this entire time the cousin of the woman who I rented the air bnb apartment from was waiting for me with the keys- for two hours! So my priority was to get to him, get the keys, and just have it be done. Argument ensues. We get inside the apartment and both fall asleep, sleeping past Iftar (sundown to break fast). We ate, talked, forgave and realized that there is a reason that Allah says not to do Ramadan while you travel! I had many mixed emotions that night and into the next morning. Was my trying to support Mo by doing Ramadan with him just making it worse for him? Probably. Was traveling and being away from home for the first time for Ramadan making things hard for him? Absolutely. Would it help him more if I just don’t fast? Possibly. Does he need to admit that this is harder for him because of these factors? In time, he will. We slept and slept and slept. I woke up for Sahour and went back to sleep some more. End of Day 2. It was one of the hardest days mentally I can remember, but I proved I can do it. Day 3: I woke up and all I could think of was chocolate and coffee. We were hanging around the apartment doing our usual thing- tv, you tube, Netflix, just hanging when I suggested going to the beach. Mo looked at me and said something about not wanting to be in the sun while fasting. I burst into tears. Surprised at his dramatic reaction, he asked me why I was crying. I explained how hard this is because I just feel trapped. My life in Niger is led behind walls, inside all day. I came to Tunisia for adventure and to get my wanderlust fix. If we are just going to stay inside all day what’s the point? Being the man that he is, he heard me and we had a long talk about it all. He told me that we could take a day off because we are traveling and go to the beach and get coffee and drink water and be free. I just wanted to feel free while I have the chance to be outside of Niger and he could see that. We walked to a coffee shop and had juice and a cappuccino and sweet cakes then laid on the beach and played in the champagne/ emerald waters and laughed and sang. A little later we walked around, went grocery shopping and spent the rest of the day just being free and on vacation. Just being us. Mentally I (sometimes) feel like I am in a prison in Niger. All that barbed wire and the walls and the bomb sweeps and the guns. I just need to walk around and have a decent latte and lay on the beach and get some perspective and sanity regained. My wanderlust self is when I am at my best, I can compromise but I can't give it up. It feels like a lot to ask when the person you love the most has an obligation to his faith. In the end we decided that while we travel in Tunisia I will just practice fasting. Once we get to Morocco it will be different. Morocco is like being home, not vacation. I don’t feel like I am missing anything if we lay inside all day, go to for a walk on the beach late in the day, then have Iftar and spend time with his family. THAT is what we are there to do but the compromise is that I get Tunis as my vacation (and the Canaries). I need the balance. Later in the evening he told me he was going to continue to fast this week. I was confused. I am putting so much pressure on myself to be perfect and supportive and play the part, but the reality is I am not Muslim and I am not perfect. What I do know is that day with the bus situation I did it. I didn’t break fast. I made it through an entire day without cheating and I stayed strong. I can do it but I can’t create these expectations of myself that are unrealistic. All I can do is try my best and make sure that my relationship holds strong. Mohammed is the best man I have ever known (alongside my Dad) and this pressure is all coming from me. He can see what I need and he ALWAYS put me first. In the end I need to just relax, take the pressure off, try my best, support and love him, the way he loves me. The way he has picked up his whole life and moved to Niamey. We make mistakes, we argue, but we love eachother more than I could ever have imagined loving someone. We will work it out, and the rest will fall into place. Day 4: I have decided not to fast until we get to Morocco. He missed Sahour this morning so he is not fasting today either. We are headed to be with some family near Sousse. I am coming to terms with what it means to be a non- Muslim woman in a Muslim “world” and that maybe I am the one who needs to stop judging myself- because no one else is.

10 Months of Radio Silence: An Update

WELL... here we are ten months later. I am still in Niamey, and like most places in the world not much has changed, except me. My summer blog posts were foiled by my inept tech skills in posting with only an iphone, it's harder than one might think. I hope you were able to keep up via Facebook. Upon return to Niamey I hit the ground running. For the 2014- 2015 school year 6 out of 8 teachers were new, the role of internal coordinator for the impending MSA visit became very real, and I took on many new roles of leadership and responsibility within the AISN community. In the mean time I found myself a Moroccan soul mate, and oh yea, got engaged! That about sums it up. Let's revisit the part about how I view myself in comparison to where we last left off. My trip last summer was the pivotal moment in my transformation. What in most places is referred to as culture shock-defined by Merriam- Webster as: a feeling of confusion, doubt, or nervousness caused by being in a place (such as a foreign country) that is very different from what you are used to, is known as transition here in West Africa. Transition, defined as: a change from one state or condition to another. It is my belief culture shock only happens to some people in places like Thailand or South Korea and is a more temporary condition. Transition in Niamey happens to everyone, and if someone tells you otherwise they are liar liar pants on fire. When you are in the throes of it, it's nearly impossible to recognize. It doesn't matter how much you read or have people tell you what is happening to you. Until you work through transition (which actually has 5 documented phases), you only think you know. Studies on transition show that a person has to be "pulled out of it." In my case it was my summer in Turkey, Spain and Morocco where I pulled myself out. It all really boiled down to a simple conclusion: You can't control what others do, only your reaction. I made a choice. A choice to let things roll off my back, to see my time here as not just a means to an end but also as a commitment I have made where if I bring to the table a genuine investment straight from the heart, I will make a difference. As crazy as it sounds, I love Niamey and AISN. I love them because I choose to focus on the good. I choose to not sweat the small stuff, work my tail off, learn how to say no, and ignore the negativity as much as possible. One might also argue I am slightly insane and thrive on chaos, and to that I would not object. Now that I am on the outside looking in on those who are experiencing transition I see them clearly. I see myself 12 months ago and how it reflected to the people around me at the time. I believe that you have a choice as to the experience you have while living in Niamey. Option 1: See it as a means to an end and do your time until your contract is up, end of story. Option 2: See your time in Niamey as a means to an end while embracing the chaos. I chose the latter. Is it easy? No. Is it worth it? Well only time will tell, but what I do know is that I am not miserable, I do not want to leave (permanently that is- this dusty 111/44 daily hot season weather is enough to make anyone long for cool breezes and fresh air), and there is nothing that makes me happier than the smiles of the kids and staff (foreign and local) that I encounter daily and the satisfaction I feel in knowing I am paying my dues while learning how good success from hard work feels. I have now signed on for my third year and ensuring I leave here with the certification and masters I intended since the beginning.