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.

What I Learned in Turkey.

As I write this I am sitting in a fancy pants cafe in Taksim Square at 12:37pm. I was supposed to be on a flight to Madrid this morning at 10:15. Going to the wrong airport is generally a bad idea however, in Istanbul they are on different continents. Literally. Having been in and out of the Europe- side airport over half a dozen times now I got up this morning and left three hours in advance with confidence. Arriving at Ataturk only to discover my flight was on the other side. I didn't think to check this as I just flew the same airline in and out of there a few days prior. My heart sank, and I jumped in a cab. 8:15 am. 150 lira later I missed the check in closure by a matter of minutes. This was bound to happen eventually. Of all the flights and all the trips I am actually surprised this hasn't happened more often. So I go to the counter only to find out it will be $280 to fly tomorrow (more than twice the cost of my original ticket). Shenanigans ensue and the end result is a ticket with Turkish Airlines at 7:20 pm tonight. It was the most cost effective solution in the end. But of course it's back over to the the airport on the Europe side. So I found myself a swanky little cafe and a delicious cheeseburger to kill some time. I think it's safe to say this will be my biggest learning experience from my time in Turkey, and certainly my most expensive. I do however, have a few tidbits to share with you about what I have learned or relearned on this trip so far: Fresh cheese, tomato and cucumber for breakfast every day is amazing. Don't knock it... The kindness of strangers exists here too. From the taxi driver who could feel my stress and offered me gum to the man on the subway who offered a tissue and a smile when I sneezed. My "don't F with me" face still works. If you go to Pamukkale by yourself by bus with all the nationals will give you funny looks. It's still better than dealing with tour groups though. Also, if you stand on the side of the road the shuttle back to Denzali will pick you up. For 3.5 Lira. "No problem." When you ask for directions in Istanbul people will do everything in their power to help you. Then send you on your way saying, "If you can't find it, just ask anybody!" Which is totally true. And even by the third or fourth person giving out wrong directions you can't help but smile for their efforts. Be gracious and kind, always. Except to the guy at the taxi stand who informs you where you want to go is 25 lira (something you already know) but today's special price is 70 lira. See "F off face." People are inherently good. From all faiths and backgrounds. I met a young girl on the Mediterranean cruise I took. Her family is from Iran and she Loved me. She would come by and fix my towel or sit near me. She asked my name at lunch and she, along with her entire family were as sweet as they could be. Don't judge those books by their covers. Unless they're just an A hole. That happens sometimes too. Also do not be even a second late for the buses or shuttles (turns out planes are included here too), they don't mess around. Lastly, and most important of all go with your instincts. I usually know how I feel about a country within the first few hours, and from the very beginning my gut told me this place is special. It's true. Now I am going to go sit at the airport for 5 hours and be the very first passenger to check in. Madrid or Bust.

Coming Up for Air

I think it's clear from my last post this whole expat thing isn't always rainbows and butterflies. I think it's important to be honest about this. Facebook and Instagram photos are great and all, but this is my lifealot in the past 6 months and wouldn't trade it for anything, regardless.. Getting on that plane to Turkey was a good feeling. My first afternoon in Istanbul I napped with the door open and the sea breeze coming in off my top floor balcony. No mosquitoes, no sand, no barbed wire or bars on the windows, no gates or guards. Just clean, safe, fresh air. Getting out on my own is my way of shaking the loneliness that comes with being a vagabond. I am at my best when I travel, usually alone, all the while loving to meet as many people as possible along the way. I firmly believe you meet more people when you are on your own. A single person is more approachable than a pair of friends or a couple. The freedom and independence that comes with that is my drug, and I am hooked. With all that said, Turkey: Wow. I am not sure where to start but I think my photos speak for themselves. I am thankful for family and friends to visit along the way and the hospitality that has been extended my way means more than they probably know. I leave for Spain in two days, which is incredibly exciting. It's like visiting an old friend. I lived there almost a decade ago and my 20 year old self is most certainly a different person than my near 30 year old self. It should be interesting. I am currently mulling over the idea of starting another section of my blog for when I take trips. As with most things, I require some time to ponder. I am considering starting a forum to share my stories in more detail and give a few of my secrets to other fellow adventurers. For now it's a day of laundry, rest, travel and on to country 2/3. This may be hard to believe but there are things I miss about Niamey: My babies (JD and George), Coca- Cola in the glass bottles, and my own bed. In the mean time, I know how lucky I am and am going to make the most of the next month.

