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GENDER, RIGHTS, DEVELOPMENT AND ISLAM:
INTERFACES WITH TRANSNATIONAL AID ORGANIZATIONS IN NIGER

By

Kari Bergstrom Henquinet

A DISSERTATION
Submitted to
Michigan State University
in partial fulfillment of the requirements
for the degree of
DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY
Anthropology Department

2007

ABSTRACT

GENDER, RIGHTS, DEVELOPMENT AND ISLAM:
INTERFACES WITH TRANSNATIONAL AID ORGANIZATIONS IN NIGER

By
Kari Bergstrom Henquinet

This dissertation takes an actor-oriented approach to examining translation,
reformulation, and rejection of transnational gender and rights-based development
interventions in rural, south-central Niger. These actions are contextualized in complex
power relations and social hierarchies around gender, age, kin, class, religion, race, and
nation in CARE-Niger, UNICEF-Niger, the Nigerien government, and two rural Ni gerien
towns where CARE and UNICEF intervene. This research explores how CARE and
UNICEF personnel, partners, and aid recipients reinforce and challenge social norms and
hierarchies through constant negotiations with patriarchy, Islam, “tradition,” and multiple
conceptions of rights. Rights are commonly understood in Niger as reciprocal, relational,
and hierarchical rather than individual and equal. Thus, CARE and UNICEF programs
are often reformulated to endorse Ni gerien conceptions of rights and patriarchy.
However, reforrnulations differ between CARE and UNICEF largely due to unique
organizational structures and cultures, and among individuals of different social
positionings affiliated with CARE and UNICEF. Additionally, the ways in which actors
translate, reformulate, and reject rights and gender problematize any clear distinctions
between “local” and “global.” Rather, a complex picture emerges where all actors draw
on particular transnational, national, and regional discourses, resources, and linkages in

processes of translation, reformulation, and rejection.

Furthermore, this dissertation connects material circumstances and ideological
notions of gender roles and relations through examining 1) changes in Niger resulting
from structural adjustment programs and increasing privatization, highlighting the
contrasting ways that CARE, UNICEF, and Nigeriens in general have adapted, 2) social
change around gender roles and relations in rural, south-central Niger, affected by land
scarcity, shifting household economics, the rise of wife seclusion, the growth of Islam,
and male labor migration, and 3) the effects of class and (neo)colonial relations on
development discourses of CARE, UNICEF, and the Nigerien state, particularly
concerning women and gender.

Data collected and analyzed include 1) semi-structured interviews with a random
sample of households in aid recipient towns and with key employees and volunteers in
UNICEF-Niger, CARE-Niger, and the Nigerien government, 2) field notes from aid
recipient towns and CARE and UNICEF events, and 3) relevant current and archived

documents.

Cepyright by
KARI BERGSTROM HENQUINET
2007

DEDICATION

To Jeff, Mom, and Dad for all of their love and support

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Many thanks to my graduate committee—Bill Derrnan, Anne Ferguson, Barbara
Cooper, Laurie Medina, Rob Glew, and Rita Gallin—for their thoughtful feedback
throughout this research project. I am also grateful to colleagues in Niger who took the
time to discuss my research and advise me. In particular, I thank Marthe Doka,
Mahamane Addo, Amadou Sayo, Zeinabou Hadari, Jennifer Peterson, Tidjani Abasse,
and the late Hindatou Sayo. Others were absolutely essential to the success of this
research project as well. I thank UNICEF-Niger Representative Aboudou Karimou
Adjibadé for authorization to research UNICEF in Niger, and CARE-Niger Director
Kathy TilfOrd and 'Adjoint Director Amadou Sayo for welcoming me to do research on
CARE in Niger. I am also grateful to Chef SAP Kadiri Amadou in Madarounfa for
facilitating linkages with the government Technical Services. CARE and UNICEF
personnel, Technical Services employees in Madarounfa, and Tchikaji Gaj eré and Garin
Jakka residents who kindly assisted me with interviews, documents, housing, and
invitations to meetings are many. My fiiend Fibi Abdou also deserves a word of
gratitude for graciously hosting me in Maradi. Finally, the funding for the dissertation
research was provided by the US. Department of Education through a Fulbright-Hays
Doctoral Dissertation Research Abroad Grant. My pre-dissertation work in Niger was
funded by a National Science Foundation Ethnographic Research Training Grant through
the Michigan State University Anthropology Department. And the Michigan State
University Graduate School awarded me a Dissertation Completion Fellowship for

writing this dissertation. Na gode sosai!

vi

TABLE OF CONTENTS

LIST OF TABLES ................................................................................ ix
LIST OF FIGURES ............................................................................... xi
KEY TO ABBREVIATIONS ................................................................... xiii

PART I: SETTING THE SCENE FOR GENDER, RIGHTS, DEVELOPMENT,
AND SOCIAL CHANGE IN NIGER ......................................................... 1

CHAPTER ONE (INTRODUCTION)
TRANSLATING AND REFORMULATING GENDER, RIGHTS, AND

DEVELOPMENT IN NIGER .................................................................. 3
Central Research Questions ................................................................. 6
Transnational Ethnographies: Problematizing the Global and the Local ................. 10
Studying Power and Negotiations: Actors and Structures .............................. 15
Studying Translation and Translators ...................................................... 18
Integrating a Feminist Materialist Approach... . 2.5
Development, Gender, and Human Rights: Changing Discourses ..................... 31
Islam, Development, and Women ........................................................... 44
Next Steps ...................................................................................... 47

CHAPTER TWO

RESEARCH METHODOLOGY AND DATA COLLECTION ........................... 49
Research Sites ................................................................................ 49
Interviews ......................................................................................... 52
Participant Observation ..................................................................... 55
Documents ........................................................................................ 56
Answering My Research Questions ........................................................ 56
Positionality of the Researcher .............................................................. 58

CHAPTER THREE

STRUCTURAL AND SOCIAL CHANGE IN NIGER: WHAT DOES IT MEAN

FOR WOMEN? ............................................................................................................. 65
Transformations of the State .................................................................. 65
The Effects of Privatization and Decentralization on Women and the Poor. . . . 77
Women and the Law ........................................................................ 83
New Islamic Movements and Identities .................................................. 86
Conclusion: The State, Development, Islam and Women .............................. 89

PART H: CARE AND UNICEF IN NIGER: TRANSLATION, REFORMULATION,
AND REJECTION OF GENDER, RIGHTS, AND DEVELOPMENT .................. 92

vii

CHAPTER FOUR
COMPARING AND CONTRASTIN G APPROACHES, STRUCTURES, AND

ORGANIZATIONAL CULTURES IN CARE AND UNICEF ............................ 93
Women, Gender, and Human Rights in CARE-Niger ................................... 94
Women, Gender, and Human Rights in UNICEF-Niger ................................ 99
Structural Adjustment in Niger and Adaptations of Development Organizations... 104
Organizational Structures and Cultures .................................................... 108
Blurring the Lines Between State and Non-state Actors” .112
Democratization, Participatory Development, and Contrasting Models ................. 116
Conclusion ...................................................................................... 1 17

CHAPTER FIVE

GENDER, RIGHTS, POWER, AND SOCIAL CHANGE IN TWO RURAL
TOWNS NEAR ‘DAN ISSA: A CLOSER LOOK AT CARE AND UNICEF

INTERVENTION SITES ....................................................................... 121
The Maradi Région ............................................................................ 122
Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gajeré ............................................................ 123
A Brief History of Women’s Status in the Maradi Region .............................. 124
Changes in Gender Roles and Diversification of Rural Livelihoods Today .......... 134
Women’s Access to Education and Information .......................................... 158
Power Relations and Hierarchies in the Maradi Region .................................. 163
Conclusion ...................................................................................... 174

CHAPTER SD(

TRANSLATION, REF ORMULATION, AND REJECTION OF GENDER AND

RIGHTS IN DEVELOPMENT INTERVENTIONS ........................................ 177
Translations and Reforrnulations in CARE and UNICEF ............................... 177
Rejecting Development Ideas and Practices ............................................... 226
Class and Participatory Development ....................................................... 233
Conclusion ..................................................................................... 239

PART III: CONCLUSION ....................................................................... 244

CHAPTER SEVEN

ACTORS, POWER, AND HISTORIES IN TRANSLATING GENDER AND

RIGHTS ............................................................................................. 245
Revisiting an Actor-Oriented Approach .................................................... 245
Revisiting the Local and the Global ........................................................ 247
Structural Spaces for Maintaining Patriarchy ............................................. 248
Histories of Gender, Rights, and Development .......................................... 254
Actors and Histories ........................................................................... 260

REFERENCES CITED ........................................................................... 262

GENERAL REFERENCES ..................................................................... 282

viii

LIST OF TABLES

Table 1: Number of Interviewed Men and Women Working with CARE, UNICEF,
or the Government .............................................................................. 52

Table 2: Self-Identified Ethnic Backgrounds of Interviewees Employed by CARE,

UNICEF, and the Government ................................................................. 53
Table 3: Self-Identified Ethnic Backgrounds of Interviewees Volunteering with

CARE in Garin Jakka and UNICEF in Tchikaji Gajeré .................................... 54
Table 4: CARE and UNICEF Activities Attended .......................................... 55
Table 5: Niger’s Heads of State since Independence ....................................... 68
Table 6: External Debt of Selected Countries ................................................ 71
Table 7: Adult Literacy Rate in Niger ......................................................... 76
Table 8: Selected UNDP Human Development Indicators for Niger ...................... 78
Table 9: CARE-Niger PN 51 Activities, 1999-2004 ......................................... 97
Table 10: UNICEF’s Basic Integrated Services in Madarounfa Département, 2000-

2004 ................................................................................................ 103
Table 11: Origins of Women’s Plots in a Sample of 185 Farms at Sumarana

(from Raynaut 1976) ............................................................................. 125
Table 12: Land Access and Ownership in Garin Jakka and Tchikaji Gajeré ............. 137

Table 13: Men’s Responses: Why Do Women in Your Household Practice
Seclusion? ....................................................................................................................... 144

Table 14: Women’s Responses: Why Do You (or Women in Your Household)
Practice Seclusion? .......................................................................................................... 146

Table 15: Age and Seclusion in the Garin Jakka Random Sample of 22 Women ....... 150
Table 16: Age and Seclusion in the Tchikaji Gajeré Random Sample of 22 Women... 150
Table 17: Migration of Men from Garin Jakka and Tchikaji Gajeré ........................ 152

Table 18: Number of Women Who Own the Following Animals in the Garin J akka

ix

and Tchikaji Gajeré Samples .................................................................... 154

Table 19: Number of Men Who Own the Following Animals in the Garin Jakka and

Tchikaji Gajeré Samples ......................................................................... 154
Table 20: Interviewees Who Hire Laborers to Work in Their Fields ...................... 156
Table 21: Number of Male and Female Employees in Selected Key Madarounfa

Government Units, CARE PN 51, and UNICEF-Maradi in 2004 .......................... 210
Table 22: CARE and UNICEF Volunteers’ Definitions of Jinsz' ........................... 212

Table 23: CARE and UNICEF Volunteers’ Definitions and Examples of ‘Yanci and
Hakki ................................................................................................ 221

LIST OF FIGURES

Figure l: Locating Niger in Africa ............................................................ 2
Figure 2: CARE Mission Statement .......................................................... 7
Figure 3: UNICEF’s Mission Statement ..................................................... 8
Figure 4: The Millennium Development Goals ............................................. 42
Figure 5: Map of Niger South of Maradi .................................................... 51
Figure 6: Map of Niger ......................................................................... 52
Figure 7: Organizations Consulted for Oral and Written Information ................... 55
Figure 8: Women from Garin J akka Lined up to Vote in July 2004 ........................ 83
Figure 9: UNICEF-sponsored Vaccinations Carried out by Government Employees

in a Town in Madarounfa Département ...................................................... 107
Figure 10: UNICEF AND CARE Donors, 2000-2004 ..................................... 113

Figure 11: Collaborators with CARE-Niger on the Women’s Leadership Training
Manual ............................................................................................. 115

Figure 12: Jigawa Field in Tchikaji Gajeré in July 2004 (No Fertilizer on Left and
Animal Droppings as Fertilizer on Right) .................................................... 140

Figure 13: Fadama Field in Tchikaji Gajeré on the Banks of a Flood Plain in July
2004 ................................................................................................ 140

Figure 14: Primary School Being Built for Students from Tchikaji Gajeré and Mm... 160

Figure 15: Girls Selling Their Mothers’ Food in Tchikaji Gajeré Surrounded by Some

Boys ................................................................................................ 161
Figure 16: Political Campaigning in Garin J akka for the July 2004 Elections

(No Women Came out to Hear Them Speak) ................................................ 163
Figure 17: Celebration at the Sarkin Gobir’s Palace in Tsibiri in April 2004 ............ 167
Figure 18: Most of the CARE PN 51 Staff Members in August 2004 ................... 197

xi

Figure 19: Sex as Opposed to Gender in CARE Workshop Guide ....................... 198

Figure 20: Government Workers Distributing Mosquito Nets from UNICEF for
Tchikaji Gajeré Women and Children in July 2004 ......................................... 206

Figure 21: UNICEF-sponsored Training on Integrated Community Development. . . .. 218
Figure 22: CARE PN 51 Training Exercise on Rights and Duties ........................ 222

Figure 23: A UNICEF Vehicle, Considerably Nicer than the Average Car in Niger... 238

xii

ACTN

AFMN

AIN

AFN

CCC

CEDAW

CIDES

CONGAF EN

CRC

DANIDA

FAO

GAD

HIPC

IGO

IMF

IRSH

MARP

MDGs

NGO

KEY TO ABBREVIATIONS

Association des Chefs T raditionnels du Niger
Association des F emmes Musulmanes du Niger
Association Islamique du Niger

Association des F emmes du Niger

Communication pour un changement de comportement

Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination
Against Women

Centre 0' ’Information et de Documentation Economique et
Sociale

La Coordination Non-Gouvernementale et Associations
F éminines Nigériennes

Convention on the Rights of the Child
Danish International Development Agency
Food and Agriculture Organization

Gender and Development

Heavily Indebted Poor Countries
Intergovernmental Organization
International Monetary Fund

Institut de Recherches en Sciences Humaines

Méthode Accélérée de Recherche Participative or Méthode
Active de Recherche et Planification Participative

Millennium Development Goals

Non-governmental Organization

xiii

NORAD

PAC

PN 51

PPN

PRSP

SAPS

SBI

UFN

UNDP

UNFPA

UNICEF

USAID

WAD

WED

WID

Norwegian Agency for Development Cooperation

Programme d ’A ctions Communautaires (World Bank
Program)

Project Number 51 (CARE’s Gender Equity and Household
Livelihood Security Project)

Parti Progressiste Nigerien

Poverty Reduction Strategy Paper

Structural Adjustment Programs

UNICEF’s Integrated Basic Services

Union des F emmes du Niger

United Nations

United Nations Development Programme

United Nations Population Fund

United Nations Children's Fund

United States Agency for International Development
Women and Development

Women, Environment, and Sustainable Development

Women in Development

xiv

 

PART I

SETTING THE SCENE FOR GENDER, RIGHTS, DEVELOPMENT, ISLAM,
AND SOCIAL CHANGE IN NIGER

Africa
Political

 

F igure 1: Locating Niger in Africa

 

J I I I

I From hrm-Nexnlnrinvafi’ica matrix men I. ulnm/mS/activitv3.DhD

 

Chapter One
Introduction
Translating and Reformulating Gender, Rights, and Development in Niger

“In each of the examples I give you, tell me whether it is ‘sexe’ (sex) or ‘genre’
(gender) that I am talking about,” Ila2 says to the group of fifteen CARE employees from
the Gender Equity and Household Livelihood Security Project, who sit around the table
in the CARE-Maradi meeting room at a gender training. “Number one, women have
babies.”

“Sexe,” Rarnatou and Ali blurt out at the same time. The others nod their heads.
Looking around the room, I ponder how extraordinary it is that the room is half men and
half women, who are sitting intermingled around the table free to speak as they will.
Most gatherings I have been to in Niger during the three years I have spent there are
either only men, only women, or men and women sit separately. Men tend to normally
dominate the discussions in mixed groups.

“How about this one,” says Ila, “Women are nice and men are rude.”

“Genre,” says Halima.

“Right.” Ila goes on to the third example. “Men and women are paid differently
for the same work.”

The CARE employees look around at one another slightly bewildered. “Genre,”
someone says. “No, sexe,” I hear from the other side of the table. The group struggles
for a minute or so.

Rashidou explains his position, “People say that it is natural to pay women less.”

“But it is not right! This is something that can change,” says Amadou.

 

2 All informants’ names used in this dissertation are pseudonyms.

As the group continues to debate, it becomes clear to me where the confiision
over this example originates from. “Doing gender,” to them, is an active engagement in
improving the lives of women. In contrast to the first two examples which are not ~
demeaning to women, the third example clearly illustrates an injustice that they want to
respond to. But does the answer have to do with sex—women get paid less than men
because people believe men and women are innately biologically different? Or does it
have to do with gender—this is a situation that could and should change?

Amina goes on to give her definition of sexe and genre. “Genre is that which can
change, and sexe is that which cannot change. For example, a boy’s voice deepens at
puberty, and he starts to grow a beard. This is sexe.”

Daouda pipes up, “But you know women who smoke can get lower voices as they
grow older, and some women grow facial hair.”

I smile, pleased to witness that these categories are being thought through
carefully and debated. And I am intensely interested in continuing to unravel what
“gender” means to these development professionals in a West Afiican Muslim society.
CARE began mainstreaming gender in 1999, and continues to engage its staff in trainings
and workshops on what this means for their development work. Yet I know that there are
many other social forces at play besides CARE in understanding gender roles and
relations in this context.

The conversation on sex and gender continues in French3, even though everyone
present speaks Hausa fluently. Talking about gender, sex, and development is difficult in

the Hausa language, as these concepts do not easily translate.

 

3 Quotes above are paraphrased translations from French.

 

Several months later, I have the opportunity to meet an employee of the Ministry
of Social Development, Population, Promotion of Women, and Child Protection who
collaborates with UNICEF. I ask her what she can tell me about the Convention on the
Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women (CEDAW) in Niger, which
is upheld along with the Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC) as guiding
principles of UNICEF’s work and was ratified by Niger in 1999 with reservations".
Surprisingly, she has no knowledge of the CEDAW, although she tells me that she has
been trained on the CRC. As she said this, I remembered my initial conversation at the
beginning of my fieldwork with a gender specialist in the UNICEF-Niamey office.
CEDAW and CDC form the base of UNICEF’s work, he told me, which is in
concordance with official UNICEF documents I have read and with what another long-
standing UNICEF gender specialist in Niamey told me. This was not the first time I
observed a gap between what the higher levels of UNICEF say and the understanding
people have on the ground who are carrying out UNICEF’s work in aid recipient
communities. But why this contradiction? And why was I unable to find many dynamic
discussions on gender or human rights among UNICEF employees and their government
partners like those that were happening with CARE staff in the Maradi Région? How can
two transnational aid organizations doing development work, mainstreaming gender, and
integrating a rights-based approach to development in the same part of Niger be so

different in reality?

 

4 Niger also acceded to the Option Protocol in September 2004, after this conversation took place.

 

Central Research Questions
This dissertation is a study of CARE-Niger, UNICEF-Niger, and two rural towns

in Niger, one where each organization intervenes. The central research questions taken
up are:
0 How do CARE and UNICEF compare and contrast in terms of organizational
culture and structure as two transnational aid organizations working in Niger that
have mainstreamed gender and use rights-based approaches to development,
particularly focusing on selected sites in Maradi Région and Madarounfa
Département?
0 How are gender and human rights policies and programs of CARE and
UNICEF understood and translated, reformulated, or rejected by Nigerien
employees, partners, volunteers, and rural aid recipients of CARE and UNICEF,

taking into account their gender, class, religious, and other identities as well as

" .M‘oanf'g,..;l.~ {'1 ., Jog"

cultural beliefs/practices and economic/political contexts?
Comparing and Contrasting CARE and UNICEF ;

CARE and UNICEF are both transnational aid organizations doing similar types
of activities, including women’s microcredit, literacy training, and helping women obtain 5
small animals; both are attempting to integrate contemporary development approaches
and discourses such as gender mainstreaming and a rights-based approach. However,
their organizational structures and cultures differ considerably. CARE is a non-
governmental organization (NGO) that receives funding from governments as well as the
private sector. UNICEF, in contrast, is a fund and subsidiary body of the United Nations

(UN) General Assembly. It is an intergovernmental organization (IGO) rather than an

 

NGO, and is financed by voluntary contributions from a broad range of donors, including
governments, other IGOs, private sector groups, and individuals (Beigbeder 2001).

As a UN Fund, UNICEF looks largely to conventions and other guidelines of the
UN to define and shape its work. UN documents, world conferences, and summits also
have a powerful impact on development discourses outside the UN. CARE is very much
engaged in these discourses,ibut it is not tied so exclusively to the UN to define its work.
Rather, CARE draws on multiple sources of development expertise. Note the contrast in
Figures 2 and 3 in terms of references to specific UN documents and bodies in UNICEF’s

mission statement versus general development concepts in CARE’s.

 

CARE International's mission is to serve individuals and families in the poorest
communities in the world. Drawing strength fiom our global diversity, resources and
experience, we promote innovative solutions and are advocates for global
responsibility. We facilitate lasting change by:

Strengthening capacity for self-help
Providing economic opportunity
Delivering relief in emergencies
Influencing policy decisions at all levels
Addressing discrimination in all its forms

Guided by the aspirations of local communities, we pursue our mission with both
excellence and compassion because the people whom we serve deserve nothing less.

From http://www. careinternational. org. uk/about/

 

 

 

Figure 2: CARE Mission Statement

 

UNICEF is mandated by the United Nations General Assembly to advocate for the
protection of children's rights, to help meet their basic needs and to expand their
opportunities to reach their full potential.

UNICEF is guided by the Convention on the Rights of the Child and strives to
establish children's rights as enduring ethical principles and international standards of
behaviour towards children.

UNICEF insists that the survival, protection and development of children are universal
development imperatives that are integral to human progress.

UNICEF mobilizes political will and material resources to help countries, particularly
developing countries, ensure a "first call for children" and to build their capacity to
form appropriate policies and deliver services for children and their families.

UNICEF is committed to ensuring special protection for the most disadvantaged
children - victims of war, disasters, extreme poverty, all forms of violence and
exploitation and those with disabilities.

UNICEF responds in emergencies to protect the rights of children. In coordination
with United Nations partners and humanitarian agencies, UNICEF makes its unique
facilities for rapid response available to its partners to relieve the suffering of children
and those who provide their care.

UNICEF is non-partisan and its cooperation is free of discrimination. In everything it
does, the most disadvantaged children and the countries in greatest need have priority.

UNICEF aims, through its country programmes, to promote the equal rights of women
and girls and to support their full participation in the political, social, and economic
development of their communities.

UNICEF works with all its partners towards the attainment of the sustainable human
development goals adopted by the world community and the realization of the vision
of peace and social progress enshrined in the Charter of the United Nations.

From http://www. uni cef org/about/who/i ndex_m issi on. html

 

 

 

Figure 3: UNICEF’s Mission Statement
Another important contrast is that CARE currently hires and trains most of the
people who carry out its work in Niger, while UNICEF works collaboratively with the
government, which has been considerably downsized as a result of Structural Adjustment

Programs (SAPS) since the 19805. CARE determines programs and policies based

mainly on conversations between hired employees, donors, and (to a lesser extent) aid
recipients. While this process in CARE often produces culturally sensitive strategies and
an organizational culture of vibrant discussions where many voices are valued, it has
minimal links with the democratic government of Niger. By contrast, UNICEF works
with a democratic government, even though the government is suffering fiom SAPS.
Thus, the different organizational structures and cultures of UNICEF and CARE and the
actors operating within them demonstrate in this study the diverse ways in which gender,
human rights, and development policies and programs can play out on the ground.
Gender and Rights in Niger

“Gender” and “rights” are part of an English or Western vocabulary and a
transnational discourse on development. However, too often the assumption is made by
development practitioners that these concepts smoothly translate into other languages and
cultures. In Niger, as elsewhere, they do not. The insistence on using French instead of
Hausa by CARE or UNICEF employees while discussing these issues is evidence of this.
For some development concepts such as “empowerment,” the English term is simply
used. For gender and rights, the French terms “genre” and “droits” are commonly used
among CARE and UNICEF employees. In the Hausa language—the first language of
most people in the Maradi Région and the lingua franca of Niger—there are terms and
concepts that resemble but do not exactly translate what is meant by the English or
French terms “gender/genre” and “rights/droits.” The differences can be subtle, although
extremely important to explore.

Thus in speaking of gender and rights in Niger, one must look at discourses in

multiple sites—where they meet, where they differ, where their histories lie, and how

they are understood and practiced today. In reality, there is often little common
understanding of gender relations and rights discourses between the rural towns where I
did research and the discourses used at higher levels of UNICEF, CARE, and other
transnational aid organizations. Most people in these towns are not aware of government
legislation on rights and have their own reformulations of how rights and gender issues fit
into CARE and UNICEF’S programs. Their ideas on these issues are largely informed by
current Islamic teachings in Niger and Northern Nigeria, the material surroundings in
which they find themselves, and remnants of historical beliefs, practices, and
experiences. Furthermore, CARE, UNICEF, and partnering government employees as
well as CARE and UNICEF aid recipients and volunteers sit at a crossroads between
Nigerien languages and cultures, and transnational discourses. These actors translate and
reforrnulate meaning between them. And these translations and reformulations vary from
organization to organization and from individual to individual. Chapters Four, Five, and
Six take up these issues in more depth.
Transnational Ethnoggaphies: Problematizing the Global and the Local

With globalization and growing transnational linkages, anthropologists have been
forced to rethink traditional anthropological studies which historically have tended to be
in-depth ethnographies in single, rural settings and often in developing countries.
Appadurai urges scholars to reimagine what a field site is “in a world fundamentally
characterized by objects in motion”— “ideas and ideologies, people and goods, images
and messages, technologies and techniques” (Appadurai 2001 :5). Scholars have invoked,
numerous images to describe such flows and connections across the globe including

“disjunctures” (Appadurai 2001), “fiiction” (Tsing 2005), or “fragments,” (Merry

10

2006a229; Tsing 2005). Certainly even when choosing a bounded geographic site to
study (e.g., a city, neighborhood, or small town), a researcher cannot view this social
milieu apart fi'om international and transnational connections—NGOS, international
relations, tourism, migration, television, and other such influences on day-to-day living.
Anthropologists have in recent years called for multi-sited (Arce and Long 2000:26;
Clarke 2004:279-288; Mahler 1998:94; Marcus 1995) or de-territorialized (Merry
2006az28-30) ethnographies that better capture these kinds of connections. Although my
fieldwork was carried out in Niger, the focus of my study is far from being simply
national or regional. Rather, it is a sort of multi-sited ethnography that traces
transnational aid interventions for Nigeriens at various levels of CARE and UNICEF.
Multi-sited ethnographies of globalization or transnationalism can also
problematize the categories of “global” and “local” by revealing how they are intertwined
in complex ways. Distinguishing the “global” and the “local” has become a familiar
framework for talking about globalization and transnationalism (Arce and Long 2000;
Smith and Gamizo 1998), although the terms have also churned up plenty of criticism
and debates (Marcus 1995; Robertson 1995). Implied in the concept of the global is often
a sense of unsituated universality as well as a certain position of power and privilege in
the world. By contrast, the local is often understood to be particular, situated, and
historical; it is sometimes also called the “grassroots” and associated with the poor.
Marcus, however, points out that in multi-sited ethnography “the global is collapsed into
and made an integral part of parallel, related local situations rather than something
monolithic or external to them (1995:102). Similarly, Mohanty calls for feminist

scholarship in which “the local and global. . .exist simultaneously and constitute each

11

other” (2003:242). Recent ethnographies on human rights and gender (Booth 2004;
Englund 2006; Merry 2006a) have also begun to challenge such distinctions, pointing out
how the global and universal are indeed a part of particular sites and histories.

