NOTES FROM NIGER

Interview Transcript
	   
                              NOTES FROM NIGER

                         CHRISTOPHER D'AMANDA, M.D.

                         Written in Ougadougou, 1969
                        Edited in Philadelphia, 2006
                                     For
                              Fortieth Reunion
                          Smallpox/Measles Program
                                 West Africa






                                  Foreward

I was asked to join other members of our program in Niamey, capital of
Niger, between January 8-22,1969 to assist in an assessment of SMP
vaccination efforts for the country. The notes I wrote during this period
have no special significance except that they belong to a specific,
measured moment in the continuing dynamism of life hi West Africa. There
was to be a beginning and end and these are rare here, not because
beginnings cannot be identified nor because nothing is never completed. We
who do not belong to this continent can appreciate pauses in the flow of
life because our culture has provided the leisure to isolate them, even if
briefly, in the course of daily commerce. There is no leisure here,
however, because the irreducible requirements of survival do not permit it.
The activities of the African cannot be halted. They are determined, in
uncushioned confrontation, by the ever present challenges posed by nature.

For the sympathetically disposed stranger, the full significance of
millions of people existing by subsistence farming is lost before their
gentle grace, their simple dignity, their physical beauty. But as the
stranger watches and works here he learns and becomes admiring of the
toughness required to survive. He grows tough too and is surprised to find
that the strongly muscled African often tires before he does, there being
insufficiently nutritious food to supply whatever energy produces staying
power. The stranger becomes deeply impressed by the driving discipline
which keeps these people moving despite all they do riot have. There is no
urgency of rising expectations for them, and, they know it. Then the
stranger knows it too and it is hard not to become discouraged. Finally,
the stranger begins to long for the leisure that cannot be had here, and he
knows, even as he does so, that he has become a devotee of the special non-
leisure that is Africa. He has become "zombize"*, the word used by French
colonials to describe what happens to Caucasians venturing forth to
inhabit, even briefly, the Dark Continent.

*In voodooism, a person believed to have been raised from the grave by a
sorcerer for purposes of enslavement.
P2365, The Columbia Encyclopedia, Third Edition, 1963
















                             Assessment Journal

9 JANUARY
Up at 6AM in the Grand Hotel of Niamey, where we had arrived yesterday from
my home in Ouagdougou, to review assessment forms, pack while having a cafe
au lait and brioches with reasonable strawberry jam and arrive at the
Service de la Sante' by 0700. Last minute instructions and off with the
army our counterpart, Issoufi, felt we needed. I had arrived with my
Ougadougou chauffeur, Amidou, and was then supplied another chauffeur, a
mainoeuvre and interpreter, expecting we would secure local guides as we
went along - a routine part of traveling en brousse during campaigns. I had
expostulated to Issoufi that six people to do the work of two seemed
extravagant, but as usual with that most charming man, it did little good.
So it seemed best to go off for the two days of our trial effort to see
just what having my army along could mean.

Arrived at the bac (ferry stop) to cross the Niger River and had to wait a
bit for it to return across a very windy, not so sluggish expanse of water.
The bac seemed little more than a great steel barge, maybe 35x10 feet with
a small conning tower on one side from which protruded numerous small and
large gear handles, all being actively manipulated by the smilingly
nonchalant pilot. Amidou trundled the Dodge on board and were off across
the choppy river. We were swept downstream maintaining sufficient power to
arrive on a diagonal course at a small opening in the midst of large marsh
protruding into the river. The cumbersome craft was expertly maneuvered
through the opening and then down a winding channel through the marsh to a
landing, where our difficulties began. I learned that the bac had no
reverse gear. The profusion of gear handles supplied two motors, one set
forward and one set backward. Reverse required one set to be placed in
neutral while the other set was engaged. Somehow our bow propeller failed
to engage after our aft propeller had been put in neutral. Sufficient
momentum carried us nicely past the landing stage, parallel to it with the
forward propeller thoroughly fouled in marsh grass. I thought we were at a
very early impasse: we could get off but the Dodge could not. In what
seemed a very short time, someone had reached down and around the forward
propellor to unfoul it and the imperturbable pilot neatly swung his craft
370 degrees so that the bow arrived absolutely at the middle of the landing
stage.














A virtuosos performance for which I warmly congratulated the pilot. He was
charmed to know we were on our way to Tera because that was his home
village. We told him we would return for another ride the next day and took
off down the road.

