Niger

Don’t get it confused with Nigeria. That’s the first thing. Niger is landlocked, and, yes, it does border Nigeria—it also shares borders with Benin, Burkina Faso, Mali, Algeria, Libya and Chad. Whoa—that’s quite a few borders! It’s not the biggest African nation by quite a long stretch—it comes in at 6th largest of Africa. Still, there are a lot of countries on that continent, and Niger is definitely a big one. 3 August? Independence Day for Niger, celebrating the 1960 declaration of Independence from France. Oh, and another thing not to get confused: the people of Nigeria are referred to as Nigerians, while the people of Niger are Nigeriens. That one letter makes a difference. Respect it.

I have one word for you: chariots. Chariots? Read on, my friend. These days Niger is largely subsumed by the Sahara, but it hasn’t always been that way. The area has been inhabited for at least 12,000 years, and evidence from the early period, in the form of paintings, indicate something much more lush than what’s there today—wild and domesticated animals, chariots (hey! I had no idea there were chariots in this region of the world) and, apparently, a rich societal system. That’s so interesting—this flourishing, complex society that left a record so we have some idea of what Niger was like before desertification took place. More recently, Niger was part of the Songhai Empire, which in the 15th and 16th century was one of the largest African empires.

So then came the Europeans—as with a lot of the interior, explorers didn’t make contact with this part of the work until the 19th century. Among the early explorers were the British explorer Mungo Park (fab name!) and Germany’s Heinrich Barth. They were searching for the source of the Niger River. Then came the French—they were present in the 19th century, but Niger only became a French colony in 1922.

So, suddenly you’re French. Like other French colonies in the region, Niger was being administered out of Dakar in Senegal. They were granted French citizenship, as well as some degree of participation in political life. In 1956 voting inequalities were removed, and a larger measure of self-government was allowed. In 1958 the country became an autonomous state within the French community, but with their declaration of independence, Niger severed its official ties to France.

We’re familiar with the story right? First there were fourteen years of one-party rule: civilian Hamani Diori was the country’s first president. Then, following drought and accusations of corruption, there was a coup d'état that tossed Diori out. The coup was followed with thirteen years of military rule—again, one party. Unions and students then began demanding a multi-party democratic system. By 1990 the then-current regime agreed, and new parties and community organizations began to emerge. In preparation for a new constitution and open elections, the country held a peace conference in 1991, and at the end of that year a transitional government was put in place, as they paved the way for elections.

The results of the first election, though, led to cohabitation between president and prime minister, and the government found it difficult to move forward. Unfortunately this led to another overthrow. Ouch. Baré, who led this coup, died in 1999, leading to the formation of a National Reconciliation Council. The next election was considered, in general, to be free and fair and at least there hasn’t been an overthrow since then. Unfortunately, since last year there has been a Tuareg Rebellion (the second of these) in northern Niger, and this has had, not surprisingly, negative effects both politically and economically. The Tuareg are one of the semi-nomadic ethnic groups making up Niger’s population.

Hey? Have you looked at pictures of the Sahara recently? Do.

Today’s poem is actually by Susan Rich, a member of the Peace Corp who lived in Niger. It tells something of her relationship with the Nigerien woman Aisha. I found it online here.


Nomadic Life

When I come back with the cups of tea
the sugar bowl has been emptied,
my imported M&M—
gone. Flies stretch their legs
search, then spiral
in a dust storm of light.
Aisha sits solemn in afternoon heat
examines the inside of ice cubes
questions what makes water
strong or weak.
We invent common words between us,
point at the refrigerator door,
the photograph of ferns rising out of snow
the last volunteer left behind.
I’d like to trade with her
my typewriter keys
for the way she navigates the desert,
reads the coordinates of sand.
I want to know as Aisha knows
when it’s time to follow
the ambivalent line of landscape
keep faith in dunes that disappear.
By evening when she tastes
my color-coated chocolates
shares them with her friends
we both will recall the nomad
the other woman
we each might have been.

—Susan Rich