Surrounded by People, Lonelier than Ever

It’s the eve before the last day of school for the year. It’s hard to believe I have been living in Niamey for 6 months. It seems like I arrived just yesterday, and like time has flown by all rolled into one. It’s hard to describe this place to people on the outside. It truly is like another planet. I know I have said that before, but I don’t know how else to put it into words. The past 6 months have been full of joy, adventure, perspective, lessons, pain, loneliness, adultery, tears, accusations and coming to terms with a lot of realities. I am not sure what it is about this place that has forced me to look inwards so much. Maybe it’s the fact that I am alone in West Africa and hate to admit that I am not indeed fearless, but human after all. Being a teacher is the most thankless job in the world, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I learn from those kids every day and am thankful for this partial school- year. Getting to know families, colleagues and locals. You have to walk a very fine line in this community between all of these dynamics. You may work with a friend whose child you teach and who is on the board of directors. It can be any combination of this finely knit web and there’s nowhere to hide. With that said after really struggling emotionally for the past month or so, I had a realization recently. Talking with a friend on skype, and pouring my heart out, it hit me. You can be surrounded by people and feel lonelier than ever. There’s a reason why there’s an actual saying for “three’s a crowd.” This realization came when I thought about my upcoming trip and how much I am looking forward to being alone. In the past if I felt like the outsider I just did my thing. Or had amazing friends. Coming into life as an expat in Niamey while so many people are in a transition of their own,through no fault of their own, you become an afterthought. Once in a while that’s okay, but when it’s all the time even the strongest of us can be brought to our knees. BUT I am Megan Keach Goddammit and I chose this. Not for anyone else, but for myself. One more week and I will be in Turkey. After a 6 week trip through Europe and Morocco I will return to Niamey with a fresh start. It is a bizarre thing going from this place to the developed world, and back again. Spring Break was a week spent in Paris and one night in Istanbul. More lessons learned. More adventures. Friendships tested and made stronger. People surprise you for the better. Sometimes for the worse. The way you treat them in return or when no one is looking is the true test. The thing about travelling the world alone is you just never know if you are going to feel like the luckiest person in the world, or the loneliest. It is not a gamble I am willing to give up anytime soon. Don’t let the edited photos and exciting posts fool you. It comes with a price. One that is ultimately, priceless.

Getting Settled

It's hard to believe I have been in West Africa for just over 3 months now. As with any move it takes time to adjust to your surroundings and build friendships. I am just starting to feel like I have a life here, and in a few months that is going to change again. Most of the people I spend time with will be leaving in June, and I will be spending 8 weeks over the summer bumming around Europe. When I return to Niamey in late July there will be a new set of teachers and transplants from various organizations (embassy, marines, DOD, etc.) Here we go again with the revolving door of new faces. Part of the life of an expat I suppose, and those who take the "glass half full" approach see it as an opportunity to have more friends. After so many transitions, leaving Korea, traveling, spending the holidays at home, and arriving in Niger I have done a lot of growing in the past 6 months. Relationships I thought I held dear have evolved and changed and some I was unsure of have been solidified. For better or worse, people sometimes surprise you. The common denominator in all of this is myself. A support network is invaluable but if you can't rely on yourself you will just set those around you up for failure. I had a very brief meltdown about a month in to my time here. Locking myself in my room on a Friday night and having a good cry was a needed reminder that I am in fact, human. A chat with a dear friend whipped me back into reality when she reminded me "You're there to learn and grow, and you're better than that." A much needed buck-the-eff-up was all it took to snap me out of it and appreciate celebrating my 29th birthday in West Africa. With all that said, this place truly is another planet. A friend and I have started playing a game when we are out and about, called "Normal." It goes something like this, "men throwing dirt up multiple stories with a shovel: Normal. Camel: Normal. Chinese man doing aerobics in the middle of the street (sand) at 7am: Normal." Yep. That pretty much sums it up. Occasionally when I am at someone's house or working out I forget where I am. The moment is often fleeting as I promptly step back into reality and remember I live in a place where the goat to people ratio is questionable. Most social activities are spent in people's homes partially because of security restrictions, but mostly because there ain't much to do here. One of the main points of interest is a National Park called Park W. A few weeks ago my roommates and I went for the weekend. We had so much fun we are going back in April with more friends. The park spans three countries, Niger, Burkina Faso and Benin. The landscape is made up of the Sahel, which is easily confused with the Savannah. Just imagine watching a Nat Geo special about "The Bush." We saw warthogs, baboons, hippos, many species of gazelle and deer, monkeys, wild dogs, and even got to see tracks of the rare West African lion and hear them hunting. For me the elephants were the highlight, of course. Except for the part where we almost got trampled by a startled elephant thanks to some D bags from Turkey. Particularly ironic as I was wearing my "Ivory is for Elephants" t- shirt that day. Maybe that's what saved us. A little adrenaline never hurt anyone, right? Right. Our guide was actually what saved us as these people who showed up were doing everything wrong to agitate the elephant, and he made sure we stayed safe. We will be asking him to join us for the weekend again in April. The weather has begun to turn hot, with highs in the 40's C and reaching triple digits in F (108+). From what I keep hearing this is just the beginning. I am really sick of hearing "it's a dry heat," even though it is. 108 doesn't feel that hot, I know that is hard to believe but all I have to compare that to is hot season in Thailand and let me tell you 42 in Thailand felt a lot worse. For now I am enjoying the people around me, getting to know myself again and counting down the days until spring break in Paris.