We drove west on a road marked on my map as "impassable during rainy
season" to arrive in Tera just before noon. The Commandant was not at his
office so we went to search him out at his home. He suggested we go back to
the office, which we all did, and there, and only then, we discussed our
business. (The commandants in Upper Volta - now Burkina Fasso - are rather
more casual and hospitable. In a similar situation there, we would have
been invited to sit down around a table, beer or Youki soda would be served
and messengers sent hither and yon to take care of whatever details were
required. Not in Niger, or, not with this Commandant.)

I was surprised to have him talk through an interpreter to the fellow who
was to be our guide, wondering if the man did not even know the language of
his constituents. This could have been possible because these functionaries
are moved all over the country and not necessarily to regions they know. I
discovered later that, in fact, he was showing me an exquisite bit of tact:
he talked French through the interpreter to the Djerma guide so that I
could follow all that he said to the guide! That would not have happened in
Upper Volta. With all arranged, we bid adieu and made off to the market for
lunch.

The boys were a bit uncertain about just what I was prepared to eat,
telling me somewhat nervously that there were no hotels in Tera. I assured
them I was prepared to eat what they did, within reason, and in any case,
did not require much. I was prepared to have a gateau and bottled water or
beer. A gateau, African style, is like a solid beignet made with bean
flour, fried in cunning pans, having separate circular indentations for
each "cake", and seasoned with piment (hot pepper of varying intensity) -
very filling and tasty. The market included a meat section, with numerous
boys each tending a hillock of sand on which a small charcoal fire burned
surrounded by a stockade of meat brochettes being roasted to order. They
smelled delicious but I was not tempted, having learned the African way of
economizing included all organs of whatever animal was being prepared,
which were generally more present than the few and usually tiny bits of
meat. We did get a slab of what we were told were sheep ribs, but Amidou
insisted came from goat. This was cut up in chunks, piment and salt
sprinkled over and the whole wrapped in a scruffy bit of brown paper, along
with a nice slab of










liver as "cadeau". We repaired to the home of Maiga, the Djerma guide, and
ate our lunch, I was offered and refused some "bouilli" (the Mossi term for
a nourishing sort of gruel available throughout West Africa, made from the
local starch - millet, bean, etc. flour with added sugar and piment, the
whole diluted with local water; it was this last, I surmised, that had done
me in with a very nasty gastritis after sharing a meal with Mauretanian
silversmiths I had done business with during a Christmas visit with the
Helmholtz's in Dakar two weeks earlier.) A few pieces of tasty meat and
liver washed down with water I had bought from Ouaga and we were off.

Two hours later, having traversed gently rolling "dead dunes" - ones which
no longer move with the wind but are stuck in place, presumably by covering
vegetation - and great expanses of sand requiring first and second gear, we
arrived at Teguey, the first village of our pilot survey. The chief was a
doddering, obese fellow who insisted there were only fourteen family heads,
each averaging 3-4 wives, leading at most to a population under 250. The
village had been officially listed at a population of 954 and I thought
this was probably a low number after walking about. Trust is not easily
come by and who knows what our advance notice had been, even if there had
been any, and as any careful chief might consider, the safe course is one
providing the least information. We chatted briefly with the old boy and
then went on our way.

It turned out to be a rather impressive village, composed of fifty large
compounds, each containing 10-15 housing units, each with an individual
family unit of husband, two or more wives and varying numbers of children.
Three hours of tramping about with our forms and questions and we were
done.

Into the Dodge and back to Tera with a stop along the way because Amidou
had made a connection to purchase a sack of millet for 1200 CFA ($5.00 US)
en brousse compared with the going rate of 2250 CFA ($9.00 US) in Niamey.
(The comparable rates south, in Upper Volta, are 750 CFA ($3.00 US) en
brousse and 1500 CFA ($6.00 US) in our capital of Ouagadougou.) The
commandant had directed us earlier to the campement where we found that all
the beds were taken. I was perfectly comfortable in my well-designed Bean
tent and settled in quickly. Small boys appeared with chickens at 50CFA
(twenty cents, US), so I bought three and had the campement cook prepare
them with tomato and piment sauce. They were quickly devoured by me and my
army. I finished off with a swig of water to
















down the pills I am still taking for the blessedly  asymptomatic  gastritis
and off to bed. That is, I roll myself up in a blanket and stretch  out  on
the floor of the tent pitched over a comfortable patch of sand.

 10 JANUARY
    Awoke early feeling quite cold and decided that a single blanket was
insufficient cover against the near-desert night cold. Now in possession of
three blankets and I feel prepared to sleep well anywhere. On the road by
0800 toward our second village, stopping long enough in the sandy courtyard
of the local sous-pre´fet's house to have a hearty breakfast of fried
igname (a tuber not unlike white potato but sweet like a yam) with the
usual piment sauce served from the customary bit of brown paper.