Sally Engle Merry (2006a) illustrates how the global is also local through her
ethnographic description of the monitoring process for the CEDAW. Through describing
the complex negotiations between actors at UN sites in creating and implementing so-
called “universal” principles in what is often presumed to be a “global” space, Merry
demonstrates that such principles and spaces are created in particular transnational sites
by particular actors. Interestingly even though Merry recognizes that the terms global
and local are problematic (for example see Merry 2006a:212-214, 2006b:39-40), she
never lets go of these terms in her analytical framework (2006a; 2006b). Rather, the
“localization of human rights” remains a key issue flaming her research (2005:223-225;
2006b:39), although the contexts she is exploring in Fiji, Hawai’i, China, Hong Kong,
and India clearly draw on a complex mix of transnational, national, and regional
discourses on gender and rights.5 I

Approaching human rights fiom another angle, Harri Englund ethnographically
examines hmnan rights and democracy in multiple sites in Malawi. Englund argues that
“the very idea of human rights discourse may, despite its universalist pretensions, assume
a highly particular content” (2006: 146). Through his focus on translation of human rights

in Malawi and to a lesser extend Zambia, Englund reveals that human rights tend to be

 

5 Merry uses the term “local” in different ways throughout her work. For example in one piece, she defines
“local” as referring to “social systems smaller than the nation, but not necessarily as small as villages or.
face-to—face communities” (2005:216). However elsewhere she suggests that global and local can often be
a “stand-in for social class,” and are not particularly useful terms as actors in her study are indeed both
local and global (2006a:212-214). Yet localization of transnational ideas of rights (2006a:20, 179) is a key
issue that is examined in this same work.

12

defined certain ways by elites while voices of the poor are excluded. Such elites, namely
activists and politicians in Malawi as well as foreign donors, have embraced a very
particular and narrow translation of human rights that focuses on individual fieedoms.
Such a translation, Englund argues, is in the interest of elites as it ignores social and
economic differences and rights. So human rights, which often pass as global and
universal, are in this study translated in certain ways that serve certain political interests.
Englund’s study resonates with Judith Butler, who speaking of feminism and human
rights, warns that:

Translation by itself can also work in firll complicity with the logic of

colonial expansion, when translation becomes the instrument through

which dominant values are transposed into the language of the

subordinated, and the subordinated run the risk of coming to know and

understand them as tokens of their “liberation.” [2000235]
Indeed, Englund’s study provides ethnographic evidence for how a careful look at
translation can reveal that the seemingly global and universal are in fact quite particular.

Karen Booth argues in Local Women, Global Science: Fighting AIDS in Kenya
that the work of the nurses she studied in Kenyan clinics treating HIV/AIDS is both local
and global at the same time, although she specifies what she means by global. The
global, in her study, is not meant to mean universal, but rather that which “transcends
traditional national and regional boundaries,” including “a way to identify, explain, and
even resolve problems shared by people living in different parts of the world” (Booth
2004:7-8). In this way, Booth calls her study a “global ethnography” (204:12). It seems
i that Bootlr’s “global” could be a synonym for “transnational.” The term “local” is less

clearly defined in her work, however. It is invoked periodically, seeming to refer to the

field site in which she is working in Kenya (for examples see Booth 2004: 112-113, 115-

13

116). While Booth focuses on how nurses and the clinics where they work are at the
same time local and global, one must also wonder in what ways might the patients
coming to the clinics also challenge distinctions of local and global?

This question leads us to an area that remains underexplored in ethnographies
focused on transnationalism and translation of gender, rights, and/or development.
Indeed, many of the rich histories around these notions tend to be glossed over amidst
lengthy analyses of neocolonial or neoliberalism policies and practices of the UN,
development institutions, the World Bank, and the like. While I do not mean at all to
discredit the very real impact of such powerful ideas, institutions, and actions, I do aim to
produce an ethnography that integrates these with a rich analysis of the histories of and
voices speaking about gender, rights, and development that I encountered in Niger. In so
doing, this study resonates with scholars’ call to study globalization and transnationalism
from “below” (Appadurai 2001 :3; Smith and Guarrrizo 1998), capturing a view of
everyday people’s attitudes, beliefs, and practices about transnational engagements. Such
a view reveals complex webs of power and knowledge that extend well beyond
categorizations such as local and global.

Rather than categorizing certain sites and actors in my study as either global or
local, I argue that each is situated in time and space, while also being connected to other
particular groups and places in the world in particular ways. I demonstrate this through
studying actors affiliated in various ways with two transnational aid organizations in
multiple locations in Niger. Those who some may be tempted to label the “local” or the
“grassroots” (for example Nigerien aid recipients and volunteers in my study) are

continually negotiating and reforrnulating ideas and practices about gender, rights, and

14

development through interactions with development professionals, politicians, and
religious leaders in and out of Niger, as well as with neighbors, fiiends, kin, and others.
In other words, all the actors in my study are engaged in transnational negotiations and
reformulations, although in different ways. Furthermore, as I will describe below, the
material surroundings in which these actors live and their varying access to resources are
critically linked to ideological formulations of gender, rights, and development.
Studfl'gg Power and Negotiations: Actors and Structures

One way of getting at complex webs of power and knowledge is through an actor-
oriented approach. Most anthropological studies are concerned with actors in some sense
as ethnographies examine actors’ practices and beliefs in certain socio-historical contexts.
What then distinguishes an actor-oriented approach? I draw mainly on the work of Long
(1992a, 1992b), Arce and Long (2000) and Nyamu-Musembi (2005) as a basis for
understanding an actor-oriented approach. Arce and Long argue that what makes this
approach distinct is that ital) analyzes local “power configurations and knowledge
' interfaces,” or “‘battlefields’ of knowledgeiand power wherein a multiplicity of actors
engage in struggles over meanings and practicalities of livelihoods, values, and
organising processes,” and 2) develops “theoretically grounded methods of social
research that allow for the elucidation of actors’ interpretations and strategies, and of how
these interlock through processes of negotiation and accommodation” (Arce and Long
2000124, 8, 26; Long 1992az5). Arce and Long have invoked this approach in studies of
development as a fi'amework that takes a balanced account of structures and actors (Long
1992:4). In studying human rights and development, Nyamu-Musembi (2005) also calls

for an actor-oriented approach. She is interested in looking beyond abstract principles

15

(such as universal human rights or gender equality) to “concrete experiences of the
particular actors involved in and who stand to gain directly fiom, the struggles in
question” (2005:41). Furthermore, she questions how such principles can endorse or
challenge social hierarchies. Similarly Mahler writes, “Actors may participate
simultaneously in transnational activities that both challenge and contribute to hegemonic
processes” (1998:72). My research explores the ways in which actors associated with
CARE and UNICEF ’8 gender and rights-based development interventions in Niger do
just that as they reformulate, translate, and reject policies and programs of these
transnational aid institutions. These actors are involved daily in complex negotiations
and power struggles at multiple levels around patriarchy, Islam, “tradition,” and rights.
Furthermore, an actor-oriented view of rights can also help to shift the parameters
of rights debates away from dualisms (N yamu-Musembi 2005). In other words,
recognition of many histories and systems of rights helps pull one outside of the
polarizing debate over universalism and cultural relativism to see multiple frameworks.
Furthermore as has been demonstrated elsewhere, scratching the surface beneath the
history of human rights in the UN since the 19405, one sees the debates and
disagreements that exist over political and civil rights versus social, economic, and
cultural rights, not to mention other specific rights of indigenous peoples or women
(Cornwall and Nyamu-Musembi 2005; Udombana 2000). Why is there a need to draw
up these separate rights documents if rights are indeed universal? An actor-oriented look
at rights in this dissertation contributes to this already complex debate, further pulling us
away fiom a dualistic framework towards a more complex, multilayered, and situated

understanding of rights.

16

An actor-oriented approach also brings forth the complex and multiple identities
that people inhabit and negotiate on a daily basis, including the central ones of gender,
religion, class, race, sexuality, and ethnicity. Although my study inquires particularly
about gender, emphasizing actor’s perspectives demonstrates that identities other than
gender are also prominent in determining social hierarchies. Oyéwumi argues that age is
more central than gender historically in Yoruba social organization and hierarchies
(1997). In my study, gender remains of central importance to social hierarchies, although
so do age, class, kin group, and education. The latter four, however, are less a focus of
CARE and UNICEF than gender is.

In my study, I combine an actor-oriented approach with the work of Saba
Mahmood (2005) to clarify structures and agency. Mahmood points out that feminist and
secular-liberal thought tend to narrowly define agency as resistance, based on the
assumption that an autonomous will exists in individuals (2005:2—14). Drawing on the
work of post-structuralists Foucault and Butler, however, Mahmood argues that,
“agentival capacity is entailed not only in those acts that resist norms but also in the
multiple ways in which one inhabits norms” (2005: 15). F urtherrnore, the ways in which
one inhabits norms can serve to consolidate or destabilize a power regime (Mahmood
2005:20). Mahmood goes on to explain that the activities and operations that women
who participate in the piety movement in Egypt that she is studying:

perform on themselves are the products of authoritative discursive

traditions whose logic and power far exceeds the consciousness of the

subjects they enable. The kind of agency I am exploring here does not

belong to the women themselves, but is a product of the historically

contingent discursive traditions in which they are located.” [Mahmood
2005232]

17

Similarly, the reformulations and resistance in my study are negotiations of discursive
traditions and not assumed to be actions of an autonomous self will that exists separate
from these.

Merry’s work (2006a) is useful in emphasizing the role of structures in adopting a
human rights subjectivity. More specifically, Merry links the legal system with an
individual’s rights consciousness under this system. For example if a woman knows that
the legal system will support her in making a certain rights claim, she is more likely to
see herself as a rights-bearing subject and make such a claim (Merry 2006a: 1 84-192). In
Niger, I explore formal and informal structures that frame the kinds of rights and roles
men and women have. These structures include not only legal, but also religious, marital,
economic, development, and political domains.

Therefore, my study emphasizes structures that actors/agents are produced by and
operating within while at the same time bringing to the forefront these actors’
negotiations within multiple fields of power. As the details of the study unfold, my
discussions of actors’ reformulations of and at times resistance to certain powerful
discourses coming fiom CARE, UNICEF, the government, transnational financial
institutions, religious leaders, and others regimes demonstrate how these negotiations
take place.

Studfl'gg Translation and Translators

The data and conclusions gathered using an actor-oriented approach depend on
which actors the researcher focuses on. Particularly in studies of transnationalism, the
field site is potentially so expansive that one must somehow, limit the parameters of the

study. Booth, Englund, and Merry have chosen to focus significant portions of their

18

studies on the role of intermediaries as translators of ideas about human rights, health,
and/or gender. For Booth (2004), these are Kenyan nurses; for Englund (2006), these are
translators of human rights terminology and documents as well as those working in
human rights civic education and legal aid; and for Merry, these are a wide range of
transnational social movement activists (2006a:195-212, 222), legislators (2006a:206-
212), social workers (2006azl95-212), development professionals (2006bz43), and
scholars (2006bz45). Such intermediaries are understood to navigate between the global
and the local, the transnational and the national or regional, and/or elites and the poor.
They accept, reject, appropriate, refrarne, interpret, and/or translate the concepts of
human rights, gender, or other discourses from UN agencies, various transnational
NGOs, foreign policies, and other transnational and international sources.

Merry, who lays out an explicit framework for studying translators, uses the term
“vernacularize” (Merry 1997, 2006a, 2006b) to discuss how ideas from transnational
sources are “adapted to local institutions and meanings” (Merry 2006bz29). While this
means refiaming a concept to resonate in a particular culture, to vemacularize does not
involve changing its fundamental meaning (Merry 2006b249). Vernacular rights, Merry
argues, maintain “basic assumptions about the values of choice, autonomy, equality, and
the protection of the body” (Merry 2006a:216). “Indigenization,” Merry adds, does shift
the meaning of a concept as it is made resonant with cultural norms (2006b:39).
However, Merry argues that in her research human rights ideas were not fully indigenized
because of connections to the transnational legal order, states, funders, and “local
communities” (2006a:225, 2006bz49). It is precisely these issues of vemacularization

and indigenization in translation processes that I explore in this dissertation. To illustrate

l9

where Merry and I differ in our studies of translation of transnational concepts of human
rights and gender, I use the following example fiom her research.

Merry offers as an example of vernacularization the replication of a US.
batterers’ treatment program in Hong Kong. While maintaining certain aspects of the US
model, the program in Hong Kong integrates Chinese concepts of masculinity in
discussions of domestic violence among men who batter their wives. Chan, a social
worker and scholar who has been developing the program, has come to understand the
importance of the ideas of face and yi (1i ghtness) in why domestic violence occurs.
Paraphrasing Chan, Merry writes:

The idea of a “yi husband and following wife” means that men are to be

committed to and responsible for the marriage relationship and expect

their wives to be obedient and submissive. When marital relations do not

follow this pattern, men sometimes become violent. [2006b:45]

Further referencing Chan, she continues to explain that “a man’s face is affected by the
actions of his wife” and men often resort to aggression as a strategy to save face (Merry
.2006bz45). While these comments provide insight into why a man in Hong Kong might
beat his wife, Merry never explains the process by which such patriarchal values are
negotiated with concepts of human rights and gender equality that the program is said to
have embraced (2006b244-45). Did vemacularizing this treatment program accommodate
patriarchy in some ways while challenging it in others? In other words, is this an
example of indigenization rather than vernacularization? Or was it truly the case, as
Merry claims, that “inside the culturally resonant package is a core that radically
challenges patriarchy?” (2006azl37). We are never given the ethnographic detail.

I have sought in this dissertation to provide some of this ethnographic detail in

Niger through demonstrating the ways in which human rights, gender, and development

20

are negotiated, reformulated, and at times rejected by actors affiliated in various Ways
with CARE and UNICEF and involved in processes of translation. As will become
evident throughout the dissertation, something has happened to the radical challenge to
patriarchy found in higher administrative levels of CARE and UNICEF in the process of
translation in many examples from my Niger research. Translation, in my research, very
often means reformulation or, as Merry would call it “indigenization.” In other words,
transnational projects emphasizing gender and rights very often accommodate social
hierarchies rather than radically challenge them. Furthermore, translators in my study are
not only employees of UNICEF and CARE, but also volunteers, aid recipients, and those
in aid recipient towns who choose not to participate in CARE and UNICEF activities.
All of these actors resist and inhabit norms in various ways as they negotiate and
reforrnulate gender, rights, and development in their social contexts.

One reason that this process of reformulation emerges prominently in my study is
the focus on women’s rights in development rather than in international law. Merry notes
that her “analysis focuses primarily on the interaction between transnational social
movement activists and governments and does not examine the interface between global
ideas and those of local groups” (2006a:222). Yet what happens when one applies her
fiamework to the so-called “interface between global ideas and those of local groups” in
development? What happens when one focuses not on transnational women’s rights in
the legal domain, but on transnational gender and rights-based development efforts?
While Merry contends that “human rights movements do not require the adoption of a
human rights consciousness by individuals at the grass roots” (2006a:215), raising aid

recipients’ awareness of rights is a key dimension of CARE and UNICEF strategies for

21

rights-based development and women’s empowerment. Additionally, transnational aid
institutions are accountable in very different ways than states are concerning human
rights and gender equality. States are accountable to the transnational legal order
concerning these issues (Merry 2006a:225), but transnational aid institutions are not.
While the legal structures of the state in Niger remain important in my study, I focus
mainly on the various actors and structures associated with UNICEF and CARE who are
accountable to a variety of donors in the public and private sector. Inevitably, however, I
too have had to limit the actors in my study by focusing on certain sites of CARE and
UNICEF interventions, which I lay out in more detail in Chapter Two. Looking at a
different swath of actors and structures than Merry, yet asking very similar questions has
indeed led us to different conclusions about translation and vernacularization.

A second reason that the process of reformulation emerges prominently in my
study is the emphasis I give to not only transnational discourses on rights, gender, and
development, but also other histories and stories about them in the field sites where I am
working in Niger. Too often human rights are assumed to be only those recognized by
international human rights law. Yet indeed many histories of human rights exist
worldwide. Some scholars have begun to write about other histories and conceptions of
human rights. For example, Makau Mutua (2002) presents a case for pre-colonial
African conceptions of rights centered on rights and duties within family and community
relationships. Similarly Nzenza-Shand (2005) argues for a collective view of human
rights in many Afiican societies. And Ciekawy discusses notions of “freedom, the
importance of cultural expression, justice, and human accountability that have universal

relevance” among Mijikenda kaya elders in Kenya (2000:24).

22

Similarly concerning gender, ethnographic studies have demonstrated many of the
different constructions of gender that exist worldwide. For example, Nanda (2000) gives
multiple examples of gender variants or third and fourth genders or sexes in various
cultures around the globe (2000). Thus rather than assuming the categories of men and
women and the inequalities that exist between them, Yanagisako and Collier (1987) call
on social scientists to address the question of why inequalities take such varied forms in
the contexts of different histories, cultures, and places. As with many of Nanda’s
examples, people in Hausaland have historically had a much less dualistic view of the
world than transnational development institutions working in Niger do. In particular,
gender has historically been more plural than simply male and female. Some of the
issues that emerge when these different worldviews meet are taken up in Chapters Five
and Six.

Finally concerning development, one must also pause to consider how this
concept is translated across language and place. Laurie Hartrnann-Mahmud has in her
research asked 112 women and men6 in seven Nigerien towns (all but one in
predominantly Hausa speaking areas) how they define development or développement.
For those who did not know the English or French term, she asked for a term to describe
initiatives or activities that had improved their lives (2000:91-100, 2004:520-526).7 The
more politicized and commonly used Hausa term ci gaba (“to make progress, move
forwar ”) was offered by 59 respondents. As Hartrnann-Mahmud explains, ci gaba is
often used by politicians and radio and television commentators when speaking in Hausa

about development. In light of this, it is striking that only a little over half of the

 

6 Only 15 of these informants were men.
7 We do not know fi'om Hartrnann-Mahmud’s work how many did not know the terms development or
développement.

23

informants in her study chose ci gaba. Other terms offered can be categorized into four
main themes—l) “grow, increase, gain wealth, make profit, wealth, income generating
activity” (39 responses),8 2) “help oneself, redeem oneself, mobilize for self-help, self-
sufficiency, meet one’s needs” (six responses),9 3) “improve quality of life, women’s
enlightenment, usefulness, improve rural life, flourish/blessed” (seven responses),10 and
4) “become great” (one response)” (Hartrnann-Mahmud 2000:93). Clearly from
Hartman-Mahmud’s data, there is no single term that directly translates “development”
into Hausa. Rather different people focus on different dimensions of the concept, which
also carries multiple meanings in English that I describe firrther below. As Hartrnan-
Mahmud goes on to provide several examples of ci gaba (the most common response)
from some of her informants, each links back to economic/material concerns, for example
installing a grinding mill, selling vegetables and seeds, finding apprenticeships, starting
livestock projects, and having access to medicines (2000:96-97). Thus, nearly all the
responses have a clear economic dimension. Such material needs can be met by a variety
of sources, including not only development projects but also assistance from kin, loans or
gifts from wealthy persons, earnings fiom wage labor, or a good rainy season. It is
noteworthy that nowhere in the definitions of development is a development project
explicit or required. And it is not surprising that meeting material needs is a strong focus

as most people in Niger struggle to meet the most basic daily needs—food, clean water,

 

8 In Hausa: ‘Karuwa, bunkasa, samu, cin riba, arziki, sana ’a no a samu

9 In Hausa: T aimakon kai da kai, fansa kai, tashi tsaye da kan kai, in cin kan mu, biyan bukata

'0 In Hausa' Zaman duniya, kyauta rayuwar su, wayewa kai mata, raya karkara, rahama. Rahama usually
means mercy or compassion; it is hard to know why the translation flourish/blessed was preferred without
knowing the full context of the quotation.

” In Hausa: Zaman baban

24

fertile land, medicines, and so forth. It is these material matters that I wish to address in
the following section, highlighting their connection to gender, rights, and development.
Intggrating a Feminist Materialist Approach

One cannot talk about translations and negotiations of gender and human rights
without situating these in a material reality. This plays out in two main ways in my
study. First, changing rural livelihoods are linked to new theologies and gender roles
through male labor migration and connections to regional and transnational religious
movements. Second, the impact of class relations on translation, especially in
development interventions, must be taken into account. Indeed the gap is wide in my
study between those who have access to considerable resources (for example,
transnational aid institutions, wealthy governments, elite persons, or an American
anthropologist) and those who have little (for example, aid recipients or heavily indebted
countries). CARE and UNICEF rural aid recipients and volunteers clearly point this out
in their comments about these development organizations. Comprehending class
dynamics and power relations, especially iri a historical perspective, is absolutely central
to understanding interactions between aid recipients and development professionals.
Gender and Social Change amidst Scarcity

In this study, it is critical to highlight the daily struggle of many Nigeriens to
survive. Niger is ranked last on the UNDP Human Development Index (United Nations
Development Programme 2005, 2006). It is a country where famine is common, about
one in four children dies before reaching the age of five, and few natural resources exist
to bring wealth into the country. In the midst of the 2005 Niger drought and food crisis,

New York Times reporter Nicholas Kristof called Niger “the most wretched country in the

25

world” (2005). Kristof goes on to explain the constant food crisis in Niger and criticize
the poor response of the international community in 2005. The Food and Agriculture
Organization (F AO) estimated that 2.5 million Nigeriens (about 20% of Niger’s
population) were in need of food aid at the height of the food crisis after a poor 2004
rainy season and locust infestation (Food and Agriculture Organization 2005). Clearly
the most vulnerable individuals (often women or children) and households have suffered
the greatest. In 2006, insufficient rain in the first part of the rainy season coupled with
intense flooding has ruined the harvest in many places, leaving many with insufficient
food for the forthcoming year. In parts of the Maradi Région in 2006, the World Food
Program has found that “70% of the population reports that their stocks will last for only
4-5 months.” (World Food Program 2006) Sadly, food shortage is an annual occurrence
in Niger. The situation seems overwhelmingly grim.

In 2005, the Nigerien government, foreign countries, and aid organizations
responded late to the predicted food crisis in Niger. In fact, President Tandja denied that
there was a famine (BBC News 2005). In short, politics and red tape got in the way of
getting food to hungry people. Will the Nigerien government and the international
community learn to better respond to this on—going situation of hunger? Indeed, this is a
situation of great urgency, and having food to eat is among the most basic of human
rights. Furthermore, understanding the constant food crisis in Niger sets the scene for
this dissertation as basic human needs are often not met or in some cases even recognized
by the state. _ .

Furthermore as I spell out in more detail in Chapter Three, the consequences of

structural adjustment and privatization have been devastating for the country. And in the

26

area of Niger where I focused, land is scarce and aid is sparse. In this social milieu,
Nigeriens have invoked strategies for survival, including shifting livelihoods and gender
work roles as well as new theologies of prosperity. In my research, I found that residents
of the towns I studied, who often have little wealth to access from worldly sources, turn
to heavenly sources in search of prosperity and well-being. An increasing concern for
Muslim piety over the last few decades coincides with cycles of drought, seasonal male
labor migration, land scarcity, shifting gender roles, and contact with broader
transnational religious movements. Amidst material hardships, piety can be considered a
development strategy in two ways. First through pious living, these Ni geriens seek
material blessings and well-being from God. Second, piety also aligns them with certain
social groups of Muslims who could be valuable assets in times of need. In the aid
recipient towns in my study, piety is strongly connected with certain gender roles that
emphasize male provision and female domesticity, obedience, and seclusion. As I
explain more fully in Chapter Five, this is a marked change from the past.

In a study of poverty and prosperity in Tanzania, Hasu (2006) draws many of the
links that also emerge in my study between material conditions and theologies of
prosperity. Drawing on Geertz, Hasu writes:

Religious beliefs and ideas inform the ways that economic circumstances

are perceived, interpreted and acted upon in specific social and historical

contexts. Furthermore, lived reality generates and shapes religious beliefs

and ideas. [2006:679]

Thus, Hasu notes the intimate connection between economics and ideas. However, Hasu
also emphasizes how ideas about economic prosperity can be tied not only to the

“rational” and mundane, but also the miraculous or supernatural (2006:680).

Furthermore, moral/pious living is also connected to economic prosperity by some in her

27

study. Hasu explains that a Christian preacher in Tanzania had a message fiom God
saying that spiritual and economic changes in Tanzania will go hand in hand (2006:686).
In other words when Tanzanians start to act in faith, their financial circumstances will
improve; reciprocally, when they give in faith, the gospel will be spread. This same
preacher recounts a story in his own words of a poor widow who gave him her last 300
shillings for his ministry:

I knew that the possibility for a miracle for that woman was in the fact that

she was giving me money. It is difficult to explain to anybody who has

problems that the miracle awaiting you lies in giving the last money to me.

[Hasu 2006:687]

This kind of logic that places the possibility of miracles and divine blessings at
the center is also key to understanding development strategies in rural Niger. For
example contrary to assertions by some scholars (Alidou 2005:34; Kane 2003: 139) that
poor and/or rural women in Hausaland cannot practice seclusion because their labor is
needed, rural, poor women in my study do practice seclusion despite the fact that this
seems at times to make little economic sense from this kind of mundane perspective.
These women could be working their land (for those who have some), helping family
members farm, or migrating for work like the men. Yet they stay at home, where only
some of them earn a very small income from preparing foodstuffs. When one considers,
however, the blessings and prosperity associated with moral and pious living,
domesticated women, wife seclusion, and male provision make sense in rural towns with
few other prospects for wealth.

Chandra Mohanty, arguing for a perspective grounded in historical materialism,

states, “The link between political economy and culture remains crucial to any form of

feminist theorizing” (2003:230). Bina Agarwal provides a framework and in-depth

28

example for thinking about how the material and ideological are related in terms of
gender and social change. Writing about cultural explanations of women’s subordination
in early South Asian ethnographies, she explains:

In this emphasis on the ideological, the material basis of this

subordination, or the dialectical link between the material context and

gender ideology, is seldom recognized. And culture is often characterized

as ‘given’ rather than in the process of constant reformulation, or as an

arena of contestation. [1994:] 1]
Agarwal reveals through her study how women’s access and right to own and control
land or other material resources are key to understanding how and why these cultural
attitudes exist. Agarwal further lays out the variation that exists between women in
different contexts throughout South Asia who have different degrees of access to and
control of resources and cultural traditions to contend with. Similarly women’s
subservient status and poverty in Niger are often ascribed to tradition or custom.
However, as the material and cultural resources of Nigeriens become evident in this
study, so will the relationship that these have to social hierarchies, constructions of
difference, and changing gender roles including the rise of wife seclusion. Changing
ideologies/theologies, gender roles, and material circumstances have mixed consequences
for women. While many women gain certain rights in principle, most still struggle to
access critical resources.

Furthermore feminist scholars (Abu-Lughod 1991, 1993; Moore 1994; Nussbaum
2000) have pointed out culture is fluid, changing, and contested. I too do not View
culture as stagnant or bounded, but rather constantly in flux and carrying multiple

meanings to different members of any so-called cultural group. Any stagnant or bounded

portrayal of culture is one view among many of someone with the power to speak and be

29

heard. For example in the debates about customary law, customary law is often
considered to be based on “culture.” However, An-Na’im argues that religious and
customary laws reflect the views of those with the power to define culture (1994: l 76).
Ali (2000), Chanock (1998, 2002), and Roberts and Mann (1991) have written about how
inequalities in terms of gender or slave status have been declared “tradition” or “custom”
by powerful members of communities and codified into law. By linking the naming of
culture with power, access to material resources, and rights, an argument that uses culture
to legitimate gender inequalities loses its footing. This dissertation explores the
constructions of gender that have emerged in Niger, which are not merely people clinging
to tradition or a certain ideology, but rather my perspective is that Ni geriens are adapting
to a particular social, political, and material reality.
Class, Development, and Translation

The ways in which development benefits elites is a topic that has been brought up
numerous times among scholars (F. Cooper 1999; Delville 2000; Englund 2006;
Ferguson 1994; Kabeer 1994). Popular development strategies such as participatory
approaches and community ownership become overshadowed and reinterpreted in light
of power relations between development professionals or government elites, and aid
recipients or average citizens. Furthermore, the history of colonial and post-colonial
hierarchical relationships is a key part of the way that rural aid recipients in Niger view
development institutions. They are suspicious of their motives, which are often believed
to be self-serving. However, such class and power relations remain largely unexamined
by development professionals I encountered in Niger in terms of how they impact their

work with the poor. Particularly in Niger, few decent paying job opportunities exist apart

30

from development project positions, especially as government positions have decreased
under structural adjustment. Working for an organization such as CARE or UNICEF is
indeed prestigious and highly desirable. It means that one can enjoy a steady income and
some health benefits, allowing for a more middle class lifestyle. Such social positions
also resonate with familiar social hierarchies past and present related to government,
royalty, and wealthy traders. In many ways, the class divide between aid recipients or
volunteers and development professionals reinforces these kinds of social hierarchies,
although in new ways, rather than challenging them. Thus in much the same way that
gender and rights are translated and reformulated in Niger so that they are no longer a
“radical challenge to patriarchy,” so too are participatory development interventions often
translated and reformulated to accommodate social hierarchies rather than work towards
equality. Highlighting the material basis for class, gender, and other hierarchies is a
central task of this dissertation.
Developmeng Gender, and Human Rights: Changing Discourses

Before turning to histories and social contexts of Niger, it is crucial to have an
overview of a history of development common in scholarly literature and that includes
various ways that transnational development organizations and professionals have
attempted to address women’s concerns over the past three decades since the beginning
of the UN Decade for Women in 1975. Remnants and pieces of all the concepts and
approaches I discuss in this section still exist today to some extent in development
organizations and emerge in my data in Niger. Clearly this history is significant, even if

it is exclusive of many other perspectives on development, gender, and rights.

