Alhaji: A Peace Corps Adventure in Nigeria

Doris Hyatt, KLIATT
This slim book is a testament to the influence that the experience oin the Peace Corps had on its volunteers far more than what the volunteers accomplished in the foreign lands. That said, one can enjoy the story that Hirsch tells and admire her spirit of adventure and her adaptability to extremely unusual circumstances. ...There is no doubt that the author was a changed person after her Peace Corps experience, and her growth is admirable to read about.

Book Description
A young woman travels to Africa. As a teacher in the Peace Corps, she comes of age, falling in love and having adventures. Having grown up in the segregated South of the United States, finding herself surrounded by Africans, whose greeting for her translated Peeled One, she had some adjustments to make. She learned to live with people who were not racist, and who were hospitable and kind. But by the time she came back to America, she was changed forever, and the second culture shock was finding that her own country had changed too, and would never be the same.

From the Author
To all travelers, and to those who welcome them Preface: As I look back on my life, I realize that the most important part of my education came from the travels I made just after college, as a Peace Corps volunteer. I set forth in 1966, thinking that I had a lot to offer, full of myself. What I encountered was a country, Nigeria, entirely different from my own, as different as black and white. I who, had grown up in the segregated south, now integrated an African city, becoming the first white woman to move inside its walls. The friends I made there welcomed me with the fulness of the Moslem welcome to the stranger, especially Alhaji, who introduced me to his culture, took me under his wing, and taught me about life. I think now that getting to know our far-away neighbors, dropping our defenses, and opening our heart is all that we need to learn. The journey ended too soon...

About the Author
Jane Brown Hirsch grew up in the suburbs, went to college, left to spend two years abroad in the Peace Corps, then melted back into American society, albeit changed.

Excerpted from Alhaji : A Peace Corps Adventure in Nigeria by Jane Brown Hirsch. Copyright © 1994. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved
The sunlight was brilliant, bleaching the sides of mud brick houses and the white robes of the men walking through the street. Alhaji and I were chatting. Latidi, a pert little three-year-old, toddled down the street toward us, radiantly beautiful and resplendently dressed. Her eyes twinkled. Gold earrings set off her cherubic face. She wore a scarf around her head, a pretty blouse with a satin wrap, and a shiny necklace and bracelet. She called out, Alhaji Jumilu! Alhaji looked down at her. But then Latidi caught sight of me, and screamed. She turned and ran. What happened to her? I asked, bewildered. She saw you. Shes afraid of you. Shes never seen a white person before. I was stunned. -------------- The nights quiet was pierced by drums and the laughter of wedding processions winding through the streets, bringing new brides to their bridegrooms. The dark was broken by hundreds of flames burning in tiny kerosene lamps carried by vendors, selling and talking their way through town. In the winter months the sunset left people at the mercy of the chill wind that swept down from the desert. Early in the evening, there would be great, blazing fires with a circle of children around them, chanting the holy Koran in their sing-song soprano voices. Later the children would go home, and the drums and conversations would dwindle into silence. ----------- We landed in Ghana. A little girl came up to us, carrying a tray of fruit on her head. She smiled and held out an organge. It was hot, and we were thirsty. The orange looked good. I pulled out my wallet. Can you change this? I asked. Nigerian money? Yes. Got any dollars? No. She held up some Cameroun money. But we had none. Francs? she asked. No. She shrugged, and held out the orange. A gift. I can still see her--radiant, trading in international money, in several languages, with her tray of fruit, and her lovely gift, which we gratefully accepted. I bit into the orange, and the juice was sweet and cool. -------------- The sun was setting in the desert, gorgeously. I was sometimes welcome when the men were talking news, and allowed to chat with them. But my presence was tolerated only for a while. Therefore I waited to be invited, and stayed until dismissed. This day, I was not invited. I sat on my porch alone, drinking in the sunset. After the men had left, Alhaji came over. Looking dour, he said, Have you heard the news? No. Your people have killed the Chief of the Blacks. What? I aksed, bewildered. Martin Luther King. Your people have killed Martin Luther King. I dont think you should go out tonight. We are angry about this. why do your people despise blacks so much? I hung my head in shame. I dont know. He strode away, disgusted, leaving me alone for the evening, to ponder the behavior of my race.


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