The small village of Saya was finally located and our assessment quickly
completed. We were waiting for the bac at 1215 and floated off without
incident down the channel and across a calm river to the landing stage on
the home side. Back at the Grand Hotel by 1330, cleaned up and down to a
self-indulgent luncheon of crudites, steak and lovely bottle of chilled
Muscadet by 1400. Observed the passing parade on the river and about the
hotel swimming pool. That evening we all gathered for a pleasantly noisy
supper at the home of Tony and Elaine Masso, Niger's SMP operations officer
and his wife.

 11JANUARY    ,;
 Very early we were sent north to Ouallam with Rafe to rescue Fred Rubens
 (sent out from Atlanta to join the assessment). Fred did not know French,
 had never been outside the US and was hardly accustomed to any variety of
 back county in West Africa. He nevertheless had managed sufficiently to be
 off completing his two villages by the time we arrived. Emmou (with Grandes
 Endemics, Abidjan, Ivory Coast, also a participant observer) and Issoufi
 offered to check on his progress. They did so after some demur from Rafe,
 but none from me. Rafe, Ilze and I headed back to the Grand Hotel to relax.

 That evening I took the Hendersons, Emmou, his boisterous friend Zeilani
 and Issoufi off to eat brochettes and drink beer at the Roniers, a most
 pleasant restaurant outside Niamey situated on a bluff overlooking the
 Niger. A short and uninteresting stint afterward at Harry's Bar (a long way
 from










Venice in more ways than geographic) and a night club called "HiFi" and we
were all quite ready to return to the hotel.

12 JANUARY
Before a meeting to go over the trial effort, Issoufi came by at 0700 to
take me out to his village where I met his most charming and dignified
parents and saw his "plantation" of eggplant, green beans, peppers,
tomatoes and various fruit trees. I marveled that anything would grow at
all in what looked like pure sand. Issoufi presented me with a colorful
blanket woven in his family compound - one of nicest ones I have seen.

At the meeting I learned that the "army" I had been saddled with had really
not been Issoufi's doing at all, and his insistence that I accept the group
was his effort to save face in what was a delicate, and classic, case of
over-zealous assistance. His full title is Director of the Smallpox Program
of Niger, the only African (vs the usual French militaire) to have this
prestigious and responsible title in Francophone Africa, and he deserves
it. Tony, our energetic and cautious operations officer, had arranged for
the heavy personnel contingent for each of the six teams without informing
Issoufi. Further, he had hired them for the full assessment period. Issoufi
wanted them no more than I did, having his own chauffeur and not likely to
need an interpreter in his country of origin. But, he could hardly tell the
large group of assembled fellow citizens that they were not needed, nor
that he could vouch for their extra salaries. So the party line was
maintained to cover the trial and individual team decisions were to be made
for the formal, country-wide assessment. The burden was shifted from
Issoufi and left for Tony to figure out. At least three of the six teams
will not use the extra staff. Such are the slack lengths of line so
unobtrusively taken up by the sophisticated African "counterpart" for the
foreign "expert". In this case I thought I detected the fine hand of our
own sophisticated and adroit Rafe, a man for all seasons in this
fascinating world of assistance to developing countries.

We worked over the events of the trial, discussed options and suggested
improvements and generally had a stimulating and exciting time, gearing up
for the big push on the morrow.


















13 JANUARY
Only a fair amount of running about in the morning and then finally off for
the great adventure by 1055, Logan Roots, SMP Medical Epidemiologist for
Niger, had graciously given me his assignment to go out to Maradi - a good
long way to the east where I was eager to see real desert and new terrain.
I had originally been assigned to Dosso, an area near Niamey, which
promised little more than I had already seen on earlier trips to Niamey as
well as the similar country of northern Upper Volta, Maradi was not far
from Zinder and I determined to get done as early as possible so I could
visit there. For some reason the name Zinder conjured up all sorts of
romantic images for me and I was eager to see it. I would have preferred to
get to Agadez, part of the trans-Saharan trade route, but that was
stretching too far.

An hour down the asphalt road and we were through Dosso and on to laterite.
The French call these roads "1'escalier" (staircase) but I would opt for
whatever the term is for washboard: a very bumpy ride which if engaged at
too great a speed allows the tires to touch only the raised portions,
resulting in rapid loss of control and imminent danger of ending up in the
landscape and possibly overturned.