31

Development

Since the concept “development” was born after the Second World War and key
development institutions were established such as the Bretton Woods Institutions and the
United Nations, development has come to mean many things to different people. Its
history is deeply rooted in economics and modernization theory. Rostow (1952, 1960)
was key in laying out linear stages of economic grth for the nations of the world
(Escobar 1995:76; Rist 1997:93-99). The idea of “developing,” according to such
thinking, entails moving along a continuum from traditional, primitive, and poor to
modern, civilized, and developed, with Western Europe and the United States as the
model. This view gave a new name to ideas long central to social evolution and an era of
European conquest, colonialism, and slave trading.

In fact, the relationships between the developed and developing world are the
direct offspring of colonial empires born into the Cold War period. Fredrick Cooper
argues that in the 19405 a new type of imperialism came about as “[Colonial regimes]
were anxious to show Afiicans, themselves, and the rest of the world that colonial rule
could now be justified as progressive. The word they used was ‘development”’ (F.
Cooper 1999:402-3). Parallel to colonial powers before the Second World War,
“developed” nations including France, England, and America continued to be the model
for development. These ideas are still alive and well today. For example in economist
J effi'ey Sachs’ '2 new and popular work The End of Poverty: Economic Possibilities for
Our Time (2005), he continues to invoke modernist images such as the “development

ladder,” which places highly industrialized, high-tech countries like the US. at the top.

 

'2 Sachs has been a special advisor to Kofi Annan on the Millennium Development Goals. The Millennium
Development Goals are discussed further below.

32

At the bottom of the ladder are countries in which most of the population is rural farmers,
and in the middle are countries with light manufacturing and urbanization, which Sachs
clearly sees as first steps to ending poverty.

The meaning of “development” has evolved in numerous directions as a result of
governments, NGOs, IGOs, and citizens engaging in debates over the past 60 years.
While still firmly rooted in economics and modernization theory, as Sachs demonstrates,
development has also come to include debates on human rights, power, and social
difference in some circles. In contrast to Sachs, scholars such as Amartya Sen (1999)—
also an economist—and Martha Nussbaum (2000) have advocated a capabilities approach
to development, which argues that human rights are key to guaranteeing economic
security, freedom, and a dignified existence. Other scholars concerned with issues of
social difference, particularly gender, have broadened the development discourse to
include analyses of social relations and power (see Kabeer 1994; Marchand and Parpart
1995; Razavi and Miller 1995). As these debates emerged, women as a group began to
receive more attention in development institutions.

A Litany of A cronyms for Women: WID/WAD/GAD/WED

A standard history is often chronicled for women/ gender and development. It
begins with the UN Decade for Women, launched in 1975 after the UN World
Conference on Women in Mexico City and inspired in part by Ester Boserup’s pioneering
work Woman’s Role in Economic Development (1970). Early approaches to addressing
Women in Development (referred to as WID) grounded themselves in economics, as

development in general has, and attempted to bring women into already existing

33

development efforts without questioning assumptions of modernization, westerrrization,
or capitalism within development institutions, discourses, and practices.

Scholars (see Bandarage 1984; J aquette 1982 for examples) soon began to
critique these assumptions, however, using a neo-Marxist fi'amework. These critiques,
referred to as Women and Development or WAD, argue that women have always been
part of development processes and that their work (paid and unpaid) sustains existing
structures of inequality. Bringing women into the capitalist economy is not the solution;
rather, it is the source of women’s oppression. WAD sought strategies for women to
improve their lives apart from patriarchal and capitalist institutions. WAD, like WID,
however, focused too much on economic issues like production to the exclusion of social
relations and politics.

What emerged in response is another school of thought—Gender and
Development or GAD (see Chant and Gutmann 2000; Grei g et al. 2000; Rathgeber 1990;
Razavi and Miller 1995 for examples). GAD is a perspective that recognizes social,
economic, and political factors in men and women's lives, with the goal of transforming
existing unequal power structures. Proponents of GAD began to see not only women as
gendered, but also men. Therefore, the social construction of masculinity needed to be
understood as well as relationships between men and women. The 1995 Fourth World
Conference on Women in Beijing further fueled the integration of WID, WAD, and GAD
into development institutions worldwide.

WID/WAD/GAD have also merged in some cases with discourses of sustainable
development, commonly referred to as Women, Environment, and Sustainable

Development or WED (see Agarwal 1994, 2000, 2001; Jackson 1993; Rocheleau et a1.

34

1996 for examples). This approach emphasizes women’s—mainly poor women in
developing countries—close relationships to their material environment and dependence
on nature for their livelihoods. Often political ecology and a sustainable livelihoods
approach are incorporated into WED. Central to the Sustainable livelihoods approach is

the recognition that “local” knowledge—or what Helmore and Singh have termed “the

3

 

wealth of the poor’ is a valuable starting point to development interventions (2001 :3).
A sustainable livelihoods approach also focuses on helping the most vulnerable
community members—often women—by understanding complex rural livelihoods and
survival strategies of households and individuals. Some WED advocates, however, have
focused less on real livelihoods and the political economy than on ideological notions of
maternal altruism and a naturalized connection between women and nature, a view which
I do not espouse.

WID, WAD, GAD, and WED, however, have been critiqued as Eurocentric and
narrowly focused on gender to the exclusion of other social identities. White women
from North America and Europe have tended to dominate much of the WID, WAD, '
GAD, and WED discourses. Critiques from women’s groups in developing countries
such as DAWN (Sen and Grown 1987) and scholars such as Chandra Mohanty (1987)
have brought perspectives of women from non-Westem countries into the picture. As a
result, many women! gender and development advocates today no longer see women as a
homogenous group, but also recognize intersections of race, class, nationality, gender,

sexual orientation, religion and other identities that make up each person. And this

WID/W AD/GAD/W ED history has begun to be recognized by more and more

35

development practitioners as only a piece of women’s struggles and movements around
the world.

While there is a historical process by which WID, WAD, GAD, and WED each
emerged in development discourses, this does not mean that any of them have
disappeared. They are all alive and well today in various institutions and policies around
the world, including UNICEF and CARE. And many other histories of women/ gender
and development exist side by side in so-called developing countries. This dissertation
chronicles some of them in Niger.

Gender Mainstreaming

Throughout the 19903, “gender mainstreaming” became a prominent discussion in
many development circles. In her book Gender Mainstreaming in Poverty Eradication
and the Millennium Development Goals, Naila Kabeer cites the agreed conclusions of the
UN Economic and Social Council on gender mainstreaming as:

Mainstreaming a gender perspective is the process of assessing the

implications for women and men of any planned action, including

legislation, policies or programmes, in any area and at all levels. It is a

strategy for making women’s as well as men’s concerns and experiences

an integral dimension in the design, implementation, monitoring and

evaluation of policies and programmes in all political, economic and

societal spheres so that women and men benefit equally and inequality is

not perpetuated. The ultimate goal is to achieve gender equality.

[2003:244]

These ideas are clearly linked to the GAD school of thought, as their primary concerns
are gender relations and equality. Gender mainstreaming has been attempted in many
development institutions, including CARE and UNICEF, although to varying degrees of

success. Some feminists have argued that women’s interests are in practice diluted

through mainstreaming rather than strongly fought for because of gender inequalities that

36

remain in institutions and the larger societies in which they exist. As was the case with
critiques of WID, critics of mainstreaming argue that the system and institutions of
development have not been adequately challenged and changed for women to participate
on an equal footing with men. Furthermore, gender mainstreaming is often seen as a
technique to get right rather than a new way of thinking and committing resources to
promote gender equality (Baden and Goetz 1998; Johnsson-Latham 2004). However
when done with strong institutional support and intense training and planning, gender
mainstreaming can transform an organization, as was the case in CARE-Niger. Chapter
Four takes a deeper look at gender mainstreaming in CARE and UNICEF in Niger.
Rights-Based Development and Gender

Some development practitioners have come to see human rights as an integral part
of development and women’s empowerment. The linking of development and human
rights can be traced back to the Declaration on the Right to Development, adopted by the
UN General Assembly in 1986. Until this time, the 1948 UN Universal Declaration of
Human Rights and institutions dealing with human rights were dealt with by lawyers and
activists in separate circles from development institutions who were focused mainly on
economics. Historically, human rights in the Western world have been thought of in
terms of political and civil rights. The Declaration on the Right to Development also
brought economic, social, and cultural rights into the picture (Udombana 2000). The
entry into the UN of newly independent Third World states in the 19605 and 19705
helped to change the discourse on rights and link the two. Cold war politics, however,
sharpened ideological divides between these differing views of rights (Chanock 2002).

Many Western states have not been supportive of the Declaration on the Right to

37

Development because it criticizes Western policies as perpetuating inequalities in the
world (Cornwall and Nyamu-Musembi 2005; Fomerand 2003:89).

A rights-based approach to development has only recently been embraced by
mainstream development institutions beginning in the mid-19905, with little awareness or
acknowledgement of the debates around the right to development from a decade earlier.
And, not surprisingly, the emphasis on political and civil rights by Western countries
lingered on in a post-cold war world. Slowly this has been challenged, however, in
forums such as the 1993 Vienna Conference on Human Rights, the 1995 Copenhagen
World Summit for Social Development, and the 1995 Fourth World Conference on
Women in Beijing (Cornwall and Nyamu-Musembi 2005; Hamm 2001:1007). With
increasing recognition of economic, social, and cultural rights, the relationship between
rights and development has been easier to see. Prominent works by Sen (1999) and
Nussbaum (2000) have laid a foundation for connecting development and human rights
through the capabilities approach, mentioned above. Scholars, activists, and development
professionals have also linked human rights to various specific domains of social and
economic rights including land (Hellum and Derman 2004), food security (International
Code of Conduct on the Human Right to Adequate Food 1997; Zeigler 2004), water
(Hellum and Derman 2005), and health (Farmer 2003; Hellum and Knudsen 2006), at the
same time recognizing how these separate areas are ultimately connected. Debates over
the rights-based approach to development continue and are evolving at present.

UNICEF-Niger adopted a rights-based approach in the late 19905, and CARE-
Niger in 2002. The UN was responsible for setting much of the framework for this new

approach throughout the 19905, and Kofi Annan called on all UN agencies to

38

“mainstream” human rights in 1997. UNICEF is considered a leader among UN
agencies13 implementing a rights-based approach, and CARE is a fiequently cited
development NGO doing rights-based work (Hamm 2001:1011; J ochnick and Garzon
2002; Tsikata 2005:1). Both organizations have reports, studies, and training materials
that include a rights-based approach to development.

Some development practitioners have embraced the rights-based approach to
development as a means of addressing women’s empowerment. Rights-based approaches
have emphasized rights of individuals, the need to change oppressive cultural practices,
and structural inequalities within societies due to gender, age, race, slavery, class, or
other factors. Many scholars (for examples see Agarwal 1994; Butegwa 2002; Wanyeki
2003) and some development organizations, such as CARE, have focused in particular on
women’s land rights as a way of securing their access to economic resources in primarily
agrarian societies. Similarly, water rights have also gained prominence in development
debates and policies around the world with a particular concern for women and the poor
(Hellum and Derman 2005; United Nations Development Programme 2006).

UNICEF also links gender and human rights and upholds them as core
components of its development work. For example, UNICEF’s booklet Human Rights
for Children and Women: How UNICEF Helps Make Them a Reality says:

Since the mid-19805, the UNICEF Executive Board has approved policies

on women in development and gender equality, and has endorsed

women’s rights and the understanding that CRC and CEDAW jointly

provide the umbrella of rights and norms for gender-responsive
programme goals and strategies. [1999:16]

 

'3 I refer to UNICEF as an “agency” in a broad sense. It is not one of the UN’s Specialized Agencies, but
rather a subsidiary body of the UN General Assembly.

39

Similar to critiques of WID by WAD advocates, some argue that rights-based
development does not make much sense without also engaging in discussions of
neoliberal policies, such as SAPs, which have crippled governments of developing
countries and prevent them fiom establishing their own economic policies (Tsikata 2004;
de Waal 2003). This leads us back to the point above—political and civil rights have
been emphasized by many development institutions and Western governments, while
ignoring social, cultural, and economic rights (Cornwall and Nyamu-Musembi 2005;
Udombana 2000). The assumption is that good governance will reduce poverty.
However in this view, the gaze is on the south and on the poor, without regard for the role
of development institutions and governments in poverty and inequalities. How can good
governance reduce poverty when the state has been cut back so severely that it does not
have adequate resources to enforce its legislation and has little ability to determine its
own economic policies? In her insightful paper for the Community Development
Resources Association on gender and rights-based development, Dzodzi Tsikata writes:

Given that the site of development policy making has changed from the

state to the international arena, the focus of the [Rights-Based

Approaches] on national actors- citizens and govemments- and the

exclusion of the corporate sector, foreign governments and the [HS fi'om

scrutiny makes it a non starter. [2004:3]

Also in the same way that feminists have been critical of mainstreaming gender in
development institutions and governments, they have also worried that women’s
concerns will be lost in the rhetoric of rights and development that has been dominated

by men. Rights particular to women such as reproductive rights, or rights of LBGT or

gender variant communities are often not a part of rights-based approach discussions and

40

polices. Furthermore, how and why certain universal human rights like education and
inheritance are denied to women in many cultural contexts are often not explored.
A UN Agenda for Development and Women ’5 Rights in the 21" Century
The Millennium Development Goals

At'the UN Millennium Summit in August 2000, eight Millennium Development
Goals (MDGs) were set to be reached by the year 2015 by the 189 nations that pledged to
them (Figure 4). Rich countries promised to provide aid and debt relief to meet these
goals in the world’s poorest countries (Oxfam 2005). However, few have lived up to this
promise. Despite attention in the media worldwide by pop stars like Bono and the Live 8
concert that drew attention to the need to honor these promises leading up to the 2005 G-
8 Summit and UN World Summit, these meetings did not result in a commitment from
the richest nations14 to reach the UN target of 0.7% of GNP in official development
assistance in a timely manner. Neither was the call answered for 100% bilateral and
multilateral debt relief for the world’s most impoverished countries, which was made by
Tony Blair15 as well as numerous non-governmental and community-based organizations
around the world including Oxfam, Jubilee 2000, and Africa Action.16 Instead, the G-8
agreed to double aid to Africa by 2010 and cancel debts owed by 18 heavily indebted
poor countries (HIPCs)l7 to the International Monetary Fund (IMF), World Bank, and
Afiican Development Fund—a small step in the right direction. The World Summit

affirrned these actions, and all participating governments committed to achieve the

 

'4 Oxfam reports in 2005 that only five of the 22 major donor countries are at the level of 0.7% aid, and
none of them are in the G7 (2005 :7).

'5 Blair called for 100% debt relief for the most highly indebted nations in his special address at the World
Economic Forum on January 27, 2005. He also, along with the Commission for Africa, called for 100%
multilateral and bilateral debt cancellation for low-income sub-Saharan Afiican countries (Commission for
Afi‘ica 2005).

'6 Afiica Action has been calling for 100% debt cancellation for Afiica.

’7 Fourteen of these countries are in Africa.

41

MDGs by 2015.18 This commitment, however, is likely as meaningless as the first one in

2000.

 

1.Eradicate extreme poverty and hunger
0 Reduce by half the proportion of people living on less than a dollar a day
0 Reduce by half the proportion of people who suffer from hunger

2. Achieve universal primary education
0 Ensure that all boys and girls complete a full 'course of primary schooling

3. Promote gender equality and empower women
0 Eliminate gender disparity in primary and secondary education preferably by 2005, and at all
levels by 2015

4. Reduce child mortality
0 Reduce by two thirds the mortality rate among children under five

5.1mprovc maternal health
0 Reduce by three quarters the maternal mortality ratio

6. Combat HIV/AIDS, malaria and other diseases
0 Halt and begin to reverse the spread of HIV/AIDS
0 Halt and begin to reverse the incidence of malaria and other major diseases

7. Ensure environmental sustainability
0 Integrate the principles of sustainable development into country policies; reverse loss of
environmental resources
0 Reduce by half the proportion of people without sustainable access to safe drinking water
0 Achieve significant improvement in lives of at least 100 million slum dwellers, by 2020

8. Develop a global partnership for development
0 Develop further an open trading and financial system that is rule-based, predictable and non-
discriminatory. Includes a commitment to good governance, development and poverty
reduction—nationally and internationally
0 Address the least developed countries ’ special needs. This includes tariff- and quota-free access
for their exports; enhanced debt relief for heavily indebted poor countries; cancellation of official
bilateral debt; and more generous official development assistance for countries committed to
poverty reduction.
0 Address the special needs of landlocked and small island developing States
0 Deal comprehensively with developing countries’ debt problems through national and
international measures to make debt sustainable in the long term
0 In cooperation with developing countries, develop decent and productive work for youth
0 In cooperation with pharmaceutical companies, provide access to aflordable essential drugs in
developing countries
0 In cooperation with the private sector, make available the benefits of new technologies—
especially information and communications technologies

 

 

 

Figure 4: The Millennium Development Goals19

 

'8 Summaries of the results of these summits can be found at www.un.org/summit2005,
http://wwwfi.gov.uk/servlet/Front?pagename=OpenMarket/Xcelerate/ShowPage&c=Page&cid= l l 195 l 8

698846, and hm;://www.un.org[millennium/summit.htm.

'9 All goals are measured against 1990 as the baseline year.

42

Because of the lack of commitment to the MDGs over the past five years in the
agreed upon timetable, none of them except perhaps halving income poverty is likely to
be met, according to Oxfam (2005: 13). Many were disappointed that the 2005 UN World
Summit did not produce bolder steps toward achieving the MDGs and reducing poverty.

Even though it is a struggle to get rich governments to commit to the MDGs as
they stand, I argue that these goals do not go far enough in addressing inequalities. They
reduce complex social issues to quantitative figures. In particular, goals three and five,
which target girls and women, do not mention reproductive health and rights, nor cultural
or legal barriers to education and other rights and services to women. The MDGs do not
bring up the issue of rights, although human rights are mentioned in the United Nations
Millennium Declaration, which spells out the MDGs (United Nations 2000), and the
subsequent UN document 2005 World Summit Outcome (United Nations 2005a).
However, none of the indicators that measure reaching the MDGs deal with rights.

The CEDA W

The CEDAW Was adopted by the UN General Assembly in 1979; however it has
been a struggle since then to get states to ratify the convention. As of November 2006,
185 states are party to the convention.20 The CEDAW was ratified by the Niger
government with reservations in 1999 followed by acceding to the Optional Protocol in
September 2004 (Stewart 2004). F ifty-two other states that have ratified the convention
have reservations on one or more articles. Article 16 on eliminating discrimination
against and guaranteeing equality for women in family and marriage relations is the most
reserved article (Stewart 2004r9). CEDAW is monitored by a 23 person Committee on

the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women. States that have ratified

 

20 See http://www.un.org/womenwatch/daw/cedaw/states.htm.

43

the convention are required to produce reports for this committee. Niger’s first report has
recently been made public, and I elaborate on it in Chapter Three. Some NGOs also
produce shadow reports to keep states accountable in their reporting.

UNICEF, as part of the UN, upholds the MDGs and CEDAW as key guides in its
work. It frequently references them as well as other UN conventions and declarations in
its documents, as mentioned above. CARE, on the other hand, while deeply concerned
with rights and development, does not embrace the MDGs, CEDAW, or other UN
documents in the same way. They speak more broadly of poverty reduction and
addressing discrimination and inequities. Further comparisons and contrasts between
CARE and UNICEF are taken up in Chapter Four.

Islagg Development.I and Women

In addition to the large literature on development discussed above that tends to
privilege Western and UN perspectives, a small literature is also developing on Islamic
views of development. Some of these ideas are buried in works on broader or related
topics. Yet within these studies, alternate views of development linking Muslim piety
and economic development are discussed. Of particular concern to my study, proponents
of these views in Niger frequently discuss the role of women in society.

Bjorn Olav Utvik’s book Islamist Economics in Egypt: The Pious Road to
Development (2006) takes the example of two Islamist political parties in Egypt—-—the
Muslim Brothers and the Labour Party—to illustrate how economic and development
discourses can be connected to Islam. Contextualizing Egypt in an era of structural
adjustment and with little independence to set its own economic policies in the latter half

of the 19805, Utvik illustrates the ways in which morality, piety, and the idea of ending

Western dominance over Egypt are understood by these Islamists to be essential for
Egypt’s development. Leading Islamists in Egypt argue that development is a collective
duty for Muslims, work is ibada (worship/service to God), and the development effort is
a jihad (Utvik 2006235). And it is a moral society that will endure the hardships on the
road to progress and development (Utvik 2006236). Furthermore, they argue that certain
financial practices common in the West and forbidden by Islam—in particular riba (usury
or interest) and ihtikar (monopoly)—must end in order to achieve justice for the poor.
The riba system is understood to be a reason why the West has continued to dominate
Egypt and must be done away with in order for Egypt to be independent (Utvik
2006:202). Islamists also insist that corruption must be rooted out in Egyptian society
(U tvik 2006:174-5). Indeed, such Islamic development ideas are reactions to and
proposed alternatives for neoliberal policies of the West (particularly of the IMF) that
have sunk Egypt more deeply into poverty (Utvik 2006:233). And morality and piety are
seen as essential ingredients (perceived to be lacking in the West as well as by many
Egyptians) in such alternate development strategies.

Similarly in Niger, ldrissa (2005) and Hassane (2005) highlight certain economic
issues in discourses of religious movements. For example, prominent Muslim preachers
in Niger note the country’s situation of poverty and dependency, suggesting that this is
due to both exploitation by Christians and Jews as well as lack of faith in God (Hassane
2005:3 86, 389-390).” Some Islamic activists’ suspicions of the West run even deeper as
they have issued warnings that Western family planning programs aim to depopulate the

Muslim world and spread AIDS through contaminated condoms (ldrissa 20052364).

x

21 Hassane quotes Cheikh Youssouf Hassan Diallo and an unnamed prominent Izala preacher, who express
these sentiments.

45

These sentiments are expressed in a context where Westem-led neoliberal policies and a
secular, corrupt state have failed Ni geriens in many ways and alternate visions of and
strategies for development are being sought. The heart of reformist Islam and anti-
Westem discourses in Niger lies in Maradi, where leaders draw followers from struggling
street vendors and youth with few economic opportunities.

In Niger, much of the public debate between francophone and Muslim activist
elites22 centers around the position of women and whether or not the state should be
secular (ldrissa 20052347). ldrissa (2005) recounts three major examples in recent
history of political confrontations between these two groups of elites, all of which
concern women, development, and/or rights. The first two concern women’s rights. The
Family Code—an attempt to give men and women equal rights in matters such as
inheritance, divorce, and marriage—created an uproar among certain Islamic groups in
Niger (including some women’s organizations) in the 19905 (Alidou 2005:165-168).
They have been successful in blocking its implementation. Some of these groups that
opposed the Family Code argued that excessive independence for women is dangerous
(ldrissa 20052363). Second although the CEDAW was ratified, it has also been met with
opposition fiom religious groups. ldrissa suggests that the reason for its passage may
have to do with the military regime in power at the time that showed little sympathy for
religious activists (20052365). Finally, an international African fashion show (F IMA)
held in 2000, which was organized by a Nigerien fashion designer in order to promote
“culture, peace, and development” in Niger, was met with much resistance fi'om certain

lslarnic associations. Some argued that the event was a gathering of prostitutes and

 

22 Francophone elites tend to be more pro-Western, while the Muslim activist elites are not. Muslim
activist elites are not necessarily Islamists. For example, much of the resistance to the Family Code came
from religious leaders of long-standing sufi orders in Niger.

46

homosexuals organized by the West and their Nigerien henchmen to undermine the
country’s moral well-being (B. Cooper 2002216; ldrissa 2005:365-366). Protests to this
event by Islamist groups in Maradi resulted in acts of violence against bars that
prostitutes frequent, horse race kiosks, Christian churches, famine relief grain stores
largely aiding single women,23 and the homes of women who had escaped violence
against prostitutes in Nigeria and the [ya (a woman leader of the bori religion) as well as
the Iya herselfg4 (B. Cooper 2002; ldrissa 2005). Clearly single women were targets of
many of these acts of violence, as Barbara Cooper points out (2002). In these three
examples, Nigerien elites with Western ties or espousing what were perceived to be
Western notions of women’s rights and development met with substantial resistance by
Muslim activists who have a different vision for Niger. In their view, women’s rights
and development for Niger must be within the fiamework of a certain understanding of
Muslim piety and morality, which includes different and specific rights for men and
women as well as female modesty and dependency. Furthermore many of these activists
argue, these should be reflected in the state’s laws and policies. I
Next Steps

This is a study of social change, translation, negotiations within fields of power,
and relationships between the ideological and the material. My research combines
quantitative overviews of resources, relations, and identities combined with personal
histories and lengthy discussions of beliefs from two rural towns where CARE and

UNICEF intervene as well as with CARE, UNICEF, and collaborating government

‘—

23 Barbara Cooper points out that most of the recipients of famine relief from the SIM grain stores that were
lgurned were single, poor women (2002:25-26).

Barbara Cooper reports that the Iya, running from her burning home, was picked up and thrown back into
the flames by protesters. Although severely burned, she survived (2002221).

47

employees. It also sets these communities and development efforts in the context of
economics, geopolitics, and changing trends in development discourses, particularly on
gender and rights. Before discussing the findings from my data, Chapter Two lays out
my research methodology and data collection, followed by Chapter Three, which gives
the historical context for structural and social change in Niger relevant to this
dissertation. Chapter Four discusses the history of women, gender, and rights approaches
in CARE and UNICEF, comparing and contrasting the two organizations as they have
adapted to structural adjustment and shifting development discourses. Chapter Five
examines social hierarchies, social change around gender roles, and women and men’s
access to resources in Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gajeré, towns where CARE and UNICEF
intervene, respectively. Finally in Chapter Six, actors affiliated with CARE and UNICEF
translate, reformulate, and reject CARE and UNICEF gender and human rights-oriented
development interventions, sometimes endorsing and sometimes challenging patriarchy.
Gender, class, religion, education, and organizational structure and culture are prominent

factors in how translation, reformulation, and rejection take place.

48

Chapter Two
Research Methodology and Data Collection

This research project required ethnographic field work in Niger and strong
language skills in Hausa and French. I spent December 2003 through August 2004 doing
field work in Niger. In this chapter, I lay out the data collected and analyzed, their link to
my central research questions, and my positionality as a white, American, non-Muslim,
middle class, female researcher constructing knowledge in English on gender, rights,
development, and Islam.

Research Sites

Because this research project is multilayered, incorporating information from
individuals at various levels of UNICEF and CARE interventions, numerous research
sites were essential. Most of my data collection took place in the Maradi Région. Both
CARE and UNICEF have offices in the town of Maradi, where administrators for the
region are based. These offices oversee CARE and UNICEF ’5 work in the sub-region
(département) of Madarounfa, where the two aid recipient towns I focus on are located.
The specific CARE project that worked in one of the towns I focus on is the Gender
Equity and Household Livelihood Security Project, called PN 51 for short.25 This town is
Garin J akka. The second town, where UNICEF intervenes, is Tchikaji Gajeré.
UNICEF’s work in Tchikaji Gajeré is mainly carried out through government civil
servants in the town of Madarounfa, which is the capital of Madarounfa Département.
Therefore, I spent time in Madarounfa interviewing government workers and attending
UNICEF-sponsored activities. I also attended CARE workshops, trainings, and meetings

in Maradi, ‘dan Issa, and neighboring CARE aid recipient towns.

 

25 This stands for project number 51. It is also referred to in CARE documents as NER 051 at times.

49

Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gaj eré are two Hausa-speaking communities that lie
within a five kilometer radius of ‘dan Issa, a vibrant trading town about midway on the
paved road from Maradi to Nigeria. In 2004, CARE’s PN5 1‘ Gender Equity and
Household Livelihood Security Project had been active in Garin J akka for about five
years, and UNICEF (in collaboration with Madarounfa government partners) had been
active in Tchikaji Gaj eré for about nine years. I chose these towns in consultation with
CARE and UNICEF administrators in Maradi, based on four main reasons. 1) They are
both in an area where wife seclusion is common. 2) The only transnational aid
organization present in Garin Jakka is CARE, and the only transnational aid organization
in Tchikaji Gajeré is UNICEF .26 3) I had previously conducted research in Garin J akka
in 2002 and therefore knew people in that town. 4) Both towns are considered among the
most resistant and problematic by CARE and UNICEF employees in Maradi and by
government collaborators in Madarounfa Département. This is not to say that all
residents of Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gajeré are not cooperative with CARE or UNICEF.
Some residents of these towns have been very active in CARE or UNICEF’s work and
shown strong leadership skills. Nevertheless, these towns are perceived overall by
development professionals working with them to be more resistant and uncooperative
than other neighboring towns. This perception of resistance made them especially
interesting for me to study as there certainly seemed to be some heightened points of

tension and difference between aid recipients and development professionals.