When You Say it Louder and Slower, I Still Don’t Understand

I have come to a few conclusions as a traveler. One is that the world would be a better place if everyone knew what it feels like to be the minority. The second is that people universally talk to foreigners like they are idiots. When you are the one speaking to someone who doesn’t understand it doesn’t seem so idiotic. However, when you are a foreigner and have no idea what someone just said to you it doesn’t matter how slow or loud you repeat yourself, I don’t know what you are saying to me. Like the time in France when I couldn’t successfully order a royale with cheese on my own. So the next logical conclusion (especially for Americans towards foreigners), is if you are in my country you should speak my language. Okay, fair enough. The reality is that even the best intentioned foreigner just might not get around to it. Immersion only works if you get a clue. I am certainly guilty of this. I can’t tell you how many times I have said “I really need to learn Thai, then it was Korean, and now it’s French. My bad, it’s my job to communicate in your language, not the other way around. I at least try and in most places aside from NE Asia find people to be very forgiving if you make a hint of effort.

Today, after school I had my first experience on my own in Niger. Tiff drove and I went into a pharmacy by myself. She had gone to pick up a prescription for me and they gave her the wrong amount so we decided to go back, and just have them redo it. Turns out they just hand you back the piece of paper when you pick up your meds. So we pull into the sandy parking lot out of a chaotic roundabout teeming with motorbikes and horns honking. She explains to me that when I get inside I need to go to the right first and hand them my paper. If I don’t push my way up to the front other people will and I will wait forever. Then they will fill it and I will go to a glass window on the back wall to pay and pick up. Right, okay, sounds simple enough? I promptly walk in and go to the glass window first. A man behind me whispers “psssst” and points to the other counter. I look at him totally confused but still trying to maintain my “I got this” attitude. The women behind the counter are dressed in all white from headscarf to toe. They mumble and grunt as people come up. As soon as I make my way to the front it seems as if all of them disappear at once. I wait and wait until a woman takes my paper. She types a bit on her computer and says something to me, shaking her head, “You don’t have it?” I reply. She repeats herself then looking irritated, writes 5600 on a sheet of paper (the currency here is CFA). “Ok” I nod, “Merci.” She doesn’t look impressed. Now I go back to the other counter and see that they improperly filled the prescription again. I start to try to tell them and a woman next to me chimes in speaking English and translating for me. I repeat myself again. “I know, I am explaining it to them” she politely reminds me. “Merci,” “Beacoup.” I guess I thought if I said it over and over they would get it, see how that works? They tell me to pay and go back to the delightful woman I saw first, then come back. “Okay” I mutter hesitantly. There is now a much larger crowd of people surrounding her counter. Not to be confused with a line. I thank the woman for her help, probably to the point of annoyance. Then make my way over to the crowd. The woman looks up from her computer and says “come” motioning to me. I walk up and show her the paper and the package of medicine. I just point to the numbers in the hopes she would cooperate. She nodded, typed a bit, and motioned her hand toward the payment window. In the mean time before leaving, the woman who helped me came over and checked in to make sure I had been successful. Kind strangers are really the best, on any continent. I paid without saying anything. I handed the woman a few crumpled up bills looking at her helplessly and she accepted, giving me change and a receipt. I mumbled a thank you and promptly got out of there as quickly as possible. If you ever need to be put in your place just walk into a Nigerien pharmacy. I felt like I had no clue what was going on and I was at the mercy of the people around me. Probably because that was just the case. I felt like I have all these preconceived notions about what Africa is going to be like, and now I am really here and I have to figure out how to get the things I need on my own sometimes. I was nervous and intimidated. I could have had school send a driver to pick up what I needed and deliver it to my house. That would not have taught me anything about life here in Niger, or myself. It doesn’t matter how many places you have been or how many times you have walked into a shop by yourself. New continent, new ballgame and you better be up for the challenge or you’re not gonna make it.