Arrived at Birni N'Konni for luncheon at the raggle taggle "Bar Vietnam, Au
Carrefour de 1' Afrique", a rather surprising claim but admirably
enterprising. I was not at all certain what to expect in the way of
nourishment and asked, tentatively for some nems, one of my favorite
Vietnamese foods I had learned of in Abidjan. Rather pointedly, the stubby,
bow-legged mistress of the kitchen, and the establishment, responded that
chicken and rice would be quite good. I agreed and was served shortly with
a large plate of partially milled rice and several pieces of chicken which
had clearly been in a pot for a considerable period. Washed down with a
Heinekens, it was all quite palatable.

We found the campement with some trouble, not having been alerted to its
location outside the town limits. It was, however, well set up and managed
to provide a good dinner of fried chicken, French fries, which, with bed,
sheets, blanket and mosquito netting plus bucket bath including soap (a
generally unheard of luxury), came to the munificent sum of 500CFA. For
those not familiar with the delights of a bucket bath, it is conducted as
follows: one is provided a bucket of hot water before which, in squatting
position, all folds and orifices are soaped after small splashes of water;
then, the entire bucket is emptied over the head washing off soap and
accumulated
















grime, leaving one pleasantly clean, refreshed and ready for sleep after
brisk toweling dry.

14 JANUARY
Plans for the day upset by finding a flat tire in the morning, which, with
the one from the day before, made for two needing repair before we could
get to our first village of Tessaoua. Amidou assured me he could get them
done in an hour and a half, which, as I was rapidly learning about him, was
more than wishful thinking, it was plain fantasy. I left him to manage and
took off to find the Préfet, Maradi being the central town for the
eponymous Département in which the arroundissement of Tessaoua is located.

I was impressed to see a Mercedes 220 of recent vintage outside the
Préfet's office. No similarly placed Voltaic could afford such luxurious
transportation. I waited a short few minutes to meet the Préfet, a suave,
self-important little man, not bothered much by foreign technicians. He was
gracious and distant except for determining just how long I was to be in
his jurisdiction and how long had I already been there. I had the distinct
impression that I had satisfied his sense of protocol by wasting no time to
make my presence known. My mission explained and my "order de mission"
delivered, I went straight to the hospital to check out possible useful
information from the doctor in charge.

He was out but I was told to come along to meet his adjoint. I was ushered
down several corridors, through various doors and abruptly into an
operating suite where the adjoint was in the middle of abdominal surgery. I
halted at the door, but having previously been impressed by the casual
concern for antisepsis at the central hospital in Ouagdougou, remained in
the room and explained my mission. The adjoint chattered away, continuing
his work, scalpel in hand as I backed out of the room. Smallpox was not a
matter of great concern to him and no information was forthcoming..

The tires were finally done and we got on to Tessaoua by 1400. I had hoped
to have least two villages done but there was no hope for that because we
had to next visit the local Sous-Préfet. This was both for the ever
essential needs of protocol and to have him supply us with a guide. We
ended up doing our business with his adjoint who was most helpful. When the
Sous-Prét finally appeared at 1630 he seemed relieved that all had been
taken care of and we headed off to our campement for the night.








This campement was less elegant than the one in Maradi but the fine old
cook managed to come up with three squab for dinner, a most pleasant
surprise. After supper a young gendarme I had chatted with earlier in the
day came by to offer a visit about town. Off we went to what became a
detailed tour of several brothels where my new friend, Yahaya, was well
known and greeted warmly by the strapping girls who were, I was told
solemnly, "mechantes vagabondes". He explained further that Tessaoua was a
very small town and even with a wife and children there was little for a
man to do but visit the girls. He was most eager that I treat one of his
friends for gonorrhea, but having no Penicillin at the ready, I suggested
she go to the dispensaire. That proved an awkward option in that the girl
was married to the dispensaire who was not aware of her problem and
apparently not its source. The situation was dropped and we ended up at
what turned out to be the intended goal of the tour, a local bar where I
learned there was none of Yahaya's favorite wine, but there was beer. Beer
was orderd - at 130CFA, exactly twice what it costs in Upper Volta. I was
told by the pleasant proprietor of the bar, nothing more than the outer
room of a house in a compound, that the beer came from Dahomey (now Benin),
thus the extravagant cost. The degree of luxury this represents is easily
appreciated by comparing the price of brochettes (15-25CFA) or a packet of
igname (5-10CFA) which are the common fare. The proprietor, Boukary Garga,
had been a cook in France for several years, and became my guide back to
the campement after it became clear that Yahaya had become too inebriated
to manage. It was something of shock when Boukary said in perfect if
hesitant English, refemng to Yahaya who was stumbling along behind us, "He
drinks too much, he talks too much, he is not wise." Not only did his shift
of language indicate a nice consideration for Yahaya but it seemed a most
succinct characterization as well.