 

26 Soon after beginning data collection in Tchikaji Gajeré, I learned that a CARE women’s credit and
savings group had begun there in late 2003. This was started by a volunteer woman living in ‘dan Issa who
came to Tchikaji Gajeré once a week to help a group of about 15 women learn to keep track of their savings
and loans. Administrators in the CARE-Maradi office did not yet know about her work there when I spoke
with them in early 2004. Since the CARE work in Tchikaji Gajeré was so new and involved so few people,
however, I proceeded with the study there on UNICEF.

50

Therefore in the Maradi Région, I conducted interviews, attended numerous

CARE and UNICEF gatherings, and collected documents in Maradi, Garin J akka,

Tchikaji Gajeré, ‘dan Issa, and Madarounfa (Figure 5).

 

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Figure 5: Map of Niger South of Maradi27

In addition, I spent time in Niamey, the capital of Niger, doing interviews and finding

critical documents (Figure 6). CARE and UNICEF both have their country offices in

Niamey, and key archives and libraries are located there. Also, numerous government

bureaucrats, NGO workers, and academics were available for consultation in Niamey.

 

27 Adapted from Niger government map.

51

 

' Figure 6: Map of Niger

Interviews

In total, I conducted 112 semi-structured (mostly taped) interviews. These
include twenty-eight interviews with persons who work with CARE and UNICEF’s
gender policies and programs in some capacity. These people were based in a variety of
locations—Niamey, Maradi, Madarounfa, Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gajeré. Seventeen of
the interviewees are men, and eleven are women. The reason for more men than woman
is largely due to the lack of women in key government positions related to UNICEF’s
work (Table 1).
Table 1: Number of Interviewed Men and Women Working with CARE, UNICEF,

Number of Men Number of Women
5 5

7 5
5 l

 

 

’8 From https://www m'a ’factbook/ ' html

52

UNICEF, CARE, and government employees who I interviewed mostly self-
identify ethnically as Hausa with four exceptions (Table 2). Interviewed volunteers all
self—identify as Hausa (Table 3). It is not surprising that most of the interviewees self-
identify as Hausa since this is the ethnic group largest in number in Niger and dominant
in the Maradi Région. Some people are known to self-identify as Hausa even if one or
both of their parents do not. For example, one of the CARE volunteers self-identifies as
Hausa, although his mother self-identifies as Kanuri. In some cases, people talk about
becoming Hausa when someone settles into a Hausa town rather than being nomadic.
And some choose to identify primarily as Muslim rather than in terms of ethnic
categories common in Western literature on the region such as Hausa, Fulani, Tuareg,
and so forth. In this way, ethnicity is fluid and complex in Niger, and these self-
identified ethnicities should not be viewed as the final word on an infonnant’s identity.

Table 2: Self-Identified Ethnic Backgrounds of Interviewees Employed by CARE,

 

 

 

 

UNICEF, and the Government
Hausa Zerma/ Mixed West Yoruba N 0 Data
Songhay African (Benin)
Background
CARE Employees 3 l l 1 0
. (raised in
Niger)
UNICEF Employees 3 0 0 0 0
Government 4 1 O 0 1
Collaborators with
UNICEF
(Maradi Ministry of
Social Development;
Madarounfa
Technical Services
and Ministry of
Community
_Development)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

53

Table 3: Self-Identified Ethnic Backgrounds of Interviewees Volunteering with
CARE in Garin Jakka and UNICEF in Tchikaji ngeré

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hausa Other
CARE Volunteers in Garin J akka 4 0
UNICEF Volunteers in Tchikaji Gajeré 9 0

 

Some of these 28 interviewees are salaried employees of CARE, UNICEF, or the
Nigerien government. Leaders in aid recipient communities, however, simply volunteer
their time and energy to work with CARE or UNICEF. Thus, throughout the dissertation,
I distinguish between these two groups by calling them either “employees” or
“volunteers.” Furthermore in CARE, some of the “employees” are administrators while
others are field agents. UNICEF employees all do administrative work.29

Second, I drew a random sample of households in Garin J akka and Tchikaji
Gaj eré from a list of all households that I compiled with key informants. I conducted 84 ,
in-depth, semi-structured interviews (mostly taped) on household economies, gender
roles, and rights with one man and one woman in nearly each household in the sample}0
In four cases, these were female-headed households with no adult male to interview, and
in four other cases there was no consenting second person in the household to be
interviewed.

Third, I individually consulted over thirty additional authorities in Niger on issues
pertaining to my research. These include employees of UNICEF and CARE, academics,
government employees, officials in the UN system, employees of other NGO’s, and US

government personnel (Figure 7).

¥

:9 This excludes drivers and guards in both organizations.
0 Thirty-nine interviews were in Garin Jakka and forty-five were in Tchikaji Gaj ere'.

54

 

UNICEF (Niamey, Maradi)
CARE (Niamey, Maradi)

Technical Services (Madarounfa)

World Bank (Niamey)
Land Commission (Madarounfa)

US Embassy (Niamey)

 

Ministry of Social Development, Population, Promotion of Women, and
Protection of Children (Maradi, Madarounfa)
Ministry of Community Development (Madarounfa)

Agriculture, Education, Animal Husbandry, Literacy, and Health
United Nations Population Fund (N iarney)

Association of Women Legal Professionals in Niger (AF JN , Niamey)

The High Commission for Administrative Reform and Decentralization (Niamey)

Niger National Institute of Agronomic Research (INRAN, Maradi)

Université Abdou Moumouni (including Institut de Recherches en Sciences
Humaines, Maradi and Niamey)

The Netherlands Development Organization (SNV, Niamey)

 

Figure 7: Organizations Consulted for Oral and Written Information

Participant Observation

In addition to these consultations and interviews with individuals, I was able to

participate in numerous CARE and UNICEF meetings, trainings, and service activities

(Table 4). Some of these were at the administrative level, while others were in rural

towns receiving aid.

Table 4: CARE and UNICEF Activities Attended

 

CARE

UNICEF

 

Educational Presentations for PN 51
Aid Recipient Communities31

Transborder Meeting between Ni gerien and
Nigerian Traditional Chiefs on Polio
Eradication

 

PN 51 Aid Recipient Community
Presentations for Government
Authorities

Integrated Community Development Training
for Representatives fiom Aid Recipient
Communities

 

Gender and Empowerment Workshop
for CARE Employees

Vaccination and Pre-natal Mobile Clinics

 

Gender Training for PN 51 Employees

Mosquito Net Distribution for Pregnant
Women and Children

 

Women’s Leadership Training for Aid
Recipient Town Representatives

 

 

Baby Weighing

 

k

31 . .
Called Communication pour un changement de comportement

55

 

 

I also spent two months living in Tchikaj i Gaj ere’ and Garin J akka, allowing for
abundant opportunities for daily interactions with community members.
Documents
Documents—mainly from CARE, UNICEF, and the Nigerien govemment—are
the final component of my data collection. The documents I collected number over 200,
many of which are crucial to piecing together the history of gender and rights in CARE
and UNICEF in Niger. They were found in UNICEF and CARE offices in Niamey and
Maradi, the national archives, Institut de Recherches en Sciences Humaines (IRSH) in
Maradi and Niamey, the French Cultural Center library, the World Bank office in
Niamey, the US Embassy, Centre d ’Information et de Documentation Economique et
Sociale (CIDES) in Niamey, and various government offices in Niamey, Maradi, and
Madarounfa. I have gathered additional information from CARE and UNICEF’s
websites and through email with CARE-Norway.
Answering My Research Questions
The first of my two research questions is:
0 How do CARE and UNICEF compare and contrast in terms of organizational
culture and structure as two transnational aid organizations working in Niger that
have mainstreamed gender and use rights-based approaches to development,
particularly focusing on selected sites in Maradi Région and Madarounfa
Département?
To answer this question, I focused my data collection on human rights, gender, and
structural and cultural change in CARE and UNICEF. This includes interviews with

CARE and UNICEF employees in Maradi and Niamey, government collaborators in

56

Maradi and Madarounfa, and CARE and UNICEF volunteers in Garin J akka and Tchikaji
Gajeré, respectively. I selected interviewees who have worked with CARE or UNICEF
for a substantial period of time, are knowledgeable about gender and human rights,
and/or are key players in CARE’s work in Garin Jakka or UNICEF ’s in Tchikaji Gajeré.
These interviews are supplemented with documents and participant observation in CARE
and UNICEF activities in Maradi, Madarounfa, ‘dan Issa, Garin J akka, and Tchikaji
Gajeré. In my analysis, I compare institutional histories of CARE and UNICEF,
organizational strategies and structures for carrying out their work, development
approaches they use and trainings givenfor them, and attitudes about and language used
for gender and rights. The results of this analysis are in Chapters Four and Six.

The second research question driving this project is:

o How are gender and human rights policies and programs of CARE and

UNICEF understood and translated, reformulated, or rejected by Ni gerien

employees, partners, volunteers, and rural aid recipients of CARE and UNICEF,

taking into account their gender, class, religious, and other identities as well as

cultural beliefs/practices and economic/political contexts?
This second question goes into more depth on attitudes, beliefs, practices, and the
political economy around gender and rights. My data provide the cultural, economic, and
political context for understanding gender and rights in a site where CARE and in a site
where UNICEF intervene through the random sample of interviews in Garin J akka and
Tchikaji Gajeré. Living in these towns enhanced my understanding of daily life there as
well. Furthermore, I participated in events where CARE or UNICEF

employees/collaborators interacted with residents of these towns, aid recipients from

57

neighboring towns, or fellow employees/collaborators in their respective organizations.
In these interactions, I observed many issues in translation, reformulation, and rejection
of development concepts. These interactions were enhanced through the interviews with
CARE, UNICEF, and government employees, who serve as middle persons between aid
recipients and transnational development institutions. By interviewing both these middle
class employees as well as rural aid recipient volunteers, I was able to compare
reformulations and translations of CARE and UNICEF’s gender, rights, and development
interventions in these two groups. I also include an analysis of class relations between
these two groups. The results of these issues are in Chapters Four, Five, and Six.

Overall, this project traverses multiple positionalities of actors affiliated with
CARE and UNICEF’s gender and rights-based development interventions, including me.
Finally in this chapter, I reflect on my place in this research project as a white, American,
middle class, non-Muslim woman doing research in collaboration with prominent
transnational aid organizations.
Positionality of the Researcher
Background in Niger

1 have now spent a total of three years in Niger as well as three additional years
studying the Hausa language in the US. My first stay in Niger was 1997 to 1999 when I
worked with a small NGO doing agro—forestry and health teaching and research in the
Maradi Région. Afterwards, I began my graduate program at Michigan State University.
During graduate school, I was able to return to Niger for two summers— to do language
study at the Université Abdou Moumouni in 2001 and to do pre-dissertation research in

2002. The pre-dissertation research was in collaboration with CARE PN 51 and included

58

data collection in Garin Jakka and a second neighboring town. In 2003 -2004, I received
a Fulbright-Hays Doctoral Dissertation Research Abroad Grant to return to Niger and do
the research that resulted in this dissertation.

My Identity and Relationships in Niger

I am “other” in many ways in Niger as I am a white, American, non-Muslim,
relatively wealthy (compared to the average Nigerien), native English-speaking woman.
I stand out on the streets wherever I go, although people quickly seem to feel at ease with
me once they see I can speak Hausa well. I even occasionally receive the praise of being
a jakin Kano (natural Hausa speaker, literally donkey from Kano, Nigeria), although
these generous complements by no means completely cover over my foreignness. And
while there is a great appreciation for my effort to live with Nigeriens—speaking Hausa,
sleeping in their homes, and eating their food—I remain something of a mystery to many
in Niger. Why would an American woman not have a car or rent a nice home for herself
with servants in Maradi or Niamey? Why would I want to live in a mud home in a rural
town with no electricity or running water? And how could I be white. and American, yet
have little influence in the American Embassy, UNICEF, or CARE? Was I being paid
well by the CIA to do this work?32 It did not seem to all add up to some.

I also do not identify as a Muslim and therefore do not do daily prayers (salla),
the most visible marker of Muslim identity in Niger. While I deeply respect the Muslim
faith, I chose to attend a Christian church in Maradi and Niamey the few times I did
participate in organized religious activities. In most cases, Nigerien Muslims and I seem
to mutually respect each other’s different faith traditions and enjoy talking about them

with one another. I had many deep discussions in Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gajeré about

 

32 My only source of income while doing field work was the Fulbright-Hays.

59

faith and life, but never with a sense of wanting to convert one another. Among middle
class Muslims in Maradi and Niamey, I came across the occasional individual who
clearly hoped I would convert to Islam, however. Nevertheless, there always seemed to
be an open invitation for me to marry a Ni gerien and become Hausa and/or Muslim—to
become one of the group. I very much appreciate this welcoming attitude of most
Nigeriens.

The most challenging aspect of developing relationships with Nigeriens for me is
the differences between us in terms of access to resources and power. I am assumed to be
wealthy, which I confess in a relative sense is certainly true in many cases.” I am also
assumed to be powerful. This is more complicated, as I am often able to access resources
for myself (e.g., getting a grant for research expenses or being able to talk to people in the
American Embassy), but not necessarily for someone else. Nevertheless, some Nigeriens
hope that by getting to know me they can get a visa to the US. or somehow tap into my
perceived wealth. I gladly assisted people in Niger as I could, but my capacity to help is
often much smaller than many people’s expectations. This is a reality for any American
living in Niger and a great challenge for those who desire cultivating friendships based on
trust as I do. These fiiendships can and do happen, but they are indeed special. On the
other hand, I found that I was the one with little power in a few cases when trying to
access high-level administrators in the government and certain development

organizations for data. As a graduate student, I probably did not seem very important or

 

3’ There are, however, an elite group of Nigeriens who are much wealthier than I am. The 2005 UNDP
Human Development Index reports that 85.3% of the Nigerien population lives on US$2 a day or less
(United Nations Development Programme 20052229). By comparison, my Fulbright per diem was about
US$18 in Maradi and US$30 in Niamey.

60

official to them and could easily be brushed aside as a low priority in their busy
schedules.

Being a woman in Niger presented certain challenges and opportunities for me.
Although my race, nationality, education, and class often allowed me privileges many
Nigerien women (or even men) do not have, my gender was still important in terms of
how people treated me. As someone well beyond the age when I should be married in
that society, people frequently badgered me to get married and to have some children.
The pressure can be intense, and I empathize with women fiiends who have shared with
me that they married before they were ready just to please their families and fiiends. On
the other hand, being a woman allowed me to easily access female spaces, particularly in
the home where many women spend most or all of their day.

Finally in order to position myself within the theoretical fi'amework I have laid
out in Chapter One, a word is needed on my own reformulations and translations
concerning gender, rights, and development as I conducted research and lived in Niger.
Marcus writes:

What. . .remains essential to multi-sited research is the function of

translation from one cultural idiom or language to another. This ftmction

is enhanced since it is no longer practiced in the primary, dualistic “them-

us” frame of conventional ethnography but requires considerably more

nuancing and shading as the practice of translation connects the several

sites that the research explores along unexpected and even dissonant

fractures of social location. [1995:100]

By positioning myself as one of the many translators in my study, I seek to move away
from the “them-us” dualism Marcus describes, presenting a more complex picture of

interconnections around transnational development interventions. Like CARE and

UNICEF, I too have certain affiliations with the West and am rooted in schools of

61

thought from Western institutions. And as an anthropologist who speaks Hausa and
French, does field research in Niger, and writes about my findings in English, I too am an
actor who translates and reforrnulates ideas on gender, rights, and development.

Knowing how challenging this position can be and how one’s translations and
reformulations can be again reformulated and used by others for a different end, I have
great respect for the efforts CARE and UNICEF make in Niger. While this dissertation
sometimes focuses on less than stellar examples of CARE and UNICEF interventions, I
do not mean to discredit their work to address poverty in Niger. Indeed, the resources
that CARE and UNICEF provide very often do save or improve the lives of the most
vulnerable. A broader assessment of their work in Niger would surely demonstrate this.
However, the purpose of this study is quite different. It is an examination of resistance,
reformulations, and translations in particular Nigerien sites. I have sought to bring other
voices and dimensions into narratives on gender, rights, and development for an English-
speaking audience. If some of the issues raised in this dissertation are able to provoke
discussion and reflection in CARE, UNICEF, and elsewhere even a little, it has been well
worth the effort.
Language

Thus, this project has not only been a study of translation in development
projects, but also an exercise in translation for me as I seek to communicate to an
English-speaking audience my experiences in Hausa and French. I conducted interviews
in Hausa and French, and personally translated all quotes taken fiom them for this

dissertation}4 Furthermore, I translated quotes fi‘om French documents that I cite in the

 

3’ I also consulted native Hausa speakers and Nigeriens fluent in French on occasion when I needed greater
clarity about how to translate a phrase or term.

62

dissertation. In particular, translating Hausa terms and expressions into English was at
times a complicated process as I sought the best way to express certain words and
concepts that do not directly translate. This study requires precision in determining the
nuances of meaning in certain Hausa terms. I welcome comments from all Hausa
scholars on how I have chosen to translate and explain them.

In addition, I have chosen to use certain English terms over others to talk about
Niger. For example, I only use “village” when specifically talking about CARE and
UNICEF programs that invoke this concept. Otherwise, I prefer to talk about a town or a
community. By doing this, I hope to avoid some of the negative or unrealistic
stereotypes of “villages” in Africa, which are often considered simple, prirrritive, or
“traditional.” A town seems somehow more familiar and less “other” to a reader in the
West. I do, however, chose to use the term “rural” even though it can invoke a sense of
isolation or backwardness for some, even when referring to pe0ple in the US. However,
my discussions of rural towns in this dissertation are anything but disconnected from
urban and transnational spaces and transformations. I find the term “rural” useful for
identifying where the land and permanent residences of most people in Garin Jakka and
Tchikaji Gaj eré are. Rural and urban designations are also interwoven into Ni ger’s
governing structures, as I explain in Chapter Three. Certainly, however, so-called rural
people can have strong ties to urban spaces and so-called urban people can have strong
ties to the rural countryside. People fiequently move between these settings. Finally,
there is some debate in the literature on Hausaland as to whether one can truly speak of
social classes in a Marxist sense in Hausa society (see Gregoire 1992 or Watts 1983 for

examples). While there is no clear consensus on this issue, I use “class” in this

63

dissertation to generally express social rank of various groups based on kin, occupation,
and/or wealth.
Sharing Results

I shared preliminary results from my research project with people in Niger before
leaving through oral presentations for 1) the NGO and academic community in Niamey,
sponsored by the American Cultural Center, 2) men and women in Garin J akka and
Tchikaji Gajeré, 3) employees in CARE PN 51 and the UNICEF -Maradi office, and 4)
the head of the Ministry of Community Development in Madarounfa. The first was
presented in French, and the others were in Hausa. I also wrote and submitted a report on
preliminary findings to the CARE and UNICEF country offices, Ministry of Community
Development in Madarounfa, and CARE PN 51. I am grateful for feedback from
individuals in Garin J akka, Tchikaji Gajeré, CARE, UNICEF, the Madarounfa

Community Development Ministry, and others.

64

Chapter Three
Structural and Social Change in Niger: What Does It Mean for Women?

Before focusing in on the Maradi Region of Niger and the case studies of CARE,
UNICEF, Garin J akka, and Tchikaji Gajeré, a general context is needed for these places
and organizations within the Nigerien state. This chapter traces in broad strokes
important changes in the state from the colonial period to the present and discusses the
rise of new Islamic movements and identities in Niger since the 19905 in this context.
These structural and social changes in the country as a whole have had important
repercussions for women’s status throughout Niger and explain how development has
gone fiom being a central component of the state to a largely private sector affair.
Transformations of the State
The Colonial State, Centralized and Authoritarian

Niger became a French colony in 1922, although it had been under French
military control since the end of the 19‘” century (Fuglestad 198326; Kanya-Forstner
1989; Manning 1998:75). By 1910, the French decided to reduce the size of their
military in Niger, and move towards control by governance (Fuglestad 1983279). Their
approach to governing colonies was intended to be more direct than British indirect rule
as they sought a highly centralized government and assimilation of Africans into French
culture. However, they did not have the capacity to really accomplish this. Instead, they
ended up implementing a version of indirect rule that used and in some cases created
indigenous rulers to serve as intermediaries (Charlick 1991235; B. Cooper 1998231;
Fuglestad 1983:85). The French also trained an elite group of intermediaries

(fonctionnaires) from the Zerma ethnic group, who dominated Ni gerien politics until the

65

19905. Speaking of the type of colonial governance that developed in Niger, Charlick
writes:

In Niger, French colonialism combined aspects of both a bureaucratic-

authoritarian regime (BA) and personal rule, a combination that posed

problems of coherence, even for colonial France. To the extent that it was

bureaucratic-authoritarian, colonial government centralized power in the

hands of individuals who ruled by virtue of their official positions.

Officeholders, in turn, promoted the interests of powerful groups, above

all the civil and military bureaucracies and, to a lesser degree, business

interests associated with French colonialism in Niger, while limiting the

meaningful participation of other social groups. [1991:53]

Centralization and authoritarianism have remained key components in Ni gerien
governance fiom this time throughout most of the post-colonial period. And the journey
toward democracy and public participation in government has been a slow process with
many interruptions.

France’s relationship with its colony, Niger, was characterized by conquest,
exploitation, and subordination. French control brought about heavy taxation, forced
labor, and new kinds of trade centered on Europe’s economy. French policy also forced
farmers, who had historically been spread out in the countryside, to live together in
“villages.” Farmers in the Maradi region grew groundnuts for much needed cash to pay
high taxes, and were forced to work on government fields for reserve granaries (B.
Cooper 1997:46-47). Relocation and intensive groundnut agriculture had severe
ecological consequences in a very fragile agricultural environment, hastening soil
infertility and land competition. Meanwhile, groundnuts were exported to Europe to feed

its demand for vegetable oil (Charlick 1991:38-39). This top-down, authoritarian

strategy of governance during the colonial period that clearly served the interests of those

66

who govern is still fresh in Nigerien memories and has carried over into the post-colonial
state, a topic I introduce in this chapter and return to in Chapters Five and Six.
The Early Post-Colonial State: Towards a Development State

After independence in 1960, Niger remained a highly centralized state, and the
idea of “development” began to play a crucial role in its post-colonial policies. The state
took control of commercial enterprises formerly run by the European trading houses, and
the public sector was very large at the beginning of the post-colonial era. This followed
suit with other post-colonial states in Afiica who became highly centralized and closely
regulated the national economy in the name of “development” (Diouf 1997; Renders
2002261). Diouf writes of new Afiican states:

From the start, postcolonial countries claimed two rights: recognition of

political parity (control over the formal processes of sovereignty, the most

decisive of which was the right to nationalize economic sectors) and

positive economic discrimination through the institution of a system of

economic advantages. These claims—what Sarnir Amin (19932152)

characterizes as “radical nationalism” and “catching up”———were consistent

with what development economists at the time considered the “failure of

markets” and the need for “an active role for governments” (Bates

19912262). [19972292]

After independence, Hamani Diori, Niger’s first president from 1960-1974 (Table
5), consolidated power into his one-party (Parti Progressiste Nigérien or PPN) state
(Robinson 199125). The PPN was made up of almost exclusively people who were part
of the Zerma ethnic group, as had been Nigerien colonial elites (Charlick 1991:36-7, 55).
Thus, a centralized and elite group from southwestern Niger ran the country. Diori
attempted to increase popular support first through elites throughout the country and later

through his short-lived animation rurale system of mobilization, which sought to

organize rural farmers and promote agricultural modernization (Charlick 1991257-9). He

67

also used women’s issues as a platform to create popular support and founded Niger’s
first women’s association in 1958 called Union des F emmes du Niger (UFN). This
organization, meant to be a women’s wing of the PPN, strove to reform legislation to
reduce bride wealth payments and polygamy, and to adopt a Family Code, although
without much success (B. Cooper 1997:17).

Table 5: Niger’s Heads of State since Independence

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Name Years of Rule Type of Rule

Hamani Diori 1960-1974 Civilian

Seyni Kountché 1974-1987 Military

Ali Saibou 1 987-1 993 Military

Mahamane Ousmane 1993-1996 Civilian (first democratically elected
- president of Niger)

General Ibrahim Baré 1996-1999 Military

Mainassara

Daouda Malarn Wanké 1999 Military

Mamadou Tandja 1999-present Civilian (re-elected in 2004)

 

 

 

 

Diori’s administration laid out the governing structures for the post-colonial state.
In 1964, four years after independence, law 64-023 divided Niger into seven
départements (the largest territorial subunits), which were further subdivided into 35
arrondissements (districts). Arrondissements were further broken down into communes
(municipalities). These divisions were modeled on France’s administrative structures
(Doka, et al. 2002229). This structure, however, was not completely implemented, and
governance remained centrally controlled for most of the independence period. Charlick
characterizes Nigerien colonial and the first three decades of post-colonial politics as a
time of “personal rule” (1991:53-4). Public participation in government was therefore
limited until the 19905.

Overall, Diori’s programs and policies laid the ground work for 1) top-down,

state-orchestrated mobilization in the name of “development” that was taken up by his

68

successor and 2) the long march toward decentralization over the next four decades.
Amidst the dwindling groundnut trade, heavy taxation, drought, allegations of corruption,
and deteriorating support from France, Diori was removed from power in a 1974 military
coup led by Lieutenant-Colonel (later General) Seyni Kountché.

Kountché was Niger’s second head of state, ruling from 1974-1987. Under
Kountché’s military regime, the Nigerien state accessed new resources through the
uranium boom, some of which were channeled into education, health, agricultural
development, and infrastructure. Like Diori, Kountché attempted to build a popular
support base among women, and included important women with ties to royalty in these
organizations; however, Kountché stressed rural women’s interests in particular and
linked women’s issues with national development (B. Cooper 19952865; Djibo 20012104,
113-4). Kountché initiated a new national women’s association called I’Association des
F emmes du Niger (AFN). Unfortunately, however, AFN had little effect on rural
women’s lives and, like UFN, limited success in legal reform around women’s issues (B.
Cooper 19952865-866). Kountché also sought to mobilize popular support through the
revitalization of the Association des Chefs T raditionnels du Niger (ACTN) and the
establishment of his state-run program Société de Développement. The Société de
Développement was structured around samariya (youth) groups, farmer cooperatives, and
various socioprofessional groups. While these were supposed to be “traditional” groups,
they were largely created and supported by the state (Charlick 1991267). Furthermore,
those who participated in decision making processes and activities in the Société de
Développement were in most cases elites (Robinson 1991214). Kountché’s government,

therefore, also orchestrated a highly centralized system that was controlled from above,

69

regardless of his participatory and democratic rhetoric about the Société de
Développement. Miles (1994:281-287) reports in his study of the rural Nigerien
community Yekuwa that participatory efforts in the Société de Développement were not
evidenced in many accounts. In one instance, the leader of the women’s association of
Yekuwa sums up the association’s relationship with their superiors in the arrondissement
capital Magaria by saying, “What they tell us to do, we do” (Miles 1994:283). In the end,
Kountché’s‘programs brought little improvement in the lives of rural farmers (Robinson
1991 :10); however, the association of this top-down, authoritarian state structure with

99 ‘6

“development, participation,” and “democratization” has provided challenges today as
these ideas continue to be promoted by transnational aid and financial institutions as well
as the Ni gerien government.

Towards the second half of Kountché’s presidency, economic recession in world
markets, increasing national debt, and another period of severe drought began to sink the
country into more and more difficult economic times. After his death in 1987, he was
succeeded by his chief of staff, Ali Saibou (1987-1993), who was in power during a I
transitional era of structural adjustment, privatization, and, the beginnings of
democratization.

Structural Adjustment and Privatization

Chapter One discusses the 2005 efforts to cancel the world’s most impoverished

nations’ debts to financial institutions such as the IMF and World Bank. This debt has

consumed public expenditures in these nations since the 19805, limiting states’ capacities

to provide much needed services and make investments. For example in 1997, Niger

7O

owed US$1,579,000,000 in external debt, 56% of its GNP (Table 6) (World Bank
2000:271). But how did countries like Niger get into this predicament in the first place?

