Let me abstract things a bit so that I can clearly demonstrate my point without getting too detailed.

Once upon a time we were given a curfew because of an ‘increased police/military presence.’ Interestingly, the dates of the curfew corresponded EXACTLY with the dates during which many volunteers would be in the city for various reasons. What is the chance of that?

Don’t get me wrong, administering a bunch of volunteers is probably a very frustrating and difficult job. But can’t we just be clear about things? Volunteers aren’t stupid. If you want to keep us from going out because there are too many volunteers in the city, simply send a message saying “Due to the large number of volunteers in the city over the following dates, we have instituted a curfew.” The bureau can’t honestly think we won’t recognize the coincidence…

Trust me, we will appreciate the honesty and being treated as adults.

Of course we can’t know for sure what the real reason for the curfew is, but all volunteers will see the dates and suspect exactly as I have written above. Thought should be put into that.

I like the bureau in my country. I have been blessed to have good bureau staff in both of my posts. Both my APCDs have been awesome, and I have really liked all of my Country Directors. But sometimes the way things are handled smacks so much of condescension that I can’t help being frustrated. This has been true across all bureaus. Is it an result of the bureaucracy? A result of the fact that so many volunteers are just out of college? What encourages the bureau to treat us like children?

A quick rant. When people ask me what the most frustrating aspect of being a Peace Corps volunteer is, this takes second place only to the trial of being singled out because of my race and nationality.

On a completely different note, Niger beat Egypt in the Africa Cup qualifiers! Egypt is ranked 9th, and Niger 154th in the world. Sunday Guinea beat Nigeria as well. In other words, all my countries are having big upsets. I think I might be some kind of good luck charm. How could I monetize that (I am learning ONG speak)? The crowd on the streets after the win here was amazing. It was lots of fun and I got to give evil stares to kids who were trying to pick my pockets.

Somehow I’ve made it to thirty without a single death of someone close to me. I didn’t know the volunteer who died here last week. I had met her a couple of times. I taught a few training sessions to her group. But her departure still affects me, at times more strongly that I expect.

I can’t seem to find the words to talk about it. I can’t figure out how to express my own sadness without it seeming trite compared to the loss that her family and friends must be experiencing. I can’t even imagine what that loss feels like.

The sadness of the entire community is palpable. The usual bright smiles of Peace Corps staff have been replaced with an empty look of confusion. Volunteers wander aimlessly, at times laughing, at times collapsing into each other’s arms. Even the staff at PLAN look at me with a certain tenderness. I don’t have words, but I can see the hurt of everyone around me and the loss that the entire community is experiencing.

This weekend we held a ceremony for her. People who had even less contact with her than I, who probably had never met her, were in tears. Officials from the embassy cried as they said their official words. Our training manager had to pause to force out every. single. word. as he spoke of his feelings and called up others to speak. We sat in the 105 degree heat and said goodbye to her in the only way we knew how.

And yet is seems insufficient. At the end of the day there is nothing we can do. Nothing I can do. We cried and we hugged each other. Then we went home to sit at small points and stare blankly at whatever was in front of us. Being on the periphery I can only stand to the side and say what so many others are already saying: that she loved being a volunteer, that we will miss her greatly, that our thoughts are with her family back home. Would that something greater could be done.

But most of all, I am so damn appreciative of the family we have, of the support we give to each other, and of the chance to be here, doing this, living life hand in hand. Peace Corps Niger has been hard hit the last couple of years, but every time we rally together. That is family. That is friendship. Those bonds are the tiny hidden veins of gold that make the experience of life so rich.

I’m going to try not to squander the wealth.