Returned to the campement to find that dear Amidou, having decided that my
room was too dark, and in attempting to light the gas lantern I had thought
was a fool-proof item (for me), had managed to break the glass shield and
quite nicely burn his entire right forearm. There was no point in asking
why he wanted to light an empty room, knowing I usually carried a
flashlight. I could only hope that I was not in for having to manage an
open burn in the bush. For now, only a large, bullous, blister formation.
























15 JANUARY
On the road at 0730 in a displeased frame of mind. Amidou's forearm has
become almost twice its already formidable size with a swollen, fluid
filled blister, which will probably break soon and I have no Furacin gauze,
just plain bandage. Also, he failed to tell me that there had been a leak
in the rear gas tank and all the gas was gone, close to 40 liters. This
translates to 200 less kilometers we can travel. If I had not noticed a wet
spot under the rear of the truck that morning we would have gone off and
found ourselves stranded 200km short of a gas station. I was furious that
he had not had the wit, nor sheer survival instinct, to tell me. I
endeavoured to impress upon him that observation without communication was
a dangerous habit under the chancey circumstances of road travel hi Africa.

We got to MaiKongo, our first village after an hour, all of 39km. I was
glad to find that even with our hesitant interpreter, Abdou, the sample
needed was finished within an hour, which included chatting with the chief
to explain our business. The guide provided by the Sous-Préfet turned out
to be a much better interpreter and was certainly dressed for the part. He
was a sizeable fellow, dressed in a grand boubou which had been made from
the flag of Niger, wide stripes of orange, white and green with the orange
dot on the white stripe placed squarely in the middle of his broad back.
His head was swathed in a bright red turban, one turn of which he had
draped casually under his chin.

After visiting two other villages we were back at Tessaoua for lunch. For
me that meant a large Heinekens and card punching. I bandaged up Amidou's
arm as best I could. The damned fool had not followed my instruction to
leave the blister uncovered, apparently embarrassed by it, and put on his
coat which was all his traumatized skin needed to open up the blister to
the raw flesh beneath, at least no more than second degree damage. So here
we are, en pleine brousse, with a large, open burn and nothing but gauze
pads and strip bandage. I contemplated open vs closed technique and opted
for the latter, considering the constant dust and my patient's modesty.

Finished the afternoon villages and back at Tessaoua by 1810 where my
friend, the campement cook, had prepared a nice bucket of warm water for my
bath. By this time I had become an adept. Earlier I had been too prodigal
with the wetting phase, leaving too little volume for the final rinse,
which I had done in the squatting position, thus leaving soap along the
back of my legs. No such problem this night as I luxuriated in the cascade
of










warm water in the standing position. Wrapped in my beach towel I then
repaired to the privy carrying my roll of toilet paper. The "privy" was
nothing more than a small courtyard with a three foot wall around a hole in
the ground within the larger courtyard behind the campement building. In a
land of very few chairs and extremely rare toilets one develops rapidly
enough the necessary elasticity of hip and knee extensor tendons to be
quite comfortable squatting. It was not at all unpleasant to be in this
little courtyard in the silent, black African night looking at the stars
which did not seem at all distant. I had once again lost the Big Dipper and
was trying to put Orion together. I had his belt but not the rest, even
after Rafe's help back in Niamey. Dressed into clean clothes, I sat down to
a good meal of meat stew and roast chicken with the invariable piment
condiment. Coffee and card punching and to bed by 2300.

16 JANUARY
This was a classic day of what Africa can do to the best laid plans of even
an organized D'Amanda. Having decided yesterday to head for Korgom because
of our limited gas supply, I had to change the itinerary with the discovery
of yet another flat tire at 0700. Of course my happy Amidou had not thought
to have the tire of yesterday left at a garage for repair so that with only
one spare I was not willing to go far. I organized nearer villages for our
sample, expecting to leave the tires for repair in a large village on the
way and hoping to get gas there as well for the Korgon leg tomorrow. We bid
fond farewell to Tessaoua and headed off, left tires at Gazaoua and
proceeded to our little villages, spending much time in second gear through
the sifting sand, but still able to finish by 1300. No one cared for lunch
so we headed toward the third village. More second gear and four wheel
drive, interrupted by a broken brake line, clogged carburetor and finally a
halt when the guide explained that the village, which "wasn't far" an hour
earlier had suddenly become "very, very far away". We did not have the gas
to fool about with that degree of imprecision, so we did an about face and
headed back to Gazaoua. There, it seemed the young man engaged to repair
the tires had found the job too difficult and simply vanished, leaving one
tube patched but not in place and one tire totally untouched. Further,
there was no gas station in Gazaoua. Another retreat took us on the road
back to Tessaoua and relative civilization. My only hope at this point was
a quiet place to punch cards and sip a beer, but was not even allowed that
reward. I sent Amidou off with the tires while I waited to use
Administration Bons for BP gas. (These are worth gold because they can be
used for any mark of gas,