Table 6: External Debt of Selected Countries35

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Country 1990 External Debt 1997 External Debt External Debt Present
in US dollars in US dollars Value
% of GNP 1997

Angola 8,594,000,000 10,160,000,000 206

Honduras 3,724,000,000 4,698,000,000 86

Niger 1,726,000,000 1,579,000,000 56

Senegal 3,732,000,000 3,671,000,000 56

Uganda 2,583,000,000 3,708,000,000 31

Vietnam 23,270,000,000 21 ,629,000,000 78

Zambia 7,265,000,000 6,758,000,000 136

 

In the 19803, developing countries around the world were in need of loans. In the
case of Niger, this was largely due to the 1985 collapse in the price of uranium, Niger’s
principle export to the world market that helped to pay for clinics, schools, wells, roads,
and food aid. Uranium revenues comprised nearly 88% of Niger’s total export earnings
in 1979 (Rain 1999:113; Robinson 1991:10). Niger also suffered from drought between
1982-1984, soon after the 1968-1974 drought. The loss in crops and livestock during this
time was devastating for the country. In 1984, foodstuff production declined 30-40%,
and the number of livestock decreased by about 40% (De Coninck and Tinguiri
1 992: 1 62).

In this time of economic hardship, the IMF and World Bank provided loans to
Niger beginning in the mid-19805, although with the condition that Niger implement
SAPS (Dorosh 1994:164; DeConinck and Tinguiri 1992:163). SAPS brought about
down-sizing the Nigerien government, privatizing or liquidating national companies, and

increasing inforrnalization of the economy (Akinterinwa 1994). Cuts in state spending

\

35 Data from World Bank 2000:270-271.

71

were made in a number of sectors. Dorosh lists mining/industry/ energy and education as
the most drastic decreases in spending throughout the 19803 (1994: 1 93-4). Overall, SAP
cut backs Shifted a greater economic burden onto individuals. Proponents of SAPS are
described by Razavi as “pursu[ing] fiscal restraint, open trade and capital accounts, and
privatization, reflecting a principal concern with ‘Sound’ finance, irrespective of social
costs” (2002: 1).

In 1994, France’s devaluation of the West African franc (Niger’s currency) only
added to this time of economic hardships (B. Cooper 1997:xlii). Niger sunk deeply into
debt throughout the 19803 and 19903, as it struggled to pay off loans and had little to
profit from in the world market. Privatization and disengagement of the government in
markets has continued to be central to Nigerien government policy up until the present,
influenced largely by the World Bank and IMF and evidenced in Niger’s Poverty
Reduction Strategy Paper (PRSP) (République du Niger 2003b). The PRSP is required
for Niger to qualify for HIPC debt reduction.

Foreign aid has become important to Niger’s survival. In 2003, 16.6% of its GDP
was official development assistance (United Nations Development Programme
2005:282). Foreign aid, however, was Spotty in the 19903 due to Niger’s return to a
military regime in 1996 after only three years of democracy. In response to the 1996
coup d ’état, many bilateral donors, including USAID,36 suspended their operations in
Niger. Other aid organizations such as CARE and UNICEF continued regardless of
Niger’s drift away from democratic governance. Since 1999, Niger has returned to
democracy. As a result, some former and many new foreign aid organizations have

(re)e3tablished themselves. These organizations have compensated for services the

 

36 USAID stands for United States Agency for International Development.

72

downsized state cannot adequately provide in terms of health care, education, aid to rural
farmers, credit, and so on.

With the downsizing of state programs and the entree of numerous foreign aid
‘ organizations, development has largely shifted from a state-sponsored endeavor to the
private sector. Many former government employees have moved into the private
development sector as government positions have been cut back and private sector jobs
often offer better pay and benefits. In some cases, aid organizations have collaborated
with and propped up a state crippled by SAPS, as in the case of UN agencies. In other
cases, aid organizations operate according to an almost exclusively private model of
service provision, as is the case with CARE today. These distinct models will be
compared and contrasted in depth in Chapter Four.

AS development becomes increasingly a private sector affair, communities are
being encouraged to seek out needed services (e. g., adult literacy programs, well
construction, etc.) on their own rather than having government Technical Services decide
what they need, provide the services, and evaluate their own work. Now various private
sector groups can compete to provide such services, and third parties can perform
evaluations to verify the competency of services provided. Small grassroots associations
that have services to offer can also solicit support fi'om larger, better-funded projects for
their work. These sorts of partnerships and contracts between parties are referred to by
some as lefaire-faire. As one Madarounfa Technical Services administrator explained to
me, “It’s like a market.” Indeed, market-driven, private sector development is now the
model embraced by the Ni gerien government, under pressure from international donors

and financial institutions.

73

Democratization and Decentralization

Nigeriens have lived under oppressive, undemocratic regimes throughout much of
independent Niger’s history, and Zerma elites have continued to hold the political reigns
from independence in 1960 until the National Conference in 1991 (Ibrahim 1994:24-5).
The National Conference of 1991 was organized in response to growing public unrest
over political authoritarianism and economic hardships under SAPS, and served as a
turning point in the development of democratic governance in Niger. Students and labor
unions pressured President Ali Saibou to hold the conference, following the death of
fourteen students killed by soldiers while demonstrating against IMF SAPS. This
conference marked the end of a Zerrna monopoly of the government, and a revitalization
of civil society and public participation in politics. Some of the items on the agenda of
the conference were political crime in Niger, corruption, economic crisis of the country,
SAPS,37 the Family Code, and the Rural Code (the latter is discussed in Chapter Five). In
addition, women in the AFN pressured conference organizers through public
demonstrations to include more women delegates. A3 a result of their protests, the
number of women was increased from one to Six (B. Cooper 1995:876; Hartrnann-
Mahmud 2000:361; Ibrahim 1994:29-31).

Ali Saibou’s regime, under intense domestic and international pressure, took
important steps toward democracy, which led to Niger’s first democratic presidential
election in 1993. Saibou lost that election to Mahamane Ousmane, who remained
president until displaced by another coup d ’état in 1996. Between 1996 and 1999,

General Ibrahim Baré Mainassara, the new head of state, ostracized much of the

 

37 Interestingly, Nigeriens at the conference rejected IMF SAPS, but they found that there was no other
conceivable alternative to their fiscal crisis (Ibrahim 1994:29—31).

74

international donor community with his disregard for democracy and human rights.
Municipal elections were attempted in February 1999, but the results were annulled,
firrther disgruntling an already uneasy public. In April 1999, Major Daouda Malam
Wanké took control as head of state in yet another coup d ’e’tat in which Baré was
assassinated. Under Wanké, a new constitution was approved, and presidential and
legislative elections were held within a year of the time he took office. Mamadou Tandja
won that election, and was re-elected for a second term in 2004.

With the return to democracy at the end of 1999, discussions of decentralization
that had begun as early the Diori period started to move forward. In particular, efforts
were made to institute municipal level (commune) governing bodies. By 1994, only 21
communes existed (Doka, et al. 2002229), and most were not established until the first
nationwide municipal elections in July 2004. After the 2004 elections, 265 communes
existed with elected municipal counselors and a moire (mayor), and the names of
territorial designations shified. Départements became régions, and arrondissements
became départements. New smaller arrondissements have yet to be established, but once
they are, they will not be considered collectivités territoriales (autonomous and elected
government, separate from but under the state, over a specific territory). Also to follow
the 2004 elections will be elections for municipal counselors of the régions and
départements. As of the end of 2004, there were seven regions, four communautés
urbaines, 36 départements, and 265 communes in Niger. This is the first time that
municipal level authorities have been elected nationwide rather than Simply relying on

appointed “traditiona ” leaders in Niger at that level of government.

75

Capacity Building: Programme (1 ’Actions Communautaires

Policies of decentralization and privatization of the state are sometimes created
with the assumption that civil society will quickly occupy the Spaces these policies create.
However, many development institutions and governments promoting such policies also
recognize that capacity building is needed in many cases for this to occur. For example,
Niger does not have enough schools for its population of 13.1 million. Only 14.4% of the
population was found to be literate in 2003 (United Nations Development Programme
2005:235, 261) (Table 7). It is difficult for this population to step up and participate in
formal government structures and interact with private sector NGOs and businesses
without the ability to read and write nor training in how matters operate in these spheres.
Because of such challenges, a number of capacity building programs have been
established, the most notable in the Maradi Région being the World Bank’s Programme
d ’Actions Communautaires (PAC). Begun in 2003, this program participates in the
preparation for decentralization and implementation of poverty reduction strategies,
offering community and governance support, investment funds, poverty monitoring, and
project management. The program is expected to last for 12 years and intervene in 54
communes. Communities needing assistance from PAC make formal requests. While I
was doing fieldwork in 2004, government workers I interviewed in Madarounfa
Département were just beginning to learn about the program.

Table 7: Adult Literacy Rate in Niger”
Adult Literacy Rate in 2003 (% ages 15 and above)39 14.4

 

 

Female Adult Literacy Rate in 2003 (% ages 15 and above)40 9.4

 

 

 

 

 

38 Data fi'om United Nations Development Programme 20052261, 310.
39 Data for 2003 refer to national literacy estimates fi'om censuses or surveys conducted between 2000 and
2004.

76

The Effects of Privatization and Decentralization on Women and the Poor

Privatization and decentralization have had varying consequences in Niger for
women and the poor. In the case of SAPS, which have been implemented over the last
two decades, it is easier to see some of the difficulties that have arisen as Niger has sunk.
to last place among the 177 countries ranked on the 2005 United), Nations Development
Programme (UN DP) Human Development Index (United Nations Development
Programme 2005:222). Decentralization, however, is really just beginning, and presents
both opportunities and challenges for marginalized groups.
Consequences of SAPS

SAPS in Niger, as in many other countries, have made the Situation for women
and the poor (who are disproportionately women) worse for several reasons. First,
economic restructuring reduces rather than enhances the kinds of public services (e. g.,
water, health care, and education) that women and the poor need to compensate for their
unpaid or low-paid labor. Matemal-child health in Niger is among the worst in the
world, and few women have access to hospitals/clinics and proper nutrition for
themselves and their children. The maternal mortality rate in 2000 was 1600 per 100,000
live births (1.6%), while the under-five mortality rate in 2003 was 262 per 1,000 live
births (26.2%) (United Nations Development Programme 2005:253) (Table 8).
Secondly, because of the increased work burden of women and the poor due to few state
services and rising prices, they have less time and energy to invest in participating in
public life and politics. Third, SAPS diminish educational and professional opportunities

for women and the poor, who are already marginalized groups in education and the

K

40 Data refer to national literacy estimates fi'om censuses or surveys conducted between 2000 and 2004.

77

formal economy in Niger. This is especially true in the 19903 when many private sector
development organizations pulled out of Niger at the same time that the Nigerien
government was downsizing. Outside of government and development-oriented jobs, not
many formal employment opportunities exist in Niger. Furthermore the history of the
entree of women and gender into development discourses laid out in Chapter One (W ID,
WAD, GAD, WED, etc.) overlaps substantially with the history of structural adjustment
and privatization in Niger as elsewhere. As a result, good governance, entrepreneurship,
social attitudes, and political/civil rights (all compatible with a neoliberal agenda) have
been emphasized in mainstream development programs concerned with women’s
empowerment, while a focus on consequences of SAPS and debt relief have been rare.

Table 8: Selected UNDP Human Development Indicators for Niger“

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Under-five mortality rate Maternal mortality ratio
(per 1,000 live births) (per 100,000 live births)
2003 Poorest 20%"2 Richest 20%" Adjusted 2000“
Average

262 281.8 183.7 1600

In the context of state downsizing and the rise of private sector development,
there is a contradiction in strategy between structural adjustment programs and many
non-governmental development projects in Niger. On the one hand, structural adjustment
programs push for small government and the movement of many once-government
services into the private sector. Within this framework, as I have already stated, many
development activities have moved into the private sector, as aid or with a marketplace

mentality. On the other hand, transnational aid organizations often see themselves as

 

4' Data fi'om United Nations Development Programme 20052245, 253.

42 Based on births in the 10 years preceding the survey.

‘3 Based on births in the 10 years preceding the survey.

‘4 Data adjusted based on reviews by UNICEF, WHO, and UNFPA to account for well-documented
problems of underreporting and misclassifications.

78

temporary (e. g., three or five year) projects that will build capacity, teach people to solve
their own problems, and end. They explain to aid recipients that they will not be around
forever, but the government will be. Therefore, citizens should make demands of and
engage with their government. So at the same time development is supposed to be a
private sector affair, transnational aid organizations do not see themselves as permanent
solutions to Niger’s problems. Therefore, matters of health care, education, agricultural
assistance, or infrastructure have slipped through the cracks of these competing rhetorics,
leaving Nigeriens with no cohesive, long-term plan for improving their lives. Inevitably,
the most vulnerable members of society suffer the most from such contradictions.
The 2005 Famine

Although the 2005 Niger famine occurred after my field work had officially
ended, the events leading up-to it are connected with structural adjustment policies and
democratization. J ohanne Sekkenes, the Niger mission head of Doctors without Borders,
has accused the IMF and European Union of pushing structural adjustment too quickly on
Niger. She stated, "No sooner had the government been re-elected [in 2004] than it was
obliged to introduce 19 percent VAT [value-added tax] on basic foodstuffs. At the same
time, as part of the policy, emergency grain reserves were abolished.”45 Furthermore in
August 2005, The Observer reported, “Aid agencies around the world saw the crisis

coming and appealed as early as last November for assistance. Not wishing to depress the

 

45 Thomas C. Dawson, the IMF’S director of external relations, objected saying, “The IMF has never
supported or encouraged the abolition of government grain reserves. In fact, the grain reserve is in place
and has been used, to the best of our knowledge, to relieve the current food shortage... the VAT extension
was soon rescinded because of public protests and could have had little effect on the crisis.” Abdoulaye
Bio-Tchané, IMF Afiican department director, also argued, "There is absolutely no truth to the suggestion
that IMF policy advice has impeded free food distribution" (A. Smith 2005; Bretton Woods Project 2005;

Vermont Guardian 2005) .

79

market prices, however, the Niger government, under instruction from the IMF and
European Union, at first refused to distribute free food to those most in need” (McRae
2005)

In addition to these policies from outsiders that left Nigeriens in a vulnerable
position, Niger’s government exasperated the situation in several ways. First the
government downplayed the magnitude of the crisis, claiming that it was not a “famine.”
A3 a result, the state did not take Special measures to supplement income or food for the
poorest of the poor, and the international community was slow to respond to pleas for
assistance. Sen refers to this as “the alienation of the rulers fiom those ruled,” a common
condition in places of famine (1999: 170). Second, the value-added tax on food and
abolition of grain stores came the same year that drought and locusts destroyed crops for
many. So just as the most vulnerable farmers were in greatest need, food prices went up
as animal prices (a kind of savings for many and main income source for some) went
down (A. Smith 2005). Third, the government attempted to silence public protests about
this tax, although in the end the public pushed the government to reduce some of the
tax.46 Fourth, journalists speaking out about the famine were labeled “unpatriotic.” A
US. Bureau of Democracy, Human Rights, and Labor report says, “The government
seized cameras and film from journalists, closed a private radio station, and brought libel
charges against journalists who criticized the government, particularly in its handling of
the food crisis and the VAT increase” (Bureau of Democracy, Human Rights, and Labor

2006). Sen also argues that a fiee press helps to prevent famine (1999: 180-182).47

 

‘6 The tax was dropped on milk and flour, and reduced for water and electricity (Lawler 2005).

47 Ironically even though Sen argues that a famine has never taken place in a functioning multiparty
democracy, many of the undemocratic conditions he describes in places where famines have occurred
resemble Niger.

80

Seeing the role structural adjustment policies played in and the government’s attempts to
silence the public and media speaking out about the famine, one begins to understand that
it may have been preventable, or at least much less severe. Certainly the famine was not
solely an act of nature. Specific economic and political policies contributed to the
suffering of many, particularly women, children, and the poor.

Speculations on Decentralization

In theory, decentralization should spread power and resources among more
groups and facilitate increased participation in governance. Since communes were only
beginning to be established in 2004 while I was doing fieldwork in Niger, I have no data
to indicate how well these goals are being accomplished. However, I do have reasons for
concern and also some optimism about how decentralized governance in Niger may
affect women and the poor.

Decentralization is central to poverty reduction in Niger, according to PAC and
government poverty reduction strategy documents (République du Niger 2003a, 2003b;
World Bank 2003:9). Authority figures at the level of the mayor and municipal
counselors are believed to be well-positioned to meet the needs of the poorest members
of their population and maintain long-term investments in their communities. While this
may prove to be true, it is built on an assumption that the needs of all community
members will be considered, not just those of elected officials and their kin. In a report
by Doka, Sayo and Amadou on decentralization and poverty reduction in Niger, one
citizen in their study expresses what I also fear may happen, “Won’t locally elected
officials benefit more than the communities as a consequence of decentralization

considering the illiteracy of the population?” (2002:43, my translation). In other words,

81

will these newly created government structures become just another form of elitism rather
than a public service? And how will a population who cannot read and write (including
some elected officials) engage with the existing structures and tasks of governance?

The division between the 213 rural and 52 urban communes is also a reason for
concern. Urban areas have the majority of literate and French-educated professionals as
well as wealthy elites. Without adequately addressing the lack of educational and
economic opportunities in rural communes, these populations are considerably
disadvantaged when competing with urban communes for resources such as funding fiom
NGOS. Ibrahim cites a 1990 study by Adji, which reveals that 62.7% of development
projects were in Zerma/ Songhai areas (approximately 20% of the population) and only
22.7% were in Hausa areas (a little over half of the population) (1994:25).48 This study
was done at the end of a long-term monopoly by Zerrna elites in Nigerien politics. Now
new groups of elites are forming or being reinforced along rural-urban and literate-
illiterate lines. This division will likely only perpetuate seasonal labor migration and lack
of resources in rural areas. Capacity building programs such as PAC are addressing such
problems in rural communes; however, time will tell if their efforts will be effective and
enough.

A point of optimism for women in Niger is the passage of the Quota Law 2000-08
in 2000 that requires a minimum of 10% of elected positions and 25% of cabinet and
senior civil servant posts be held by one or the other sex (United Nations 2005b:65-66).

As a result, the 2004 elections raised women representatives from 1.2% to 12.4% of the

 

‘8 While I cite this at the risk of oversimplifying ethnic identities, which are often fluid and mixed, these
numbers do help to give a general idea of how certain constructed ethnic categories actually matter in
politics and resource distribution.

82

National Assembly”. If this law continues to be enforced, women will maintain some
(although not necessarily equal) representation in government. With the expanded
elected positions created since 2004 and more to be developed in the future, an increased
number of women will be able to participate in the governance of their communes,
départements, régions, and state. Whether these women will strive to represent women

of different social and economic standing in Niger remains to be seen.

 

Figure 8 Women from G

Women and the Law
In addition to the Quota Law, a number of other legal issues in Niger have
important consequences for women. First of all, Niger has retained the colonial

construction of customary law in the post-colonial period. The Napoleonic Civil Code50

 

’9 See www.parlcent.ca/afiica/Gender/Niger ephp
5° Apart from the civil code, Niger also has a number of other legal codes including the penal, labor,
electoral, and commercial codes (United Nations 2005b: 19-20).

83

has been applied in Niger afier independence, although in a limited manner due to Act
No. 62-11 of March 16, 1962 (United Nations 2005b:19). According to this act,
customary law is given preference over civil law in the following matters:

0 The ability to enter into contracts and bring legal proceedings;

0 . Marriage, divorce, direct descent, inheritance, settlement of assets,

Ylllgwnership or possession of real property, with the exception of

registered real estate. [United Nations 2005b:19]

While Maliki law, a school of Islamic law, is referred to when dealing with matters under
customary law for Ni gerien Muslims, Islamic law does not extend outside of the above
mentioned issues in Niger as it does in certain states of northern Nigeria that have
accepted full Shari’a law in civil and criminal matters (Mahmud 2004284-85). Equality
of all citizens is guaranteed under the Nigerien constitution, but customary law allows for
different treatment of citizens based on gender, ethnicity, and religion in the civil matters
cited above.

The Family Code was an attempt to reform legislation so that men and women are
equal in matters such as marriage, inheritance, and divorce. It began to be developed in
the late 19703 (Dunbar 1991:81—2), and under international pressure was finally ratified
in 1999. However, it has yet to be implemented. There has been strong opposition to the
Family Code from Islamic groups (Alidou 2005:164-168; Charlick 2004: 101). These
groups are not simply the more radical Muslims. Rather implementing the Family Code
would present a challenge to the patriarchal order more generally. Although Islamist
groups have also been resistant to the code, opposition to it resonates much more widely

with the population at large. In Niger, different treatment of men and women under the

law in family matters is well engrained in people’s moral and religious sensibilities.

84

Also in 1999, Niger ratified the CEDAW. However, the government’s
reservations mirror the same sorts of issues resisted in the Family Code. Specifically,
Niger’s reservations relate to: 1) equal inheritance (Article 2d and f); 2) the right of
married women to choose their residences (Article 15, paragraph 4); 3) “the same rights
and responsibility during marriage and at its dissolution, the same rights to decide freely
and responsibly on the number and spacing of their children and the right to choose a
family name” (Article 16, paragraph 1c, e, and g); 4) modifying social and cultural
patterns of conduct of men and women (Article 5a); and 5) the procedures for arbitration
(Article 29) (United Nations 2005b227, 65). An additional declaration by the Nigerien
government on farme education in Article 5b indicates that this term “should be
interpreted as referring to public education concerning the family” (United Nations
2005bz28).5 ' This declaration, therefore, excludes the private family sphere from Article
5b, which reads as follows:

State parties shall take all appropriate measures to ensure that family

education includes a proper understanding of maternity as a social

function and the recognition of the common responsibility of men and

women in the upbringing and development of their children, it being

understood that the interest of the children is the primordial consideration

in all cases. [United Nations 1979]

Furthermore the declaration cites Article 17 of the International Covenant on Civil and
Political Rights in its support, which reads:

1. No one Shall be subjected to arbitrary or unlawful interference with his

privacy, family, home or correspondence, nor to unlawful attacks on his

honour and reputation.

2. Everyone has the right to the protection of the law against such
interference or attacks. [United Nations 1966]

 

5 ' These reservations and declaration are outlined in Ordonnance 99-30 du 13 aout Autorisant I’adhésion
de la République du Niger [2 la Convention sur I’élimination de toutes Iesformes de discrimination d
l’égard desfemmes, adopte’e 1e 18 décembre I 979 a New York (République du Niger 1999).

85

Clearly issues pertaining to family matters form the bulk of these reservations and
declaration. Ratifying the CEDAW in this manner does not pose a radical challenge to
the existing legal order. Equal rights of individuals are guaranteed through the current
constitution, except in family matters treated under customary law. With the CEDAW
reservations and declaration, these inequalities under customary law remain.

Similar debates have continued over new legislation. In November 2006 and
again in March 2007, Islamic groups staged protests to speak out about the ratification of
the Protocol on the Rights of Women in Afiica, a supplementary protocol to the Afiican
Charter on Human and People’s Rights. In Maradi, Niamey and several other Ni gerien
cities, Islamic associations and Muslim women’s groups objected to aspects of the
protocol that they consider “anti-Islamic” such as equal inheritance (Afiican Press in
Norway 2007; Agence de Presse Africaine 2006, 2007). These debates continue at
present and remain an important area for future research.

New Islamic Movements and Identities

One way that people have tried to make sense of and respond to the economically
difficult times and political corruption in Niger, especially since the 19803, is through
religion. In this context, Islamist movements have gained strength in Niger (as elsewhere
in the world) over the last three decades. However, Islamists are far from being a single
cohesive group and have various alliances and influences from West Afiica and abroad
(for example Saudi Arabia and Iran). Yet lslarnists are similar in that they critique
established authorities, desire to purify Islam from other cultural practices, and search for

Islamic solutions to contemporary problems (Eickelman and Piscatori 1996). Islamists in

86

Niger, the most prominent being Izala,52 promote veiling and seclusion of women
(Gregoire 1993:112; Masquelier 1999:237-241), as long have Muslims of other
persuasions in northern Nigeria (a history I give in Chapter F ive).5 3 In neighboring
Nigeria, Islamist groups have also ushered in the implementation of full Shari’a law in
twelve northern states since 2000 (Mahmud 2004284, 87-89). ‘In part, Islamist groups in
Hausaland are reacting to economic crises in their countries and critiquing corruption and
oppression in their governments and in the West, calling for social and religious reforms
and in some cases an Islamic state. These groups draw on religious revivalism and wider
critiques of corruption throughout the Muslim world.

On the other hand, the Nigerien government has attempted to keep religious
leaders and organizations under its control in several ways and has also participated in
debates about Islam and women. Under Diori, religious leaders were not permitted to
organize so as to influence politics (Alidou 2005:150-1). Kountché had a different tactic
as he organized religious leaders into a single national association, Association Islamique
du Niger (AIN), which was closely aligned with and subordinate to the state but did not
incorporate women’s involvement and leadership (Alidou 20052151; Niandou 1993). In I
general, Kountché used Islam to spark national unity in Niger (Masquelier 2001241;
Miles 1994:252). Also, Ibrahim explains that the Kountché regime can be described as a
“one-man tyranny,” and during this time, Nigeriens retreated from public political life

and focused their attention instead on religion, culture, and economic activities (1994226).

 

52 While the establishment of Izala (or the Society for Removal of Innovation and Reinstatement of the
Tradition) can be traced to J 03 northern Nigeria in 1978, it is not today a single cohesive group (Eickelman
and Piscatori 1996: 114-115; Kane 2003: 85, 217- 226).

53Interestingly Kane tells us that Izala women in northern Nigeria challenge wife seclusion, which 13 the
social norm there (20032140). In Niger, seclusion 13 not the overall norm, although it is becoming
increasingly more popular.

87

After Kountché throughout the late 19803 and 19903, the Nigerien government
used religious debates in the media on issues affecting women to distract the public from
its failure to pay salaries and other national problems (Alidou 20052157). At the same I
time, the disengagement of or centralized control of religious organizations in affairs of
the state had given way to a plurality of voices on religion, society, and politics. The turn
toward democracy in 1991 opened the door for new Islamic groups to form and citizens
(mainly men) to engage in public debates in ways they had not been able to under prior
undemocratic regimes. Within this context, much public discussion around women’s
dress and presence in public has taken place since the 19903 in Niger.

Alidou connects the economic crisis Niger faced under SAPS with changing
gender identities:

As men continued to lose the economic means and opportunities that serve

to define them as providers, as husbands and fathers, they embraced more

and more misogynists conceptions of the “proper Muslim woman”—a

religious housewife—based on a type of Islam that, in its cultural

articulation, gives them a sense of masculinity and privilege to continue to

define women in society. [2005:13]

Such theologies have not only embraced the domestic, dependent woman, but also
individualism, another way to cope with the increasing poverty and harsh economic times
in Niger. For example, Izala Islamists advocate for small bride wealths, simple
celebrations, and relief from social obligations to extended families (Charlick 2004:103;
Gregoire 1993:112; Masquelier 1999:232-233). Thus Since Kountché’s time, Islam has
become a more central part of most Nigeriens’ identities—an Islam that has been

increasingly informed by hard economic times, and cultural and economic exchanges

with northern Nigeria in particular as well as the rest of the Muslim world.

88

As Sub-Saharan Afiican countries have fallen into times of economic crisis with
little help from the West, other countries in North Afiica and Western Asia who seek to
grow their influence in Sub-Saharan Africa have strengthened economic and cultural ties
there through activities such as building mosques and increasing trade. At the same time,
West Afiican Muslims seek work, pursue studies, and perform the hajj in the Arab world
(Gregoire and Schmitz 2000; Kane 1994). The strengthening of these ties in recent years
has reinforced a sense of common Muslim identity in the context of what seems to be
continual Western attacks against the Muslim world (e.g., the Iraq war, US. support for
Israel, publication of offensive images of the Prophet Muhammad). Through these
connections, Islamic influences from other parts of the Muslim world have grown in
Niger.

Islarnisms have grown particularly strong in Maradi, compared to other parts of
Niger, as strong economic ties between traders in northern Nigeria and Maradi have
facilitated the flow of new religious ideologies (Charlick 2004:101-2). Seasonal migrants
and other urban poor in Nigeria also can have strong connections to Islamist groups
(Abdullah 20022158).54 The particular history of how the Maradi Région is connected to
northern Nigeria and how this has brought dramatic changes for women in terms of their
mobility, work, leadership opportunities, and dress are taken up in Chapter Five.
Conclusion: The State, Development, Islam and Women

Starting with the colonial model of centralization and authoritarianism, Niger as a
collective entity has moved through many changes in state structure up until the present.

Elite groups have dominated the politics of the colony and later country, particularly prior

 

5‘ Interestingly, however, Muslim, male migrants from aid recipient communities in my study did not label
themselves as a particular brotherhood or Islamist group. Rather, they preferred to be simply Muslims.

