Our entrance into the village of Sarafone was an epic one. As we came bouncing over the dried out bed of the seasonal river, crowds of villagers dressed in their best clothing and jewelry came pouring out of their huts and concessions to greet us. As the evening light grew lower, throngs of children chased after us as the car wound through the narrow mud wall alleys. Some hung onto the back of our Land Rover, some beat on the windows and all cheered wildly as we came driving past. Our exit from the car found us surrounded by the kicked up dust from the drive in and the stampede behind. Looking over the walls to the surrounding alleys, we could see the clouds of dust moving our way even before we saw the young African faces round the corner.
The village pulled out all the stops for us. Skits and dancing were attended by hundreds of people where traditional Nigerien music was played and a trio of women entered into an animist possession dance, kicking up dust all around them and building increasingly with the music. The sounds of drumming and clapping could be heard from our camp late into the night.
The morning met us with 50 eager children wanting to learn how to plant live fencing right along side us so they could hopefully grow successful trees to mark the boundaries of their school yard. Our attention was quickly diverted however upon first sight of the camels and decorated Songhai horses. Demounting the camel was the scariest part of riding it, as the camels have a deep bellowing whine that sounds somewhat prehistoric which they cry out while bending down from their great height to laying flat on the ground. Clinging tightly to the harness, my body was pushed almost parallel to the sand as I looked straight down the camel's neck, like coming over the hill of a roller coaster.
A trio of drummers played for us all morning and the entire crowd of children, horses, camels and elders followeds us back to our vehicles to send us off.
The village pulled out all the stops for us. Skits and dancing were attended by hundreds of people where traditional Nigerien music was played and a trio of women entered into an animist possession dance, kicking up dust all around them and building increasingly with the music. The sounds of drumming and clapping could be heard from our camp late into the night.
The morning met us with 50 eager children wanting to learn how to plant live fencing right along side us so they could hopefully grow successful trees to mark the boundaries of their school yard. Our attention was quickly diverted however upon first sight of the camels and decorated Songhai horses. Demounting the camel was the scariest part of riding it, as the camels have a deep bellowing whine that sounds somewhat prehistoric which they cry out while bending down from their great height to laying flat on the ground. Clinging tightly to the harness, my body was pushed almost parallel to the sand as I looked straight down the camel's neck, like coming over the hill of a roller coaster.
A trio of drummers played for us all morning and the entire crowd of children, horses, camels and elders followeds us back to our vehicles to send us off.
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