including the Préfet's stock; I was not eager to use them but felt I had no
other choice at this point.) Problem one was discovering that Amidou had
gone off with the bons, which interpreter Abdou retrieved. Then the gas
pump died at 100 liters and we needed 130 liters. We managed to find the
difference and then discovered that Amidou had also carried the Dodge
ignition keys with him - Abdou again to the rescue. The easy hour I had
counted on for cards and a beer had dwindled to 10 minutes by the time the
ever cheerful Amidou returned, smiling because he had finished one tire.

I took my cards and hightailed off to  the  bar  where  the  beer  had  been
nicely cold the day before. Today the refrigerator was out of petrol  and  a
wick, so that the beer was almost warm. I didn't care.

The one recompense was that the nice cook managed to dig up three more
squab for supper and he had heated the bucket of water to a fine
temperature for my bath. Yahaya showed up to tell me had brought over some
greens from his garden for my salad. I thanked him and avoided the bite he
put on for a bit of money, continuing with my card punching. Tomorrow had
got to be better.

17 JANUARY
Up at 0530 and on the road by 0630 after coffee and bread and washing the
burn. The closed technique was not working, so modesty affronted, Amidou
was constrained to travel with his unsightly arm on display. Two small
points of infection had already started and I had only a pair of small
scissors and gauze pads for debridement. We finished off the village we had
not found yesterday. It turned out to be only another fifteen minutes from
where we had turned back, but there was no point in being upset by that. We
charged on toward Korgom where our last two villages were and where we were
supposed to visit another two villages where smallpox had been recently
reported.
The terrain became increasingly difficult, necessitating four wheel drive
continuously to go 12km up and down dale covered with brambles, small trees
and all-too-shifting sand. Finally, going up yet another hill on the way
toward the paved road which was to take us to Zinder, the good old Dodge
just stopped in its track. Amidou, with his accustomed bravado, leapt from
the truck and dove beneath it declaring that the gas line must be plugged.
I had noticed before, in Ouaga, after he replaced the incomparable Karim
who had a cool head and savvy demeanor as my chauffeur, that he loved
getting himself filthy grimy and then proudly declare that he had done a
job which I knew did not require such display. Thinking of his arm, and
quite readily smelling gas from within the truck cabin, I shouted to get
the hell out from under the truck. He could begin by looking at the
carburetor, which was certainly more accessible and, as far as I could
tell, was being flooded out, not starved out, of commission. I remembered
the Rambler I had owned years earlier developed a sticky float valve when
over heated and did just the same thing. Amidou's feelings were hurt but he
said that if I wanted him to look at the carburetor he would do just hat.
Of course, I had no idea what to do with the damned carburetor but the
basic problem did seem obvious and I was not pleased with Amidou's
professed mechanical ability if he could not recognize it. Much fiddling
with the carburetor and 30 minutes later we were off. We had completed our
eight villages and could afford to relax a bit. We still needed another
hour, however, to travel the last 12km before he arrived at the paved road
at 2000 which would take us to Zinder.

Fortunately, the road into Zinder led us to the hotel which was our
campement. It had taken another three hours to get here, the hotel looked
too elegant and too expensive, but at that moment I didn't much care.
Unpacked and into a room and then off to find something to eat. We closed
out a bar where I bought all some well-roasted chickens, beer and a Youki
soda for Amidou.

18 JANUARY
Amidou and Abdou went of to deal with the truck and whatever until noon. I
started out to see Zinder, thinking such a large city would have taxis.
There were none. As I was trying to choose which direction to walk I saw a
Chevy truck stop across the street and an American get out. I hurried over,
introduced myself and discovered I had found the Regional Peace Corps
Director, John Garrett. Most opportune. Papa would have reminded me that
D'Amanda luck is a force to be reckoned with.
Garrett took me off to see the Préfet. We were now in another of Niger's
departments. Still wondering if Ruben was doing well I asked after him and
was told by the Préfet he had not been heard from. The Préfet was not
pleased when Garrett pointed out that Ruben must have passed through the
city because one of the volunteers in a village further east had mentioned
Ruben had been there. I rapidly talked about newly arrived Americans not
appreciating the necessities of African formalities and could have
cheerfully wrung Garrett's neck. He did recognize what he'd done after we
left the office but was a bit late. He and his wife Sue were most pleasant
and I passed an agreeable time with them. At the Peace Corps office I
called Niamey to say I was through and to check if there was further work
needed. The smallpox I had heard about was reported from a town called
Sassoumbourourm down south near the border with Nigeria. No one knew were
Ruben was. I said I would go to investigate after our Dodge was in good
running order and with its full complement of repaired or new tires.