89

to the 19903. As an independent state, Niger remained highly centralized and a large
bureaucracy from the 19603 to the early 19803, manipulating public support and
participation in order to control citizens rather than seeking their input. Development
efforts were orchestrated by the state in a hierarchical and top-down manner under Diori
and even more so under Kountché. In the mid-19803, however, big centralized
government gave way to SAPS and privatization. The state began to down-size, and
development efforts started to move to the private sector. Most recently, policies of
decentralization and private, market-based development have dominated in Niger.

As a consequence of SAPS, Niger has sunk more deeply into debt and poverty.
Especially women and the poor have suffered from reduced state services such as health
care and education, and the temporary nature of private sector development projects.
Decentralization has brought the promise of improved community-based development
efforts and public participation; however, time will tell if this proves to be the case or
decentralization will become another tool to divide the haves and the have-nots.
Legislation such as the 2000 Quota Law serve to ensure better representation of women
in government positions, a positive step towards equality.

Efforts to guarantee equality for men and women under the law, however, have
not yet been successful in Niger. The Family Code was strongly resisted, especially by
Islamic groups who argued that equal treatment of men and women in certain family
matters such as inheritance or marriage rights is counter to their religious beliefs. The
CEDAW, another attempt to achieve gender equality in Nigerien law, was ratified only

with significant reservations and a declaration that mirror already existing inequalities in

90

the law. Similar matters are currently being debated regarding the Protocol on the Rights
of Women in Afiica.

In the context of political corruption and severe economic hardships, Niger has
seen the rise of Islamist movements over the last three decades, which have also greatly
impacted gender roles and social relations. Women have found their bodies and social
roles being debated publicly by men and have become scapegoats for politicians trying to
evade responsibility for national crises. A surge of discourses from many directions
concerning man as the provider and woman as the dependent housewife have pervaded
the public space. The material circumstances Nigeriens find themselves in amidst SAPS,
drought, other economic hardships is certainly linked to these changing gender roles and
relationships. Some Nigeriens, feeling that the West has failed them, have looked to the
rest of the Muslim world for new development strategies and moral critiques of their
society and government.

These changes in state structure, development, and religious and gender identities
set the stage for a more in-depth discussion of two transnational aid organizations——
CARE and UNICEF—working in Niger (Chapter Four) and two towns—Garin Jakka and
Tchikaji Gajeré—who receive aid from these organizations (Chapter Five). What
structural and social changes have occurred in these specific contexts, particularly over
the past three decades, and how do people understand development, gender, and human

rights in these spaces?

91

PART II

CARE AND UNICEF IN NIGER: TRANSLATION, REFORMULATION, AND
REJECTION OF GENDER, RIGHTS, AND DEVELOPMENT

92

Chapter Four
Comparing and Contrasting Approaches, Structures, and Organizational Cultures
in CARE and UNICEF

Among some of the most prominent buzz words and development approaches to
appear in transnational aid organizations since the 19903 are gender mainstreaming and
rights-based approaches to development. These concepts (‘1 la mode are being integrated
into a world that is becoming more privatized, leaving development institutions to
strategize how to do gender mainstreaming and rights-based development work in this
context. CARE and UNICEF in Niger have adopted two different strategies. Although
both claim to put gender mainstreaming and human rights at the forefront of their work,
the organizational structures and subsequent cultures that have developed within these
institutions serve as intriguing examples of how different responses to structural
adjustment, privatization, and contemporary approaches to development can create two
very different organizations working side by side in the same country. Thus, this chapter
demonstrates institutional reformulations and translations of gender and rights-based
development approaches and also lays the foundation for understanding the different
ways that CARE and UNICEF employees, government collaborators, volunteers, and aid
recipients reforrnulate and translate development concepts, which I describe in Chapter
Six.

I start this chapter with a brief history of gender mainstreaming and human rights
in CARE- and UNICEF-Niger as well as the specific gender- and rights-oriented work on
which my research focuses. This is followed by an explanation of CARE and UNICEF ’3
two different organizational structures and cultures in the context of SAPS and increasing

privatization in Niger. Finally, I discuss how democratization and participation play into

93

CARE- and UNICEF-Niger’s work. While these concepts are central to both
organizations, the contrasting structures and networks through which CARE and
UNICEF operate raise interesting issues regarding the role of states and the private sector
in transnational aid interventions.
Women, Gender, and Human Rights in CARE-Niger

WID and WAD discourses started to influence some of CARE-Niger’s projects in
the late 19803 and early 19903, but it was not until 1994 that the first step was made to
integrate GAD ideas by hiring a full time gender specialist. In 1997, all CARE-Niger
employees received training in gender, and in 1998 a gender audit was conducted by
CARE-USA in Niger, which found that CARE-Niger had no female project directors and
administrators. CARE-Niger took this seriously and by 1999 was making significant
changes and attempting gender mainstreaming. As a part of this effort, a new research—
oriented Gender Equity and Household Livelihood Security Project (PN 51) began in the
Maradi Région of Niger. CARE-Niger also looked internally to make adjustments at this
time, addressing discriminatory hiring practices against pregnant women, hiring more
women, placing women in higher level positions, and making special accommodations
for women field agents with babies.’5 One administrator who has been working at
CARE-Niger since 1996 explained to me that by 1999:

Almost everyone [in CARE]—fi'om those people who work in the rural

areas to those working in Niamey to those working wherever—everyone

agreed to doing [gender]. ..Therefore it contrasts with the time when
senior administrators would say we must do gender.

 

55 For example, these women could travel by car rather than motorcycle to work in rural areas. I

94

At present, cultivating an ability to identify economic, political, and social issues that
men and women confront in different ways has been a high priority in all CARE-Niger
projects.

Ideas about a rights-based approach were introduced at CARE-Niger shortly after
GAD concepts were integrated. Officially, rights-based development ideas were
introduced in 2002 after certain employees received training on the topic in Ivory Coast.
However, several CARE-Niger employees shared with me that they realized at this
training they were already doing rights-based work in some of their projects. For
example by 2002, the Gender Equity and Household Livelihood Security Project (PN 51)
was already engaged in conversations over inheritance rights for men and women in
communities where they worked, including how Islamic law could be used to advocate
for women’s rights to land. This project has also built alliances with Islamic teachers in
the Maradi area, the Association of Muslim Women in Niger, and the Association of
Women Legal Professionals in Niger to discuss and do teaching on rights in rural areas.
Thus, educating the public on some of their rights was already becoming a high priority
in PN 51’s work.

Rights-based development and gender have been integrated with other prominent
development approaches in CARE-Niger. In particular, MARP (Méthode Accélérée de
Recherche Participative 56 or Rapid Rural Appraisal”) was introduced to CARE-Niger in
the mid-19903, followed by a household livelihood security framework, adopted by all of
CARE International in 1997. These approaches went hand-in-hand as CARE-Niger

evolved as an organization. CARE began work in Niger in 1974 by responding to hunger

 

56 Sometimes also called Méthode Active de Recherche et Plamfication Participative.
57 Sometimes also translated, Participatory Rural Appraisal (PRA), usually once PRA was added to RRA.

95

issues resulting from the Sahel Drought of 1968-1974. To better address these, CARE
soon expanded into environmental concerns (largely desertification and drought) and then
agriculture. By the latter half of the 19903, CARE had begun to better recognize the .
complex livelihoods of rural residents that expand beyond farming.58 MARP helped
them collect the data needed to begin to understand these livelihoods, and a household
livelihoods security framework was adopted, which helps CARE identify the most
vulnerable households and what can be done to help them. Gender awareness brought to
light social relations and varying access to and control of individuals’ resources in a
household. And rights have become a tool to promote equity.

As already mentioned, my research focuses on PN 51, the Gender Equity and
Household Livelihood Security project, administered from the town of Maradi. PN 51
worked in two départements in the Maradi Région (Guidan Roumji and Madarounfa) and
was funded by CARE-Norway. Its funding cycle has now ended and a new project began
as its successor in 2006.59 PN 51 was staffed by ten field agents60 and four administrators
(eight men and six women total). The objectives of PN 51 are as follows:

0 Overall Objective of the Project: By 2004, at least 7,000 women in

7,000 rural households among the most vulnerable in Maradi

Département“ will have attained a more secure and equitable way of life.

0 Intermediary Objective #1: By 2004, at least 7,000 women in 7,000

households will have improved their capacity to better negotiate an

equitable sharing of risks and resources in their household.

0 Intermediary Objective #2: By 2004, at least 7,000 women in 7,000

households will have increased their productive assets and will be able to
better protect them during difficult times.

 

58 CARE-Niger projects related to improving health, helping pastoralists, supporting women’s savings and
loan, and others have also emerged alongside these agriculture and natural resources projects.

5" PN 77 Programme Leadership and Mata Masu Dubara, funded by CARE-Norway.

6° The ten field agents include two field supervisors and eight animateurs/animatrices under them.

6' Now Région.

96

o Intermediary Objective #3: By 2004, at least 3,000 of the most
vulnerable households will have increased their productive assets and will
be able to better protect them in difficult times. [CARE-Intemational au
Niger 2004a:2; 2004b:2, my translation]

Table 9 lists the activities that PN 51 did in Guidan Roumji and Madarounfa
Départements in order to achieve these objectives.

Table 9: CARE-Niger PN 51 Activities, 1999-.200462

 

ACTIVITY NOTES

 

Literacy Training Separate for men and women. By May 2004, CARE reported
46 literate women in Guidan Roumji Département and 7 literate
women in Madarounfa Département of the 96 trained.63 Have
also started libraries.

 

Women’s Savings and Loan Groups Groups of women meet periodically to put money in a locked
savings box. A group can loan to people in and out of the
group, charging interest. Those who save then get a portion of
the revenue from the interest.

 

Listening Centers Centers for listening to educational messages using radio and
cassettes, sometimes combined with women’s savings and loan

groups.

 

Private Rural Operators Training of midwives, health workers, and veterinarians in aid
recipient communities.

 

Community Radio As of 2004, two had been installed by CARE. Used for
educational purposes, such as talking about decentralization and
elections.

 

Marabout relais Training for Islamic teachers/leaders in aid recipient
communities on topics such as women’s rights to inheritance,
seclusion, education of women, and marital rights and duties.
Forty-six people were deemed active in 2004.

 

Petit e'levage Assistance for women to obtain goats with the idea that the
goats will reproduce. In 2004, PN 51 reported that the 3,950
goats they assisted women with had increased to 4,3 89."4

 

Community Cereal Bank Community members store their grain in a warehouse to use as
collateral on cash loans for income generating activities in the
dry season or to sell off when grain prices are high.

 

Communication pour un changement Tours made by professionals collaborating with CARE to

 

 

 

de comportement (CCC) Tours educate aid recipient communities on topics such as HIV /AIDS,
women’s rights, elections, etc.

Access to Seeds Assistance for men and women to get millet, cowpeas, and
peanuts.

Support for Local Initiatives Assisting communities with obtaining wells, grinding mills, or
other needs.

Trainings Trainings for employees and/or volunteer leaders related to the

above activities as well as on topics such as gender, women’s
leadership, and conflict resolution.

 

 

 

 

 

62 Shaded activities are for women only. Men and women participate in other activities.
63 See CARE-Intemational au Niger 2004b: 1 1.
6‘ See CARE-Intemational au Niger 2004b:15.

97

Certain residents of Garin J akka have participated in all of the activities listed, except for
activities for rural private operators, support for local initiatives, community radio, and
women’s literacy training. Contrary to other communities, however, some of these
activities have not gone so well in Garin J akka. In particular, Garin J akka has had trouble
repaying CARE for loaned assistance. I will elaborate on some of the problems in
Chapter Six.

Two of the activities listed in Table 9 are for women only—women’s savings and
loan groups and petit élevage—while the rest involve men and women. The mix of
women only and “gender” (i.e., including both men and women) activities reflects the
history leading up to PN 51. Earlier agriculture and natural resources-oriented CARE-
Niger projects primarily involved men with minimal effort to incorporate women. For
example in 1989, the only reference to women in a CARE-Niger agriculture and natural
resources document reads, “CARE pays specific attention to those groups with least
access to resources, especially women” (CARE International au Niger 1989b). Another
1989 document talked about “the women’s component of the project” (Holding and
Aboubacar 1989216) as CARE-Niger tried to incorporate women into what they were
doing. Also at this time, however, some of the donors, namely CARE-Norway and
NORAD,65 recognized the need for new strategies to increase women’s participation
(CARE-International 1989az37). These donors continued to support, with increasing
concern for women, an agroforestry project in Maradi through the 19903, which merged
into PN 51 in 1999. However, also in 1991, CARE-Norway began a women’s savings

and loan project in Maradi that has Spread to other regions of Niger and other countries

 

65 The Norwegian Agency for Development Cooperation

98

where CARE works (with other donors later contributing). These savings and loan
projects still exist today and are for women only.

Looking through this history, therefore, one sees evidence of WID, followed by
WAD, and finally a mix of GAD, WED, and a rights-based approach as discourses on
and approaches to women/ gender and development changed over the last three decades.
The inclusion of men in PN 51’s gender programming stems from their focus on
household livelihoods and social relations. However even within a single project such as
PN 51, one sees some components of successful CARE women-only activities. And
today one continues to find separate CARE women-only savings and loan projects
throughout Niger (e. g., in Maradi, Tahoua, Zinder, Tillaberi, Diffa, Dosso, Kollo, Say).
Women, Gender, and Human Rights in UNICEF-Niger

Since UNICEF was created in 1944, helping children and women has been central
to its mandate. UNICEF opened its doors in Niger in 1976, although it only had a liaison
in Niamey for the first five years and a resident administrator for the next four years.
Finally in 1985, UNICEF installed its own Representative in Niger. Early programs in
Niger in the latter half of the 19703 and the 19803 focused largely on nutrition and health,
collaborating with the government through its period of the Société de Développement.

In the late-19803, the Integrated Basic Services (SBI) started to become part of
UNICEF—Niger’s work. SBI incorporates activities in agriculture, environment, nutrition,
health, animal husbandry, women’s income generation, and education to improve the
living conditions of the population. These SBI activities are overseen at the “village”

level by village development committees (i.e., village development committee, village

99

women’s cell, and village leadership"6 committee), coordinated by the then-
arrondissement development council67 (directed by the sous-pre'fet), and canied out by
the arrondissement Technical Services in collaboration with the Service du Plan.“
Technical Services are further divided into sectors (e.g., agriculture, education, adult
literacy, environment, and so on). In Madarounfa, SBI was preceded by the UNICEF -
Niger government collaborative Programme Intégré de Maradi (1995-2000), which was
similar to SBI and was actually renamed SBI in 2000.

In addition to SBI, UNICEF has also advocated for legislation in Niger to
improve the status of women—including the Family Code, CEDAW, and CRC—since it
began its work up until today. It also invests in communication activities to educate the
population on issues concerning children and women, such as collaborative high-profile
events with the Association of Traditional Chiefs in Niger on polio vaccinations, girls’
rights to education, and early marriage of girls (described in Chapter Six). The goal of
the 2000—2004 Cooperative Program between the Niger Government and UNICEF is “to
promote a development centered on the child and based on the practice of children’s and
women’s rights.” It goes on to state:

The objectives of the program from now until 2004 are:

To contribute to the reduction of infant mortality by 15 percent, of child
mortality by 20 percent and maternal mortality by 15 percent.

To contribute to the mcrease in the gross rate of school enrollment for
girls fi'om 23 to 35 percent.

To further children’s and community’s access to basic knowledge required
for the full enjoyment of their rights. [UNICEF 2000az8, my translation]

 

“animation
67 Currently titled the Comité technique du département.
68 Planning ministry at the arrondissement level, now called Développement Communautaire.

l, 00

Like CARE, UNICEF -Ni ger also began to integrate gender (rather than women)
into its work'in the 19903. Aishatou, who has worked for UNICEF-Niger since 1989,
serves as the best institutional memory of this effort. In 1990, she was given a position to
look after women’s concerns; and in 1992, she recounts that the gender and
empowerment approach and gender mainstreaming began to be integrated into UNICEF -
Niger’s work. In 1995, trainings on UNICEF’S gender approach were done for
employees of UNICEF, other UN agencies, certain NGOs, and the Ministry of Social
Development, Population, Promotion of Women, and Child Protection in Niger. Other
gender trainings have followed. However as of 2004, UNICEF had never had a training
on gender for all of its employees and government partners in Niger. Somewhere
between 1998 and 2000, a rights-based approach was also introduced in UNICEF-Niger
around the time that the CEDAW was signed (1999).

Also in the late 19903 in response to the Beijing Conference, all ten UN agencies
in Niger came together to form a gender thematic group to help with gender
mainstreaming and harmonization of government support on gender. This group has met
anywhere from four to fifteen times a year since 2000, but had no budget as of 2004.
They produce a newsletter and collaborate on International Women’s Day activities in
Niger. Some of the gender focal point people from UN agencies that attend this group
have a vast knowledge of gender issues, while others are fairly new to the idea.

In Niger, UNICEF is known as one of the most advanced UN agencies in terms of
mainstreaming gender. Today, UNICEF claims that gender has been mainstreamed
throughout the organization, and human rights—particularly the CEDAW and the CRC——

is the framework through which it approaches development, with a special concern for

101

women and children (UNICEF 1999). In addition to the CEDAW and CRC, UN
summits, conferences, and declarations (in particular the Millennium Declaration and
Development Goals) that deal with women and children are all central to UNICEF’S
work.

Interestingly, not all UNICEF employees are able to recount this history that
Aishatou lived. Often, I heard conflicting accounts about when a rights-based approach
and gender were introduced fiom UNICEF -Ni ger employees who had not been at
UNICEF for long. In fact, one administrator did not even think that UNICEF-Niger was
doing gender in SBI activities, as I will describe in Chapter Six. However, Aishatou’s
history seems most consistent with written documentation. In contrast, all CARE
employees I interviewed were able to give consistent dates for the introduction of gender,
a rights-based approach, and other development approaches into CARE-Niger.

The part of UNICEF -Niger’s work I focused on most intensely in my research is
$31 activities in Tchikaji Gajeré. These are carried out by the Technical Services in
collaboration with the Ministry of Community Development in Madarounfa
Département. Their work is overseen by a UNICEF administrator based in Maradi, who
in 2004 was part of the UNICEF-Maradi office of three administrators and two progam
assistants (three men and two women).‘59 The SBI activities UNICEF supported in

Madarounfa Département between 2000-2004 are listed in Table 10.

 

69 The Maradi office also has four drivers and a secretary. Normally there is also a chef de bureau, but one
of the administrators held this position temporarily in 2004 while they waited for someone to be
permanently appointed. One administrator is a woman, and one program assistant is a woman.

102

Table 10: UNICEF’s Basic Integrated Services in Madarounfa Département, 2000-

 

 

200470
ACTIVITY NOTES
Vaccinations BCG, Polio, DTCP3, measles, yellow fever, meningitis,

vitamin A

 

Distribution of treated mosquito nets

For women and children; 5,000 given in 2004

 

Training health workers, midwives,
and veterinarians

In aid recipient communities; among these, only the
health workers include men

 

Assistance for schools

Includes school supplies and building separate latrines for
girls

 

Training on girl’s education

In 2002, for directors of schools or their assistants

 

Literacy program support

For men and women’s classes (separate and mixed) and
creation of libraries

 

Assistance obtaining shared community
resources

Grinding mills, wells, etc.

 

Training village

For radio clubs, village committees, etc.

 

 

 

 

leaders/reflesentatives

Radio Club71 Educational forums/discussions that can be taped and
sent to play on national radio

Baby/child weighing Trained residents of rural communities to do this on a
regul_ar basis

Public education on early marriage Films produced and Shown

Lfgirls
Petit élevage Assisted women obtaining goats

 

Seeds and tree seedlings for women

Millet, vegetables, moringa, etc.; women also trained on
applying pesticides ‘

 

Assistance building latrines

Materials provided

 

Cash loans for women

 

 

For example, a group of 40 women in Tchikaji Gajeré
was given an initial loan of 1,500,000 CF A total (about
US$280072), divided amongst them; groups who repay
the loan and interest may qualifxfor additional loans.

 

As with CARE, some UNICEF activities are only for women (namely petit élevage,

seeds and seedlings, and cash loans), although most also include men and/or children.

While at a UNICEF -sponsored training in Madarounfa for aid recipient community

leaders, a participant asked me why UNICEF used to work mainly with women but has

now started to incorporate more men into their work over the last five years. This

observation corresponds with the integration of “gender” (rather than “women”) in

 

7° Shading indicates the activity is only for women.
71 The Radio Club Association was started by the Nigerien government in 1962 as a means of educating the
population and encouraging debate about development (UNICEF 1994: 198).

2 Using the 2004 conversion rate.

103

 

UNICEF -Ni ger in the 19903. Although gender concepts were officially integrated into
UNICEF-Niger earlier than 1999, it seems to have taken this long for the changes to
noticeably trickle down to aid recipients. Furthermore, as already stated, some women-
only activities still remained even in 2004. Thus in UNICEF-Niger one also sees an
evolution of WAC to GAD, although without completely doing away with WAC. WED
is also evident in the agroforestry activities for women only. UNICEF is unique,
however, in that it has always been an institution specifically for children and women.
So integrating women into UNICEF was never an issue in the way it was with WID in
other development organizations.

UNICEF in collaboration with the Nigerien government began work in Tchikaji
Gajeré in 1996. Activities that Tchikaji Gajeré has participated in include cash loans for
women, latrines, seeds for women, baby weighing, radio club, vaccinations, mosquito
nets, literacy, and trainings such as for village committees, health workers, and midwives.
How these are understood as well as some of the problems encountered in Tchikaj i
Gajeré are highlighted in Chapter Six.
Structural Adjustment in Niger and Adaptations of Development Organizations
CARE

In the context of the broader issues of SAPS, privatization, and decentralization in
Niger, CARE has been experiencing its own structural changes from the 19903 up until
the present. CARE-Niger’s 1994 Long Range Strategic Plan called for it to decentralize
and move away from working with government counterparts, which had been how most
of its field work was carried out until that time. CARE-Niger staff had been increasingly

dissatisfied over their inability to control and evaluate what government workers were

104

doing and account to donors (Sayo 2003z2). Thus from 1996 on, CARE-Niger stopped
carrying out their work primarily through government Technical Service counterparts and
instead hired and trained its, own staff for practically all field work. So at the same time
that gender, household livelihood security, and MARP were becoming key elements in
program planning and implementation in CARE-Niger, the entire process of how work
was being carried out on the field drastically changed. As government services,
undergoing enormous. downsizing under SAPS, failed to adequately perform, CARE-
Niger largely privatized its services in order to attract more donors and maintain good
relationships with them. This change gave CARE a tremendous ability to control staff
training in gender, human rights, MARP, and household livelihood security from the
mid-19903 to the present. However, CARE-Niger’s shift also added to the state’s
problem of dwindling resources, Since the government lost flmding from CARE that it
used to get through collaboration.

Today CARE-Niger is beginning to work with the government and other
collaborators again, while still maintaining its field agents in most cases. However when
collaborating, CARE-Niger is careful to partner with those who have some training in
gender. For example, occasionally PN 51 contracts a specific task out to government
workers or private groups with appropriate expertise (e. g., to teach an adult literacy
class). And a few projects are beginning to move away fi'om field agents, such as PN 67
in’Maradi, Reinforcement of Local Capacities and Good Goverance in Natural Resource
Management. This project works through associations, NGO partners, and community
members rather than CARE field agents with an emphasis on capacity building for

decentralization. In addition to these types of project collaborations, CARE-Niger also

105

creates its strategic plan by consulting with representatives of several government
ministries (e. g., prime minister’s cabinet, Community Development, and Social
Development),73 and each CARE-Niger project has a ministry with which it maintains
contact. Overall, however, field agents still play a critical role in most of CARE-Niger’s
work. -
UNICEF

Unlike CARE, UNICEF -Niger has not privatized its services, but has persisted
with the model of government collaboration in Niger. Approximately every three to four
years, UNICEF and the Niger government negotiate a Country Cooperative Program
document, which spells out what activities UNICEF will fund the government to do.
These activities are largely conceptualized and carried out by the Technical Services in
collaboration with the Ministry of Community Development74 at the département-level
and are overseen and funded by UNICEF. UNICEF-Niger supervisors might visit each
rural town where they have programs only once or twice a year, leaving département-
level government employees to do most of the field work. However in the context of a
heavily indebted and downsized state, government workers are not always well-trained in
the latest development approaches or well-equipped with adequate resources, despite
UNICEF’S support. In fact, I found that in Madarounfa few government employees had
ever had training in gender and human rights. Gender is not mainstreamed in the
Nigerien government, and there is little discussion or even awareness of the CEDAW in
Madarounfa amongst government workers. UNICEF-Niger was, however, starting to

hold trainings on it in 2004. Additionally, many government employees have lost their

 

73 The full name is Social Development, Population, Promotion of Women, and Protection of Children.
74 Until recently, this ministry was known as Plan, and it is commonly still called this name.

106

jobs due to government downsizing through SAPS, and a number of the most competent
and experienced government employees have left their positions voluntarily to find jobs

in the private development sector, where pay is often better.

 

Figure 9: UNICEF-sponsored Vaccinations Carried out by
Government Employees in a Town in Madarounfa Département.

As UNICEF-Niger has persisted with state collaboration, its emphasis on gender
and human rights has not successfully trickled down to most government employees
carrying out their work. Now also confronted with decentralization in Niger, which
emphasizes responsibility and governance at the municipal level, UNICEF—Niger will
find additional challenges trying to work with new government structures in rural areas
that have very minimal resources. On the other hand, the Niger government is deeply
dependent on UNICEF ’3 resources to provide basic services to the population. If

UNICEF were to cease collaboration, it would be devastating for the state.

107

Organizational Structures and Cultures
Even though CARE and UNICEF in Niger place gender and human rights as

central to their work and are engaged in many similar development activities, their
different structures and approaches to carrying out development work in the context of
state downsizing and privatization have contributed to unique organizational cultures. 1
have identified three main distinctions in CARE and UNICEF’S organizational cultures,
which can be linked to the larger structural differences. These are in terms of how each
organization 1) understands knowledge and research, 2) facilitates communication and
dialogue, and 3) takes either a top-down or a bottom-up approach to development.
CARE

CARE-Niger’s ability to train and closely monitor its own field agents allows for
the development of personnel who can bridge the worlds of aid recipients and
transnational development institutions. This is also done within an organization that
recognizes different kinds of knowledge and voices as legitimate, and thus facilitates
dialogue between donors, CARE employees, and aid recipients. In my research, I found
intriguing discussions of what rights and gender mean in Ni gerien contexts where CARE
is working, which I describe at length in Chapter Six. PN 51 team members regularly sat
down with one another to discuss gender, empowerment, and human rights—how to
express these ideas in culturally appropriate ways as well as operationalize and measure
gender empowerment in the communities where they work. They were also regularly
joined by aid recipients, consultants, and/or donors for trainings and workshops.

Participants in CARE workshops and trainings feel free to speak, and their responses are

108

normally listed on the board for the whole group to reflect on.75 CARE-Niger field
agents are culturally knowledgeable through their daily interactions with aid recipient
communities. The MARP and household livelihoods security approaches that CARE-
Niger integrated into its work in the 19903 are tools they use to understand and respect
knowledge and livelihood patterns in aid recipient communities. Yet field agents are also
competent in current development discourses and approaches due to their fi'equent
trainings and workshops.

CARE-Niger has a spirit of learning about it. Its employees overall are
encouraged to see themselves as communicators and facilitators, rather than experts
(Sayo 2003121). Especially in PN 51, the work CARE does is seen as largely of a
research nature. Field agents do data collection on a regular basis, and CARE welcomes
consultants or students to help them understand cultural contexts where it works through
research projects. This, in some cases, results in aid recipients who feel bombarded with
questionnaires and discussions, rather than getting desired material goods. However,
those who stick with CARE through this process, can see positive results in their lives.
CARE’S bottom-up approach to development in Niger has earned it respect fi'om many
aid recipient communities.

Privatization of CARE-Niger’s work and the subsequent training of its own
employees have undeniably been key in developing this kind of organizational culture
over the past decade. Autonomy and money given by donors to CARE-Niger to shape its
own country and regional programs, and good communication between donors and
CARE-Niger also greatly contribute to this organizational culture that encourages

dialogue and recognizes the value of different sources of knowledge concerning gender,

 

75 This is even done if most of the group is illiterate.

109

human rights, and other tOpics. Also, more direct accountability to donors and the
creation of a culture of research and learning has caused CARE-Niger to be self-critical
and open to constructive criticism from outsiders about how to improve its programs.
UNICEF

UNICEF ’s organizational culture contrasts with CARE’S, which values dialogue
between a variety of knowledge sources, a research orientation, and a bottom-up
approach to development. In sum, UNICEF ’s organizational culture in Niger is
considerably more hierarchal and top-down. I had a good deal of difficulty getting
people in UNICEF-Niger to speak to me about their work on several occasions because
they did not know what they were allowed to tell me or were afraid that they did not
know the “right” answer to a question. UNICEF’s claim to have mainstreamed gender
and base its work on rights appeared at times to be a facade, as only select people could
speak at length about these subjects in the organization. In general, most UNICEF-Niger
employees did not know how to respond to a researcher such as myself.76

In contrast to the open dialogues at CARE workshops and trainings, UNICEF’s
2004 training for village leaders in the Madarounfa area on integrated community
development had a different feel to it. The instructors, who were mostly government
civil servants, did solicit answers to various questions fiom the participants. However,
they continually referred back to what the “right” answers were in the teaching
curriculum they used. These were the answers that were written on the board or deemed
correct in the teaching sessions. I later asked one of the instructors who the author of the

curriculum is, but he did not know. This anonymity is consistent with most UNICEF

 

76 This is not true of most government employees collaborating with UNICEF who I met. They generally
took an interest in my work, discussing development concepts, and research in general.

110

materials I collected in which no author’s name is listed. By contrast, CARE more
fiequently lists the author(s) of a study, report, or training manual. This is very revealing.
as to how each organization tends to see knowledge in either plural or singular terms, and
the source and creation of knowledge as either situated or not.

For the first few months of field research I felt sure I was missing something
because although UNICEF documents fi'equently mentioned gender and rights, I could
not find vibrant dialogues on these topics and what they mean in Niger amongst
UNICEF-Niger employees. However as time went on, I became increasingly convinced
that there simply are not many such dialogues that take place. A significant gap exists
between the world of elite UNICEF-Niger employees (well-paid, well-educated, and
based in large cities) and the rural aid recipients of UNICEF ’s SBI interventions. Those
UNICEF-Niger employees who could talk about gender and human rights often drew on
UN or other transnational development discourses on these topics rather than on Nigerien
conceptions of gender and rights. I return to this point in Chapter Six.

The diffuse structure of UNICEF-Niger contributes significantly to its struggle to
integrate a rights-based approach and mainstream gender into its organization. This
structure has led UNICEF-Niger employees to spend little time investigating aid recipient
daily life and reply on a top-down orientation. Using government employees to carry out
UNICEF’S work in an age of privatization when the state has few resources for training
or hiring top employees in the country compounds the problem. There are no strong
bridges in UNICEF-Niger between transnational development discourses and discourses
of aid recipient communities as there are in CARE. On top of this, the Nigerien

government, as described in Chapter Three, has its own heritage of top-down

lll

development. These factors in combination are a recipe for hierarchical management that
does little to encourage dialogue and learning about cultures and knowledge in aid
recipient communities.
Blurring the Lines Between State and Non-state Actors

I categorize CARE and UNICEF as transnational aid organizations, although (as
described in Chapter One) CARE is an NGO and UNICEF is an IGO. In other words,
neither organization is the foreign aid arm of a specific nation-state, but rather an
independent entity that reaches into and across multiple countries and has affiliations
with a conglomeration of organizations and states. While, as I have spelled out above,
CARE and UNICEF contrast in the ways they interface with the Ni gerien state in terms
of their work in rural communities, there are additional relationships that each
organization has with particular states as donors and with the politics of the Nigerien
state. These complex relationships blur the lines between state and non-state actors in
development work.
Donors

First, Figure 10 lists UNICEF -Niger and CARE-Niger donors between 2000-

20004.

112

 

UNICEF -NIGER DONORS CARE-NIGER DONORS
Association Mondiale des Amis de I’Enfance Agence F rancaise de Développement

Australian Committee for UNICEF Canadian Embassy

Belgian Committee for UNICEF CARE Denmark

Belgium CARE France

Canadian lntemational Development Agency CARE Norway

Center for Disease Control and Prevention CARE UK

Conrad N. Hilton Foundation CARE USA

Finnish Committee for UNICEF Danish International Development Agency
France Dept. for lntemational Development, UK
French Committee for UNICEF European Union

German Committee for UNICEF Food Indusz Crusade Against Hunger
lntemational Development Research Center Fokus

Italian Committee for UNICEF Journey Foundation

Luxembourg Committee for UNICEF Mary Bauer

Netherlands Norwegian Agency for Development
Norway Pierls Foundation

Regular Resources from UNICEF US Agency for lntemational Development
Rotary International World Bank

Slovenia National Committee

Spanish Committee for UNICEF

Swedish Committee for UNICEF

Swiss Committee for UNICEF

UK Committee for UNICEF

UK of Great Britain and Northern Ireland

US Fund for UNICEF

Belgium Survival Funds

Diner’s Club lntemational (Italy),

Germany

 

 

 

Figure 10: UNICEF AND CARE Donors, 2000-2004
Clearly a complex web of sources contributes to both CARE and UNICEF’S work in
Niger, drawing on the private sector, governments, and intergovernmental organizations.
All of UNICEF’S donors are considered “other resources” apart from the listing “regular
resources.” “Other resources” are Specified for a certain type of work in UNICEF’S ’
country program designated by the donor, for example nutrition or vaccinations. Regular
resources are provided centrally by UNICEF and fund UNICEF Executive Board
approved country programs, program support, administration, and management.

Beigbeder reports that in 1998 UNICEF as a whole received 62% of its funding from

113

governments and IGOS, 33% from non-governmental sources, and 5% fi'om other sources
(2001:56-7). And UNICEF committees in specific countries77 raise funds from a variety
of sources including corporations and selling gifts and cards. CARE donors normally
fund one or more specific projects. .For example, CARE-Norway flmded PN 51, while
DANIDA78 funds a women’s credit and savings project. To make the matter even more
complex, seemingly private sector donors may receive their funding from govermnents.
For example, CARE-Norway receives funding from NORAD (the Norwegian Agency for
Development C00peration, part of the Norwegian government). Seeing this landscape of
donors who are influencing policies and programs in CARE and UNICEF, nation-states,
the private sector, and IGOs all play important roles in transnational aid. When talking
about CARE and UNICEF up until now, I have suggested CARE invokes a private model
in terms of project intervention in Niger while UNICEF collaborates with the state.
While this is true, it seems inappropriate to simply classify CARE as a private NGO and
UNICEF as an IGO and part of the UN as the networks CARE and UNICEF are a part of
are much more complex. Unpacking the networks of these transnational aid
organizations clearly provides an example of the situated, historical nature of what are
often perceived to be “global” institutions.
Weighing in on National Politics

Regardless of UNICEF and CARE’s contrasting relationships with the Nigerien
state in delivering aid, both are involved in influencing national politics to better include
women and women’s issues, although in different ways. CARE-Niger has been a leader

in developing a coalition of NGOS and women’s associations in Niger called

 

77 There are 37 such committees worldwide. In 2005, they raised 37% of all UNICEF income. See
http2//www.unicef.org/about/annualrgport/ZCOS/together/comlisthtml.
78 Danish International Development Agency

114

CONGAFEN.79 This coalition includes over 30 groups as members. CARE-Niger has
also been a leader in developing a training manual on women’s leadership, published in
2003 with eleven partners including NGOS, government units, and CONGAF EN (Figure
11). This timely effort preceded the elections for and implementation of communes by
about a year as part of the decentralization process. It also capitalized on the 2000 Quota
Law requiring a minimum of 10% of elected positions be held by women and 10% by
men. This manual was used to train women throughout Niger on the decentralization
process, their capacity to be leaders in politics and in their homes, citizens’ rights in

Niger, and strategies for mobilizing people and resolving conflicts.

 

0 The Ministry of Social Development, Population, Promotion of Women,
and Protection of Children (MDS/P/PF/PE)

o The High Commission for Administrative Reform and Decentralization
(HCRAD)

0 United Nations Population Fund (UNFPA) Niger Gender Initiative Project

(IGN)

The Netherlands Development Organization (SNV)

National Democratic Institute (NDI)

Nigerien Association for the Defense of Human Rights (ANDDH)

Niger Gender and Creativity Network (REGECA)

Centre Afiika Obota (CAO)

CONGAF EN

Collective of Women’s NGOs “Kassai”

Democracy 2000

 

 

 

Figure 11: Collaborators with CARE-Niger on the Women’s Leadership Training
Manual

While CARE-Niger’s engagement with national politics is primarily concerned
with educating civil society (especially women) to participate in government, UNICEF -
Niger takes a more active role in pushing for new legislation that is pro-women and

children. UNICEF has been working diligently to harmonize Nigerien laws with the

 

79 CONGAFEN stands for la Coordination Non-Gouvernementale et Associations F éminines Nigériennes.

115

CRC and CEDAW. For example, UNICEF helped get a law passed in 2003
criminalizing female genital mutilation. A Child Protection Code to “eliminate sexual
and economic exploitation of children, fight harmful traditional practices such as early
marriage and female genital mutilation, and protect orphans and vulnerable children,
particularly those affected by HIV/AIDS” was also on UNICEF -Niger’s agenda in 2004
(UNICEF 2004:5). Furthermore, UNICEF -Ni ger has made an effort to line up its work
with national priorities laid out in the Niger Poverty Reduction Strategy Paper,
specifically “to improve food security, universal access to basic services, good
governance, and more equitable growth” (UNICEF 2004:3). In this way, UNICEF -Niger
has positioned itself as both a powerful ally and agitator of the Ni gerien state. CARE-
Niger on the other hand takes a role that reinforces already existing legislation (rather
than pushes for new legislation) on women, rights, and decentralization by educating the
public.
Democratization, Participatogy Development, and Contrasting Models

What does all this mean in terms of public participation and democratization?
What roles do UNICEF and CARE play in this process? On the one hand, UNICEF-
Niger is directly supporting a (currentlygo) democratic government through its aid for
government social services while also pushing for human rights-oriented legislation for
women and children. CARE-Niger has less involvement with the state, but encourages
the democratic process through educating men and women on how to run for office, how
to vote, and what rights a citizen has. Furthermore both CARE and UNICEF expect
participation fiom aid recipients, providing them with a venue for their voices to be

heard. In particular, these organizations make an effort to include the voices of women,

 

8° The state UNICEF and CARE have aided has not always been democratically elected.

116

who may not participate otherwise, in discussions and decisions made. However,
UNICEF aid recipients are voicing their concerns directly to the government, while
CARE-Niger aid recipients are speaking to a non- governmental organization who is at
best an intermediary to the government.

2 In sum, CARE-Niger takes an encouraging and supporting role towards the state.
This reflects CARE-International’s mission statement and orientation to “serve” (Figure
2). UNICEF, by contrast, is “mandated by the United Nations General Assembly to
advocate for the protection of children’s rights, to help meet their basic needs and to
expand their opportunities to reach their full potential” (Figure 3). This includes
mobilizing politically, promoting equal rights of women and girls, and upholding UN
conventions, charters, and the like. Therefore in addition to CARE and UNICEF ’3
different organizational structures, these contrasting missions also help to explain why
UNICEF —Niger has tended to take a top-down approach whereas CARE-Niger tends
toward a bottom-up approach. Both organizations have strengths and weaknesses by
embracing their respective orientations. CARE-Niger is strong in field work; they have a
good understanding of knowledge and cultures in aid recipient communities. UNICEF-
Niger is strong in influencing higher levels of government; their work with legislation as
well as with “traditional chiefs” has moved Niger further towards honoring human rights,
as spelled out by the UN. Both types of work often reinforce one another. For example,
CARE-Niger educates the public on legislation that UNICEF-Niger helps pass.
Conclusion

Although both CARE and UNICEF have mainstreamed gender, base their work

on human rights, draw on a wide constituency of donors, and do similar activities in aid

117

recipient communities, each has reformulated and translated ideas about gender and
rights-based development uniquely according to its organizational structure and culture.
CARE-Niger serves as a relatively successful example of privatization of development
services in the context of SAPS. It has cultivated an organization where employees are
knowledgeable about and dialogue on gender, human rights, and other contemporary
development approaches as well as knowledge and cultures of aid recipient communities.
However, its strategy does not solve the larger problem of a state that is heavily indebted
and unable to adequately serve its citizens. Furthermore, CARE’s mission is to serve,
which leads them to take a supportive and educational role in national politics rather than
be a strong lobby for change. UNICEF-Niger, on the other hand, helps to prop up the
Nigerien state in order to provide some basic services; however, the trainings and
dialogues that take place around gender and rights in this collaboration are diffuse and
inadequate. F urtherrnore, UNICEF -Niger tends to take a top-down approach, concerned
about following mandates, Speaking with a single voice, and giving the “right” answers.
In terms of influencing national politics, UNICEF is mandated to play the role as agitator
for reform on behalf of women and children.

The ways that CARE-Niger and UNICEF-Niger as organizations reformulate and
translate gender and rights-based development approaches are largely a matter of
structure. In other words, their agency to choose and implement strategies for gender and
ti tS-based work is limited by the structures in their respective organizations and in the
country of Niger. First, the structural adjustment of the state is a critical backdrop to
understanding strategies for development that. CARE and UNICEF have chosen as well

as the extreme poverty that beckons transnational aid interventions in Niger. As

118

discussed in Chapter Three, these material conditions affect the kinds of reordering of
gender roles and relationships that is occurring in Niger as well as understandings of _
rights. However, the structures of CARE and UNICEF also create another leVel .of
reformulations of gender and rights within this larger context. In CARE, multiple
sources of knowledge, research, dialogue, and a bottom-up approach to development and
women’s empowerment are embraced. UNICEF, however, takes a more top-down
orientation to its work, seeing knowledge in more singular terms and seeking to align
Nigerien law with UN conventions and mandates.

Examining the networks and histories of UNICEF and CARE in Niger certainly
complicates any attempt to use the labels “local” or “global.” Donors—who include the
private sector, governments, and IGOs—ofien have particular interests that translate into
projects or programs that they fund in Niger. Some donor organizations are strongly
influenced by civil society in Western countries while others represent more elite
interests. Nevertheless all of them are Situated in particular places and histories, while
also connected to other particular groups and places in the world. Furthermore,
examining some of the histories of gender and rights in CARE- and UNICEF-Niger, we
have seen examples of how such connections play out in specific Nigerien Sites. A richer
picture of the complex networks of power and influence emerges in an analysis that
resists dualistic and often homogenizing categorizations of global and local. We begin to
see some of the diverse ways in which ideas about gender and rights get reformulated and
translated in different organizations in a particular country.

This chapter provides the first part of the backdrop for examining in Chapter Six

how CARE and UNICEF employees, volunteers, and rural aid recipients translate,

119

reformulate and at times reject gender and rights-based development ideas and
interventions. The second essential piece to understand is the context in which CARE
and UNICEF are working in the Maradi Région and Madarounfa Département. This is
the subject of Chapter Five, which focuses on a rural town where CARE intervenes

(Garin J akka) and another where UNICEF intervenes (Tchikaji Gajeré).

120

Chapter Five
Gender, Rights, Power, and Social Change in Two Rural Towns near ‘dan Issa:
A Closer Look at CARE and UNICEF’S Intervention Sites

Hausa Riddle: What has its trunk in the home, but its shade is outside? (Ice gida,
inuwarsa waje?)

Answer: A girl (Yarinya)

 

KBH: Has there been a change between the past and the present in terms of women ’3
work and men ’3 work?“

Woman in Garin Jakka: The past and the present are not the same since back then a
woman farmed. If she worked four days in her husband ’sfield, she would then work
three days in her field. 82

In order to move into a discussion of how gender and human rights programs and
policies of CARE and UNICEF are understood and translated, rejected or reformulated
by Ni gerien employees, volunteers and rural aid recipients, it is first essential to
understand the social context in which these organizations are working. In addition to
broader changes in Nigerien women’s status discussed in Chapter Three, other factors are
also at play in Garin J akka, Tchikaji Gajeré, and the Maradi Région that are dramatically
affecting gender relations and identities, household economies, and women’s access to
educational, political, religious and economic resources. This chapter examines these
issues first in a historical perspective and then today, situating Garin J akka and Tchikaji
Gajeré in the larger politics and social relations of the region, which CARE and UNICEF
employees are a part of.

Life in Garin Jakka and Tchikaji Gajeré as well as the surrounding Maradi Région

has long been hierarchical and patriarchal in structure. Concerning gender for example,

 

8‘ Akwai canji tsakanin mutanen dd da yanzu wajen aikin mace da aikin namtji?
’2 Na da‘ da na yanzu, ba daya ba ne, tun da Iokacin nan mace tana noma. In ta yi kwana hudu gonar
namiji, kana yi kuma sai ta yi kwana uku gonarta tana yi.

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marriage dislodges women from their birth home, so that other families benefit from their
labor (represented in the riddle above). And wives have long been socially expected to
obey their husbands. However, how hierarchies are constructed and play out in these
communities has changed over time as different models of patriarchy co-exist, compete,
and reconfigure. Certain aspects of social and work roles of men and women are
considerably different today than in the past as women in many parts of the Maradi
Région have largely moved out of agricultural work and become secluded in their homes,
limiting their access to resources. In addition to gender, age, class, kin group and
education are also linked to power and status within these communities and the region. I
examine the importance of these identities today and how they have changed over time.
By the end of the chapter, the material and ideological factors in changing gender roles
will appear intimately intertwined as people in Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gajeré adapt to a

changing social, political, and material reality.

The Maradi Région

The Maradi Région of Niger is a part of two distinct, yet overlapping histories of
tremendous consequence in the present. First, it is a part of Hausaland, which refers to
the predominantly Hausa-speaking area of northern Nigeria and south-central Niger.
Prior to EurOpean colonization, Hausaland consisted of the Sokoto Caliphate that united
most of what is now northern Nigeria and a collection of kingdoms that resisted
dominance by the caliphate, including Maradi. Britain and France divided Hausaland to
each take a portion for its colony. Maradi and the rest of the most northern part of
Hausaland, which was outside of the caliphate, became part of Niger and the southern

part of Hausaland, mainly the Sokoto Caliphate, became part of Nigeria. This history has

122

important implications for the status of women and cultural ties between the Maradi

Région and northern Nigeria, which I discuss further below.

In the colonial period, the Maradi Région was marginalized politically and
economically compared to Zelma Speaking areas in the west of the country. This pattern
continued after independence as Zerma elites largely controlled the government.
Although Hausa-speakers have in general gained greater representation in Niger’s
government since 1991, the Maradi Région has lagged behind other regions of the
country in a number of quality of life indicators. For example, life expectancy reported
for Maradi in 1998 was 44 to 45 years, while in Niamey it was 55 to 56 years and in
Agadez it was 58 to 59 (Magagi 2002:20).83 UNICEF’S 2000 SBI study reports that the
Maradi Region84 had a child-infant mortality rate of 306/ 1 000 in 1995, compared with

280/1000 for Niger overall (UNICEF 2000:24).

Garin Jakka and Tchikaji Gajeré

Garin Jakka and Tchikaji Gajeré lie about 35 kilometers south of the town of
Maradi and ten kilometers north of the Nigerian border (Figure 5). Garin J akka sits less
than two kilometers west of ‘dan 133a and has 45 households.85 Tchikaji Gajeré is about
five kilometers northeast of ‘dan 133a and is a considerably larger town with 130
households. Both towns claim to be 100% Muslim. All residents use Hausa as the lingua
franca, and for most, it is their first and only language used. The founders of Tchikaji
Gajeré came from somewhere east of Kano, Nigeria, and Garin Jakka founders came

fi'om a neighboring Nigerien town called Kourin Koura. Residents of Tchikaji Gajeré

 

83 These numbers refer to the regions (or in the case of Niamey, capital district) and not the towns of
Maradi, Niamey, and Agadez.

8’ It was then called Maradi Département.

85 I differentiate households in terms of those members of a family who normally eat together.

123

and Garin J akka live in the Katsina kingdom based in Maradi, so many identify as
Katsinawa, although some claim another origin (e.g., Zanfarawa, Gobirawa) Such
identifications are often re-enforced with facial scarification patterns that represent place
of origin.

The economy is closely tied to Nigeria in these towns close to the border. Naira
(the Nigerian currency) are more commonly used in Garin J akka, Tchikaji Gajeré, and
‘dan Issa than CF A (the Nigerien currency). In nearby Maradi, however, naira are
scarcely used. The nearest biomedical health services and market for Garin J akka and
Tchikaji Gajeré are in ‘dan Issa. The nearest hospitals are in Danja (a mission-run
leprosariurn about 15 kilometers north of ‘dan 133a) and Maradi (a government hospital).
In 2004 during my field work, no development projects besides CARE or UNICEF were
active in Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gaj eré.

Data used in this chapter are mainly from the 84 random sample interviews with
men and women in these two towns as well as participant observation in daily life. I
conducted all research in these communities in Hausa.
A Brief Histm of Women’s Status in the Maradi Rigging
Gendered Agricultural Divisions of Labor

A generation ago, most men and women around ‘dan Issa were engaged in
agriculture as their primary means of subsistence. Historically in the Maradi region,
researchers (Boubacar 2000; B. Cooper 1997; Doka 2000; Raynaut 1976) have noted that
households often operated according to a gandu/gamana system of farming. In this
system, a household consists of a senior male as the head, his wife(s), his unmarried

daughters, his sons, their wives, and their children. Women who marry into the

124

household and junior men in the household are given usufi'uct rights to gamana fields by
the head of household, which they farm three days of the week. The harvest from these
fields belongs to these individuals, and is their main source of sustenance during the dry
season. The gandu field, however, is worked on four days a week collectively by the
men and women in the household. The land and harvest from the gandu is owned and
controlled by the senior male head of household and feeds the household during the rainy
season. There were likely variants of this arrangement in different households, but this
gandu/gamana system of farming seems to have been common historically according to
residents of and the literature on the region. Table 11 contains data fiom a town about
five kilometers south of Maradi, Sumarana, collected by Claude Raynaut and published
in 1976. These data serve as one example of the predominance of gamana plots as
women’s main source of agricultural land earlier in history. Gamana plots still exist in
some households today, as described further below, although the gandu/gamana system
of agriculture has largely broken down.
Table 11: Origins of Women’s Plots in a Sample of 185 Farms at Sumarana

from Raynaut 1976)
Inherited Bought Pawned Gift Borrowed Gamana Total
Number 109 1 4 1 3 398 516

of plots
Percent 21.12% 0.20% 0.77% 0.20% 0.58% 77.13% 100%

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Property Law and Inheritance
Land ownership and inheritance in Niger have undergone significant changes as
Islamic inheritance patterns have become more widespread and the government has

shifted its policies over time. During the colonial period and into the postcolonial period,

125

Maliki law86 was enforced regarding family matters such as inheritance (B. Cooper
1998:32). Boubacar (2000) explains that there is a significant difference between how
customary (pre-Islarnic) and Islamic inheritance patterns operate in the Maradi Région.
Customary land rights are patrilineal, excluding women and junior males from
inheritance. With the introduction of Islamic inheritance patterns in the area, women and
junior males began to inherit property. Normally according to Islamic law, property is
passed down from parent to children, daughters receiving 1/3 and sons receiving 2/3.
This is widely accepted in Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gajeré. Islamic law also recognizes
inheritance rights for a spouse (male or female) and parent whose child has died,
although this is not often known in Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gajeré.

A second important change in the Maradi region started to occur as junior males
began to inherit their own property. As a result of this, large extended family households
began to break down into smaller family units. Part of the reason for the breakdown of
the gandu was also related to colonial taxation. Household heads in the colonial period
had to pay tax on their wives and male children in their household. To relieve heads of
households of heavy tax burdens, extended family landholdings began to be broken up
into smaller units (B. Cooper 1997:46).

Also, a series of government policies in the early independence period of Niger
further contributed towards the individualization of property. The newly independent
government tried to undermine the authority of “chiefs” in the land tenure system in favor
of land users’ rights, although with little success (Boubacar 2000; Lund 1998:86-7).

Since 1986, the Niger government has been devising the Rural Code, a reform in the land

 

86 In Niger, as in most of West Afiica, the Maliki school of Islamic law is used for family matters amongst
Muslims.

126

tenure system that allows private land titles to be claimed through customary rights
(Boubacar 2000:39-40; Gado 2002; Lund 1998). Unlike policies in the early
independence period, the Rural Code has strengthened the authority of customary rulers
to control and manage land (Gado 2002:168-9). Scholars who have written on this topic,
however, do not deal explicitly with what this reform means for women and their land
rights. One can speculate that there is potential for men to once again define “custom”—
as scholars such as Chanock (1998) have demonstrated with customary law during the
colonial period—to their benefit in order to make land right claims over women. This
remains an important topic for future research. Regardless of the reinvigoration of
customary authorities, however, the trend toward individualized property continues up
until today (Doka 2000:8).

The idea of equal inheritance does not sit well with the Nigerien public. For
example as mentioned in Chapter Three, one of the reservations the Niger government
has with the CEDAW concerns equal inheritance for men and women. The reservation
reads:

The government of Niger Republic issues reservations concerning

paragraphs (1 and f of Article 2 relative to taking appropriate measures to

repeal all customs and practices that constitute discrimination towards

women, particularly with regard to inheritance. [République du Niger

1999, my translation]

This reservation reflects the different treatment of men and women in inheritance under
customary law. As noted in Chapter Three, many Nigeriens object to the idea of equal
inheritance in the Protocol on the Rights of Women in Afiica as well.

As far as land rights in Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gajeré, however, residents

infrequently use formal government legal channels. Inheritance, ownership, and settling

127

property disputes are commonly overseen by kin or other community members without
paper documentation.87 If they cannot settle their disputes in this way, usually customary
authorities (described further below) are called on.

Today, people in Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gajeré practice a mix of inheritance
systems. For example, one male informant in Tchikaji Gajeré explained he will only give
his land as an inheritance to his sons, not daughters. Another male resident of Tchikaji
Gajeré told me that he did not receive his inheritance because his older brothers took it
fi'om him. However, most people agree that sons and daughters should inherit according
to Islamic inheritance patterns. I return to this topic further below.

Women as Leaders in Hausaland

Some women in Hausaland—what is now northern Nigeria and south-central
Ni ger— have historically held politico-religious positions of power. In particular,
women have important leadership roles in the pre-Islarnic bori religion (B. Cooper 1997:
xxxiv; Dunbar 1991 :76, 20002406; Masquelier 2001). Bori was harshly criticized by
Shehu Usman ‘dan Fodio and his followers after the early 19'11 century jihads and
establishment of the Sokoto Caliphate in what is now considered northern Nigeria (B.
Cooper 1998228). Its subsequent marginalization and the growth of reformist88 Islam
within the Sokoto Caliphate led to the decline of women’s religious and political
positions of power (Callaway 1987:14; Callaway and Creevey 1994: 14; Mack 1991).

However, the institution and leadership positions of bori have been maintained to a large

 

87 A few individuals have begun to write out land transactions on pieces of paper, however.

88 I am using the term “reformist” here to describe the variation of Islam used by ‘dan Fodio and his
followers—to be differentiated from many other types of Islamic belief and practice in the region that were
often more tolerant and syncretic.

128

extent in regions of Hausaland outside of the Caliphate like Maradi and Gobir (a
neighboring kingdom to Maradi/Katsina).

The people of Maradi, after some time of negotiation with the former king of
Katsina who had been driven from power by the jihads, eventually accepted him to come
be their king. Thus, this region became a mix of animists of the Maradi valley and some
Katsinawa from Katsina who were both animists and Muslims (Meunier 1997:128).
Additionally, descendents of sovereigns of Kano and Gobir also took refuge there
(Gregoire 1992:32). Triaud (1981212) and Masquelier (2001) note that Islam was not
widely practiced in the region that would become Niger during the 19th and the first part
of the 20th centuries. However, a tolerant form of Islam was practiced side by side to
some extent within this politico-religious state structure in the Maradi region (B. Cooper
1998:29).

Modeled on the state of Katsina (Gregoire 1992:32), Maradi maintained many of
the positions that had been historically reserved for women in the Hausa states. Grégoire
notes that during the rule of King (sarki) Dan Baskore (1851-1873), several women
leaders were among the royalty (sarauta) (1992:33). Barbara Cooper’s work notes
several leadership positions for women that have been retained in some form in Maradi
up until the present. Among them are the Iya (senior woman of the aristocratic class who
arbitrates between women in the sarauta class and bori in various capacities), Jekadiya
(intermediary between the sarki and his wives, hostess, and “eyes and ears of the sarki ”),

and Magajiya (the woman in charge of courtesans or karuwazw) (B. Cooper 1997:25, 67).

 

89 Kamwai are previously married women who are now single and usually live together. They are courted
by men and earn their keep through sexual favors (B. Cooper 1997:173). Djibo notes that Zerma regions of
Niger have a similar institution (2001:104).