I took the rest of the day to see Zinder with Marsha, the Peace Corps
secretary. She told me that Zinder came from the German, Zinderhof, meaning
Fort Zinder. I knew the territory had been hotly contested between England
and France but had no idea what the Germans were doing here, believing they
had stopped at Togo. I quite liked the Hausa name for the city, Damagarram,
which means City of the Rocks. We went out to see them, a great pile just
sitting, in an unprepared-for heap at the eastern end of the city. They
were rather awesome and not a little silly; they had no business being
there but they were very largely there. We went to a wonderful leather shop
full of nice items to buy and then to a very confusing open air wrestling
match. There seemed to be at least ten different simultaneous matches,
which at odd intervals would lose one opponent and take up with another
from another match and then the odd bystander would leap in and have a go.
There was great noise and shouting as well as several musicians playing
stringed and horn instruments who were dashing in and out of the righting
area presumably cheering on the contestants. We also went to see the Saiki
of Zinder in his 400 year old palace. He graciously showed us about,
clambering up to the top of the mosque minaret where I took pictures of the
city below. Once again in a main room, he was a superb sight seated on
three large cushions while we were properly seated on only one. He was a
portly patriarch with many wives and children kept in strict purdah behind
screened windows. About the room where we were seated was a superb
miscellany of Africa: a large bundle of fetish charms hanging over his
head, a girlie calendar, a Zenith transister radio, electric cord tacked on
to the four hundred year old wall leading to a modern French fixture, a
telephone with cut wires on a small table, a large photograph with the
French Minister of Colonial Affairs standing before the Palais Elysee in
1947. He was completely charming and chatted on amiably until we bid
farewell.

John and Sue invited me to supper - home-made Chinese food which was
delicious.

  19 JANUARY
 We started off for the smallpox village, Sassoumbourourm, traveling 170km
 south toward Nigeria then west to the village, accomplished without
 difficulty. We managed to find the adjoint to the infirmier (who had left
 for the day) and he reported that instead of two smallpox cases, there were
 five To my dismay there had been no attempt at isolation and no thought of
 vaccinating the local population, I was assured that everyone in the
 village had already been vaccinated during an SMP visit the previous year
 The cas where one of the patients had been placed was currently inhabited
 by a severely burned elderly woman who had been put there within a week of
 the putative smallpox patient's departure. She had been there over two
 weeks and showed no sign of smallpox. And, she had never been vaccinated I
 began to wonder if the disease was smallpox. The adjoint guided me to one
 of the isolated compounds, some three kilometers outside the village where
 a patient still lived. An eight year old girl was found covered from head
 to toe, in all the right places but in all the wrong places as well, with
 "taches blanches", the mark left on black skin after a severe rash caused
 by any number of exanthematous diseases. From the description of her
 illness provided by her parents, I was quite certain she had not had
 smallpox but had suffered a good bout of chicken pox.   The adjoint assured
 me that the other patients had all been of similar appearance and had a
 similar rapid (one week instead of smallpox's customary three) evolution.

It seemed useful not to challenge the diagnosis publicly and to take
advantage of it to make sure the village underwent a special vaccination
effort. Off to find the chief only to be told he was absent and would not
return for several days. His adjoint was a very tight-mouthed individual
and would give no information, nor would he permit me visiting the various
compounds of the village to do a scar survey as an estimate of the
background level of immunity. There was no vaccine available at the
dispensary so I reassured the adjoint we would send some out from Niamey
within the week if he would promise to tell the chief to organize the
village for a grand session of vaccination.


We were only four kilometers from the frontier with Nigeria and I had not
seen my good friends the Hogans for over a year, after they had left
Abidjan to take up SMP work in Kaduna. The city was only 450km down the
road and I knew the roads in Nigeria were all asphalt.

                              The Nigeria Caper

19 JANUARY, continued
Remained the  problem of whether I would have difficulty at the frontier. I
had a visa, obtained in Niamey, for the SMP meeting in Lagos later in
February, but one never knows what can happen at a frontier. I decided to
go to the police post and say I very much wanted to visit friends in
Kaduna, but, if there were to be an difficulty, I would not go. This I did
and had the good fortune, again, to meet a customs official who was eager
to go to Kano, the largest city in northern Nigeria and more than halfway
to Kaduna. Everyone at the post said there should be no difficulty. The
customs man said he would see to all the necessary procedures at the
frontier if I would take him to Kano.

I could not have been more willing. By 1300 we were in Nigeria and heading
south. The customs man was as good as gold, pushing me ahead of the
multitude waiting at the frontier as well as waving us through a couple of
police check points set up along the route. He was a most garrulous chap,
appeared to know everyone and was delighted to think (from which impression
I did not disabuse him) that I was heading to Kaduna to see a cherished
girl friend. The Nigerians, much as my only other experience with
Anglophone West Africans, the Ghanians, are delightfully outspoken and,
often more than not, a little salacious. In both countries the citizens are
welcome relief from the smoothly polite West African in Francophone
nations. Progress toward a particular endpoint may take the same discursive
length of time, but the journey is hilarious with the Anglophones,
intellectually challenging and a tad tiresome with the Francophones.
We left our customs guide off in Kano and then had a terrible time finding
an exit from the city. The main road had been torn up for a new roundabout
and the conflicting directions I had from six different people kept us
heading gave me some Texaco bons and made a simple but very nearly very
costly mistake. He told me the Texaco station was on the way out of Kaduna
(maybe I took a wrong turn), but as we drove on our way we passed only Esso
stations and not one with a Texaco logo. Then I compounded the error by
deciding I could fill the tank at Zaria which was not far up the road.

Of the three Texaco stations we came to, not one had any gas. I had no
Nigerian money. There we were, rolling along on an ever diminishing supply
of gas, hoping against hope another Texaco station would appear, this one
with available gas. Bob had routed me around Kano so that I would not have
to face that mess again. The only problem turned out to be that the new
route led though lots of small towns separated by large expanses of
countryside. About 1900 we arrived at the town of Malumfashi and I felt
sure that if we left without more gas we would end up marooned in some
field. No Texaco station, no telephone, no one at an AGIP station
(naturally enough) to loan money nor buy a gerry can.

I headed off for the hospital hoping to find a sympathetic soul, and did,
indeed. Dr. Ann Musson was just sitting down to her evening tea when I
wandered on to her porch. She told me to sit down, not missing a sip of her
tea, join her with a cup of my own and she would hear my tale. Two large
cups later she laughed merrily at my predicament and assured me she would
either cash my traveler check or loan me 4 pounds to buy gas to reach
Katsina where we hoped a still provisioned Texaco station was to be found.
She took me off to the local bank director who was a neighbor, to find the
correct exchange rate and I stumbled into another tub of lard. Chris, the
director and his wife, a delicate English beauty, asked us to join them
over beer and sherry. Much pleasant conversation later, I said I really had
to be on the way. Ann said she would loan me money and Chris insisted I
should fill up the truck on his account at the AGIP station. I demurred but
then decided I had better accept the offer. Warm farewells and I was off
again.

Into Katsina at 2200 and no Texaco station was open. On to the frontier
where we found a truck stop with great drums of gas standing about. Our
tank was filled up for three pounds ten, leaving just enough for Amidou and
Abdou to find some brochettes and bread at nearby stands. The frontier
police passed us along and we continued to the customs building. I looked
all through the building, shouted, honked the horn and got no response.
Returned to the police and was told there would be no customs staff on hand
until 0700 the next day.
I had never found a closed frontier during other travels and was furious,
having expected to be back in Maradi that evening and ignoring the time of
one o'clock in the morning. Damn the Nigerians, said I to myself as I
stretched out on the front seat of the Dodge and went to sleep.

21 JANUARY
Of course the customs men did not arrive on time and we were not done with
all the forms and explanations until 0750 when we finally escaped to
Francophone territory. We arrived in Maradi and went straight to the hotel
to attend to Amidou's burn. It was not in bad shape but still was an
unpleasant sight, the two infected areas still present and even a bit
larger. I had been dousing Amidou with aspirin but the arm was obviously
painful, so I decided I would drive us back to Niamey, some 760km.

We stopped at Madaoua long enough to get some brightly colored straw rugs
and then barreled on down the road, arriving in Niamey at 1945. I deposited
the boys at their various houses, told Amidou to meet me early the next day
at the Embassy for proper attention to his burn and then went off to the
hotel.

Had a nice hot shower and a delicious meal of a dozen belons (a variety of
oyster Hogan had introduced me to in Abidjan), salmon, endive salad, cheese
and a proper amount of wine. The Hendersons showed up and we had coffee and
liquors together as I recounted my adventures. Finally to bed at 0200,
planning the trip home to Ouagdougou later in the day.