129

Nicolas’ account of the Gobir kingdom also includes the Inna, assistant to the sarki and
grand bori priestess, comparable to the Iya of Maradi/Katsina (19692208).

Although women’s historical leadership positions in Hausa state structures
continued in Maradi during the 19th century, French colonialism in the late 19th and early
20th centuries contributed to their decline. The French pushed women out of Ni gerien
politics in two main ways. First, they did not recognize the joint political and religious
authority of the Hausa state structure, especially in Maradi and Gobir where it had
remained much intact (Masquelier 2001:188). Triaud suggests that this reflects France’s
own concerns at home over separation of church and state at the time (2000:170).
Therefore, the politico-religious positions women had once held in Hausaland were
Sidelined as “religious” rather than “political.”9° In the Maradi Région, however, women
did hold on to some of their traditional positions, like the Iya, although with a weakened
status. Secondly, women were not included in French education and therefore could not
enter into the new colonial government positions described further below (Alidou
2005:69-70; B. Cooper 1998:33). It is important to note, however, women leaders such
as the Iya are elite women. Sources that speak to common women’s status in the Maradi
region during the pre-colonial and colonial periods are difficult to find. Indeed, we know
that slavery was practiced (B. Cooper 1994), so women’s positions in society varied
widely.

The Rise of Wife Seclusion
Since about 20-27 years ago, wife seclusion has become the norm in Garin J akka

and Tchikaji Gaj eré, drastically changing the positionality of women in economic,

 

9° Even in Zinder, Muslim teachers who played a role in governance were sidelined, although these were
men in this case (Glew 1997:66).

130

political, and religious roles in these towns and other parts of the Maradi Région.
Seclusion, also commonly called purdah, is a set of values and practices that restrict
women’s movements and behaviors so that they are kept separate from men. This
usually means confining women to the home, although veiling can be considered a sort of
portable seclusion (Masquelier 19992239; Papanek 1973:295), and segregation of men
and women in public spaces and in the home may also be considered a part of seclusion.
To understand how this transformation took place, we must step back and look more
carefully at the history of Hausaland over the last five centuries.

In Hausaland, seclusion is first noted by historians as emerging around the latter
half of the 15th cenmry as a practice adopted by elites in Kano (Callaway and Creevey
1994:12; Mack 19912113). It remained an elite practice until the time of ‘dan Fodio and
the Sokoto Caliphate when a strong public discourse emerged that disapproved of women
holding public office and promoted modest female dress and behavior that was protected
from the gaze of men. More and more women ceased to work in agriculture and became
secluded in their homes during this time as Muslim women’s status came to be associated
with seclusion and veiling (B. Cooper 1998:24). Seclusion, however, was not only a
marker of religious but also class identity. As women moved out of agriculture, farm
work became more and more reliant on and associated with slave labor (B. Cooper
1998:24). Barbara Cooper suggests that when slavery was later abolished during the
colonial period, some fieed women may have chosen seclusion as a way of marking their
free status (1994:73, 1998:24). Researchers doing fieldwork in the 19503 and 19603 (Hill
1972; M. Smith 1954) acknowledge that wife seclusion was commonly practiced in rural

and urban areas of northern Nigeria. In Barbara Callaway’s 1987 book Muslim Hausa

131

Women in Nigeria, she notes that nearly all women—rural and urban—of childbearing
age in Kano State of northern Nigeria are secluded (59).

In other parts of Hausaland, however, seclusion was not practiced until more
recently. In particular, people in the Maradi region of Niger were not interested in certain
Islamic practices of the caliphate such as seclusion of women (B. Cooper 1994:64) until
economic and cultural ties were renewed in the late colonial period through an emerging
group of Muslim businessmen, the Alhazai,” who flourished in Maradi largely through
close ties with European trading houses and the shifting trade routes south toward
Atlantic ports rather than north across the Sahara (B. Cooper 1997; Gregoire 1992;
Gregoire and Schmitz 2000). Their Islamic identity helped to facilitate the growth of
Islam in central Niger, and eventually the adoption of certain Nigerian Islamic practices
such as wife seclusion (B. Cooper 1997; Gregoire 1992, 1993). Wife seclusion also fit
well with patriarchal French notions of female domesticity and male provision that were
promoted in the colonial period (B. Cooper 1997:110-122). Women in rural areas around
Maradi, however, continued to be active in farming and move about relatively freely in
public in the late colonial and early independence years. People in these communities
were often Muslim, but of a different sort that blended other religious beliefs and
practices and did not seclude or veil women.

Seclusion remained a phenomenon for urban elites in the town of Maradi until
devastating drought struck the Maradi Région (along with the rest of the Sahel) in 1968-
1974 and 1982-1984. One of the consequences of the drought was that people in the

Maradi Région increasingly migrated elsewhere looking for work, a pattern that has

 

9' Alhazai is used as a term that denotes both a certain social and economic stature in one’s community as
well as someone who has made the haj j. I use it here as Maradi historians such as Emmanuel Gregoire
(1992) and Barbara Cooper (1997) have to talk specifically about a merchant class of men in Maradi.

132

continued during the dry season even after the droughts ended (Gregoire 1992217-19;
Tiffen 2001 :16). Economic hardships described in Chapter Three since the 19803, scarce
land, and poor crop yields due to low and inconsistent rainfall, poor soil quality, and pests
have continued to drive labor migration. Most of these migrants are men who head either
to the town of Maradi or south to Nigeria for weeks or months at a time. The migration
of rural male farmers to northern Nigeria and Maradi often combines work and religious
studies. In these places, migrants have seen and heard about wife seclusion first hand, a
practice closely tied in this region to proper Muslim behavior, prosperity, and salvation.
This period of increased migration since the droughts corresponds with accounts from
Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gajeré of the time wife seclusion began.

The first members of both towns to seclude their wives are Islamic teachers (titled
malamai in Hausa). In Tchikaji Gajeré, I interviewed one of the first three men to
seclude their wives as well as his senior wife. Both still live in town. They began to
practice seclusion about 27 years ago. The husband, who has studied under various
malamai in Niger and Nigeria for 17 years, first learned about seclusion from one of his
malamai in Maradi before he was first married. This teacher told him about the blessings
and prosperity (albarka) that he would receive for secluding his wives. The husband said
people laughed at him when he first secluded his wives. But with time, he explained,
they saw God was helping him and started practicing seclusion too. His wife describes
how she and her co-wives first became secluded and how neighbors responded:

When we started [seclusion], my husband came to us and said for each to

go and tell our parents that he wants to seclude us. So we went and told

them. [Our parents] said, “Since we have already given you to him, it is

what he says to you that matters, not us.” Then [my husband] went and

told them himself. He said, “I am telling you so that you don’t hear it
from someone else that I want to seclude my wives.” They said, “May

133

God help you since you have them now, not us.” So on a Friday, we had

our hair braided, applied henna, and put on makeup. [Our husband]

bought us several sets of clothes, shoes, head scarves, and shawls. Then

he said we were now secluded, and he gathered Muslim teachers at the

door of our home to pray for us. . .Once we were secluded, people would

come by after returning home fiom their farms and ask us if we really

wanted this. How could we be kept from farming in the harvest season?

“13 it enough to just sit at home without doing commerce or selling

anything,” they asked? “How will you get money for marriage and birth

celebrations?” We said God will give us what we need for these

celebrations. Since our husband secluded us, God will give him what he

will give us for our relatives’ needs. We stayed home and ignored them.

Were we going to follow other people and ignore our husband? So you

see what they said to us. We told them we wanted seclusion. Since your

husband says he wants you to do this and you love him, you must follow

him. Right?
I was not so fortunate to be able to interview the first two men in Garin J akka who
secluded their wives nor the wives. One of these families had moved to Nigeria and
members of the other household were not willing to talk with me. Both men, however,
were also malamai. Accounts in Garin J akka point to seclusion first being practiced
about 20-25 years ago, around the same time as in Tchikaji Gajeré, just Six kilometers
away. With an increase in wife seclusion over the last few decades in the area south of
Maradi, women have been slowly disappearing from agriculture.
Changes in Gender Roles and Diversification of Rural Livelihoods Today

As a result of land shortage and poor farming conditions, people in Tchikaji
Gajeré and Garin J akka have increasingly relied on non-agricultural forms of livelihoods
in addition to farming— primarily labor migration, animal husbandry, trade, and working
as hired farm laborers. At the same time, these changes in household livelihood
strategies are interwoven with the introduction of wife seclusion over the past 20-27

years in these communities, significantly impacting the kinds of work that women and

men do. For example, secluded women do not work as farmers as their mothers and

134

grandmothers did, although they can be land owners or operate small businesses out of
their homes. Diversified livelihood strategies and seclusion are further elaborated on in
the following section, but I first explain how farming has changed in Garin J akka and
Tchikaji Gajeré.
Changes in Farming

Certainly the way that farming is carried out has changed considerably in recent
years, as has land ownership and control in these towns. As mentioned above, more
women and junior males today than in the past have a field that they own; however,
fewer women are farming today than in the past. How can this be? As the
gandu/gamana system has broken down and Islamic inheritance patterns have gained
acceptance in the Maradi Région, there has been a shift towards bilateral inheritance.
Today only three households of twenty-two (14%) interviewed in Garin J akka, and six of
twenty-four (25 %) interviewed in Tchikaji Gaj eré are still farming a gandu. The other
households are farming on an individual basis, or jointly with only one or two family
members. Why then are fewer women farming than in the past? Two main reasons
account for this phenomenon. First around Tchikaji Gajeré and Garin J akka, there is a
land shortage. No more bush land exists to clear new fields. David Rain reports that,
“The population of the Sahelian zone of Maradi Department grew a hundredfold in less
than a century” (1999:70). Doka and Monimart state that:

in the south of Maradi region (southern Madarounfa district and certain

areas of southern Guidan Roumji district) where population density is

greatest, the area cultivated per person shrank by nearly 50% in 25 years:

the population more than doubled (x 2.3%) and the overall area cultivated

only increased by 34%. We can therefore assume that land occupation has
almost reached saturation point in southern Niger. [200423]

135

As the population grows, the Maradi area is experiencing land shortages, leading not only
to competition over land, but also an increase in the use of hired labor, discussed further
below (De Coninck and Tinguiri 19922172; Kauck 1999: 14). Land is divided up into
smaller and smaller portions, and some people are simply unable to acquire new land. It
is often women or junior males in the family who are pushed out of their inherited land as
senior male relatives claim it, reflective of historical inheritance patterns in the area. And
women and poorer families are usually unable to acquire the resources to purchase new
land.

Table 12 lays out a summary of land ownership in the Garin J akka and Tchikaji
Gajeré samples. From this data, women in both towns clearly struggle to gain access to
land, although access to land for women in Garin J akka appears slightly more
problematic than in Tchikaji Gajeré. Garin Jakka is in a more densely populated area
than Tchikaji Gaj eré, explaining why access to land is slightly more difficult there. Also
possibly due to the larger number of gandu farms in Tchikaji Gajeré, there are a few men
who did not receive inherited land, reflecting older gandu inheritance patterns. However,
these men have been able to acquire land by other means. One can see a notable contrast
between Raynaut’s 1976 data in nearby Sumarana (Table 11) and the Garin Jakka and
Tchikaji Gajeré data (Table 12) in terms of the percentage of women who have access to
gamana plots (77 . 1 3% in Sumarana and 25% in Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gajeré).
Inherited fields, by contrast, appear to be more common for women today in Garin J akka
and Tchikaji Gajeré (41%) than in Sumarana (21.12%) several decades earlier. While
these data sets are not completely comparable for a number of reasons (i.e., community

practices can vary widely even within a small region, sample sizes are not comparable,

136

etc.), they do seem to affirm the overall trend found by other researchers who have
looked at land ownership change in the region and found that individual ownership and
single family households have become more common as gandu/gamana extended family

agriculture declines (Boubacar 2000:21, Doka 2000:6-12).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Table 12: Land Access and Ownership in Garin Jakka and Tchika 'i GajLeré92
GARIN JAKKA TCHIKAJI TOTAL
(Total of 22 GAJERE (Garin Jakka and
women and 17 men (Total of 22 Tchikaji Gajeré)
interviewed) women and 23 men
interviewed)
Women who have no access to land 13 (60%) 6 (27%) 18 (43%)
Men who have no access to land 0 0 0
Women who have inherited land"3 8 (36%) 10 (45%) 18 (41%)
Men who have inherited land 17 (100%) 19 (83%) 36 (90%)
Women farming a gamana fielcfn 3 (14%) 8 (36%) ll (25%)
Men farming a gamana field 0 2 (9%) 2 (5%)
Women who bought a field 0 l (5%) l (2%)
Men who bought a field95 4 (24%) 3 (13%) 7 (17.5%)
Women who borrowed a field 0 0 0
Men who borrowed a field 0 1 (4%) 1 (2.5%)
Women who cleared bush land for a 0 0 0
field
Men who cleared bush land for a 0 5 (22%) 5 (12.5%)
field
Women who received land as a gift 0 0 0
Men who received land as a gift (9%) 2 (5%)
Women whose responses were not 0 0 0
clear in the interview
Men whose responses were not clear 2 (12%) 1 (4%) 3 (7.5%)
in the interview96

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

92 Individuals are listed multiple times in this chart if they have more than one field.

93 This is looking only at ownership, not control or ability to farm the land oneself. These issues are
addressed filrther below.

9’ Two of the three women in Garin Jakka who have a gamana field also have an additional inherited field.
Two of the eight women with a gamana field in Tchikaj i Gajeré also have an additional inherited field.

95 All of the men who bought a field in Garin J akka also had one or two additional inherited fields. One of
the three men who bought a field in Tchikaji Gajeré does not have an inherited field. He was cheated out
of his inheritance by older siblings.

96 All of these men have other land listed in the table. It is only one piece each of their property about
which it is not clear in the interview how they acquired it.

137

In my interviews among 84 people in Garin Jakka and Tchikaji Gajeré, there are
no men who are landless, although some men from more vulnerable households have
very little land. There are, however, 13 women out of 22 (60%) interviewed in Garin
J akka, and 6 women out of 22 (27%) interviewed in Tchikaji Gajeré who have no access
to land, neither as owners nor through usufi'uct rights. All of these landless women are
secluded. And of the women with access to land in the samples, only about half in Garin
J akka and Tchikaji Gajeré have indicated that they have their own granary and control
over its contents. These women with control over their granaries can sell, eat, or give
away food stored inside at their own discretion. Therefore for about half of the women
with land, their granaries are controlled by their husbands. While a small number, 3/22
(14%) women in Garin J akka and 5/22 (23%) women in Tchikaji Gajeré from my sample
are secluded, have access to a field (although do not farm it themselves), and control the
contents of their own granary. Therefore, seclusion does not inevitably mean a woman
cannot have access to and control over agricultural resources; however, few do in
comparison to women who are not secluded.

Among all residents of Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gajeré today, only one third
(19/57) and a little over one quarter (70/246) of women still farm in these two towns,
respectively. In general, the divide between who farms and who does not is mainly
according to age. Of the nine women who have access to land in the Garin J akka sample
and the sixteen women who have access to land in the Tchikaji Gajeré sample, only three
(33%) and six (38%), respectively, actually physically farm the land themselves. In the

Garin Jakka sample, all of the women who physically do field work and have a granary

138

that is under their control are over approximately 40 years of age.97 As one Garin J akka
woman put it, “It is the old women who have land; young women don’t have any.”
However in the Tchikaji Gajeré sample, three women in their 203 farm themselves and
also control their own granaries. Three additional Tchikaji Gajeré women in their 203 do
not do field work themselves, but have their own granaries that they control. In general,
young women in these two towns have been largely cut off from economic resources
related to agriculture. However, a few young women in Tchikaji Gajeré have managed to
maintain ownership and control of agricultural resources, although some of these women
are living in quite economically vulnerable households as I describe further below.

Another factor that contributes to few young women in these towns having access
to land is that even if a woman does inherit from her parents, she does not receive the
inheritance until her parents are deceased. In contrast, sons are given property from their
parents as young men with the understanding that sons need this property to provide for
their families.

Even when women do have access to land, it is in most cases sandy jigawa land
rather than the more fertile and well-wateredfadama land (Figure 12 and 13). F adama
fields can yield two crops a year, while jigawa yields only one. Fadama fields can also
grow a wide variety of crops beyond simply the millet, sorghum, beans, peanuts, and
sesame found in most jigawa fields. Of the six women in the sample with fadama fields,
two are secluded, and two are widows; all but one are over 55 years old. So clearly there
are some opportunities for women to acquire fadama land; however by contrast, 21 men

in the sample had a fadama field.

 

97 People in these communities do not often remember their exact age, so 40 is an approximation that was
given or determined in the interview.

139

 

Figure 12: Jigawa Field in Tchikaji Gajeré in July 2004
(N o Fertilizer on Left and Animal Droppings as Fertilizer on Right)

 

. _,/"

Figure 13: Fadama Field in Tchikaji Gajeré on the
Banks of a Flood Plain in July 2004

140

The de-feminization of agriculture (Doka and Monimart 2004) that is happening
south of Maradi serves as a counter example to what is happening in other parts of the
world. For example in Da Corta and Venkateshwarlu’s study in India (1999), they found
that the feminization of agricultural labor has taken place in Andhra Pradesh as men have
benefited fi'om government economic policies and moved into other kinds of livelihoods.
Women in such cases become a cheap substitute for formerly male agricultural labor. In
Tchikaji Gaj eré and Garin J akka, by contrast, quite a different phenomenon is occurring.
Men are not necessarily moving into better livelihoods, but many are simply no longer
able to earn a living through primarily farming. And women are not substituting for lost
labor, but rather land Shortage as well as shifting class and religious identities are pushing
women out of agricultural production all together. In some cases, no substituted labor is
needed because there is no longer enough land to farm. In other cases, hired farm labor
(discussed further below) is substituting for lost labor. Women’s roles, however, are
increasingly seen less in an economically productive sense than in the past, emphasizing
mainly their reproductive role in the Maradi Region.

Seclusion, Male Headship, and Prosperity

In addition to difficulties accessing land in these towns, ideas about the pr0per
roles of men and women in Tchikaji Gaj eré and Garin Jakka have undergone important
changes over the past three decades. Rather than an agricultural arrangement that
requires women to farm in order to contribute to gandu production and provide for
themselves and their children during the dry season (as had been the model historically
and is still the case in other regions of Niger), contemporary Islamic beliefs in these

towns require husbands to be the full providers for their families year round. Men also

141

see secluding their wives at home—which means that their wives no longer farm, collect
firewood, go for water, or leave the home for any reason without the permission of their
husbands—to be part of a proper Muslim lifestyle. Husbands compensate for these work
tasks by either doing them or hiring someone else to do them.

Veiling, which can be considered a kind of portable seclusion, has also become
common and expected in Tchikaji Gajeré and Garin Jakka. Women in the past wore
small head scarves, but now-a—days a shawl over the head and upper body is wrapped on
top of this. A few women who have the means may also wear a covering that only
reveals their face, hands and feet, hiding the hairline and most of the body. Veiling is not
limited to women who are secluded, however. All married women in the Maradi Région
are expected to dress with such modesty when they are in public. Veiling, however, does
not directly limit women’s opportunities to participate in economic and political activities
as seclusion in the home does. In fact, veiling is a way that women can enter public
spaces in this cultural context while maintaining a certain level of modesty and protection
from the male gaze. Therefore while I understand a link between veiling and seclusion in
terms of protecting women fi'om the male gaze, I also differentiate the two in terms of the
effects on women’s mobility and access to resources. What concerns me in Garin Jakka
and Tchikaji Gajeré (as well as throughout the Maradi Région) is the tendency to practice
physical seclusion in the home over allowing (veiled) women to be present in public.

Two Hausa words are used for seclusion in Tchikaji Gajeré and Garin Jakka—
kuble and tsari. Kuble (or kulle in Nigerian Hausa) literally means locked up. T sari
means purdah, confinement, or imprisonment. I asked informants if there is a difference

between kuble and tsari. Most said there is no distinction. The few who did see a

142

difference explained that kuble is more strict than tsari. T sari is what is practiced in
Tchikaji Gajeré and Garin J akka, they said, because women are allowed to leave the
home with permission. By contrast, women in kuble never leave the home. Some
parallels can be drawn between these comments and Barbara Callaway’s distinction of
three kinds of seclusion around Kano. First, kullen dinga is considered the most strict
kind of seclusion, when a woman never goes out. Second, kullen tsari is less severe and
the most common in the region she studied. Women under kullen tsari can go out
occasionally with permission. Finally, kullen zuci is a seclusion of the heart that is
symbolic and allows women to move about freely. This, however, Callaway found is
only practiced among well-educated, elite women in Kano (1987: 56-7); it is not
acknowledged in Tchikaji Gajeré and Garin J akka. The less strict kullen tsari, commonly
just called kuble or tsari in Garin Jakka and Tchikaji Gajeré, is closest to what is
practiced in these communities where households struggle to make ends meet and women
are expected to participate in strong networks of gift exchange through attending birth
and marriage celebrations (biki).

Unlike the early reactions to seclusion cited above by one of the first secluded
women in Tchikaji Gajeré, seclusion is well accepted and aspired to by most people in
Garin Jakka and Tchikaji Gajeré today. And because it is now a normal part of marriage
from the outset and the rituals described above by the woman from Tchikaji Gajeré are
also part of marriage rituals, there is usually nothing special done to mark the start of
seclusion these days.

Men overwhelmingly explain that seclusion is practiced for a variety of religious

reasons, such as following the Prophet Muhammad’s example, receiving rewards from

143

God, escaping judgment, and entering paradise (Table 13). A young man in Garin J akka
told me, “God said to seclude [our wives] because things will be better. Even though it is
the rainy season, if one is doing one’s best, God will bring a fertile harvest.” The rainy
season is the hardest time to maintain seclusion, when last year’s harvest has often run
out and extra labor is needed in the fields. Without this insight into the anticipated
material blessings associated with seclusion, it seems to make little sense why men would
take on the extra burden of fully providing for their wives and children and losing free
labor on the family gandu, for those who still farm one. In this young man’s mind,
seclusion is connected to prosperity, fertility, and provision in a place where resources
are scarce. This same man from Garin Jakka also connects wife seclusion with
insufficient land. Male heads of household often find they do not have enough land to
give gamana fields to their wives and sometimes also to junior males in their household,
nor inheritance to all of their children. Wife seclusion can be a way for some men to
justify taking over ownership and/or control of much needed land from women.

Table 13: Men’s Responses: Why Do Women in Your Household Practice
Seclusion?98

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

RESPONSE NUMBER OF RESPONSES
Islam 24

Husband told her to 6

Husband’s happiness 2

Others do it 2

Not enough land for women to farmW 2

Woman’s well-being 2

That’s the way it is/has been 2

 

Furthermore, the well-being (lahiya) of the wife or husband is also acknowledged

by eight interviewees as a reason for seclusion. A secluded woman has a reduced

 

98 Top seven answers fi'om 33 men with secluded women in their households in the Tchikaji Gajeré and
Garin Jakka random samples. Each respondent may have more than one response. These responses were
freely given, not chosen fi'om a list. All other responses not listed totaled one each.

99 These responses were both in Garin Jakka, where land shortage is more acute.

144

workload and therefore less suffering (wahala). This again is linked to prosperity since,
at least in principle, her husband is able to provide for her needs and compensate for her
work. “We are happy because we remain in seclusion. We do not lack anything. With
God’s approval, we do not lack anything. Whatever you ask [your husband] to give you,
he gives you,” explained a young secluded wife in Garin J akka. Another fifty-one-year-
old secluded woman stated, “If your husband sympathizes with you, he will tell you not
to work in the fields, go to the well, and collect firewood. Just prepare food for the
children. You see how he shows sympathy and reduces the work load?” These two
women struggled with daily provisions like most others in their town but saw seclusion as
part of the solution to their suffering rather than a problem. Men are also happy having
their wife or wives protected at home from the gaze of other men.

Most women I asked in Tchikaji Gajeré and Garin J akka did not know they would
be secluded until after they were married; however, now-a-days one expects that nearly
all young women will be secluded at marriage. Nevertheless for most of the secluded
women I asked, seclusion is clearly not their choice. Why, then, do they agree to it? And
are there times when they do not? In the responses from women in my sample who are

secluded or have secluded women in their households in Garin Jakka and Tchikaji Gaj ere'
(Table 14), the reason why seclusion is practiced is most commonly attributed to the will

of the husband with religious reasons following close behind.

145

Table 14: Women’s Responses: Why Do You (or Women in Your Household)
Practice Seclusion?100

 

 

 

 

 

 

RESPONSE NUMBER OF RESPONSES
Husband told her to ~ 16
Islam 12
Woman’s well-being 4
That’s the way it is/has been 3
Others do it 3

 

 

 

 

For women, male headship is a primary reason for seclusion (Table 14). Indeed,
this society is one which has long been patriarchal, shutting women out of inheritance in
pre-Islarnic times and to some extent still today, upholding obedience to the husband as a
woman’s primary duty in marriage, and always residing in the husband’s home upon
marriage. Echoing the voices of many others in these communities, one secluded
informant in Tchikaji Gaj ere' explained to me that if you are secluded, “[Your husband]
did not put you to work in the fields. . .he has put you to work at home.” Obedience to
one’s husband and other superiors in this hierarchical society can ensure the well-being
of a woman and her children. In part, this means being provided for materially, but can
also include having the husband’s support in decision making, conflicts, and obtaining
information. Marriage in Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gajeré is understood as a
reciprocation of rights and duties. Residents clearly and consistently stated to me in
interviews that a woman’s main duty (and a man’s right) in marriage is obedience to her
husband, while a man’s main duty (and a woman’s right) is to provide for his wife or

wives. Seclusion is often a part of maintaining this relationship as obedience to the will

 

'00 Top five answers from 36 women who are secluded or have secluded women in their households in the
Tchikaji Gajeré and Garin Jakka random samples. Each respondent may have more than one response.
These responses were freely given, not chosen from a list All other responses not listed totaled one each.

146

of the husband appears prominently in both men and women’s responses to why
seclusion is practiced (Tables 13 and 14).

Women also connect seclusion with Islam. Some women interviewed specifically
associate seclusion with earning salvation for the wife and husband, receiving rewards
fi'om God, and being a command in Islam. However in general, women’s access to
education and knowledge about Islam is very limited, reflecting its lower ranking among
women as a reason for seclusion in comparison to men (Tables 13 and 14). I will return
to the issue of education firrther below.

Even under this patriarchal structure, however, one sees that women find ways of
resisting and bending the rules when seclusion and obedience do not suit them. With
men gone much of the day and sometimes for longer stretches of time, secluded women
can hop from house to house relatively unnoticed. These times at home without the men
can be extremely playful, as can moments when husbands are home. For example one
day several young secluded women in Garin J akka gathered in a neighbor’s compound to
dress up in men’s clothing to make me laugh while the men were away. This
transgression into male dress and behavior was a way of pushing boundaries and stepping
outside of proper social roles for these young secluded women. In a home in Tchikaji
Gajeré, I witnessed the playful banter of a young secluded woman with her serious
husband one night:

When Ali came home, A’ishatou started a debate with him. She said She

was too busy doing work to pray five times a day. All said she didn’t have

the kind of work that she couldn’t stop and pray. She listed off all the

work she had done today--pounding, sweeping, cooking, and “I ate a

mango,” She said with a smirk. I laughed at her sense of humor and

playfulness. She walked off a minute, and Ali turned to his relative who

was there beside him. “I keep preaching to her and preaching to her, but
she doesn’t listen. I relieve myself of my obligation to educate her.

147

That’s all I can do!” he said. When she returned, Ali and A’ishatou went

on and on arguing about this for a while. It was a very spirited argument.

Ali was quite serious about doing the right thing. A’ishatou was in an

argumentative and joking mood. In the end when everyone except for

A’ishatou and me had left the compound, she did her prayers, although

they were late. [Field Notes May 17, 2004]
I also found that A’ishatou left her home during the day on several occasions while I was
staying in Tchikaji Gaj eré without informing her husband of where she was going. This
situation was not unique. I occasionally found secluded women in other people’s homes
during the day or going on errands outside of the home, such as to get water or grass for
the animals. Sometimes this was with the husband’s knowledge and permission, but not
always. This kind of movement was at times noticed by neighbors, but usually assumed
to be necessary or with the husband’s permission that the woman went out. An overtly
resistant secluded wife who insisted on leaving the home without her husband’s
permission and without a good reason could be punished by her husband, though.
However, it is also important to note that bending the rules in seclusion is not only due to
resistance from women, but poverty, age, and religious stature all also play an important
role in if and how seclusion is practiced.
Poverty, Age, and Religious Stature as Factors in Seclusion

Many households in Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gaj eré cannot feed themselves by
farming throughout the whole year and have sought other livelihood strategies such as
seasonal labor migration to supplement household income. Seasonal migration has made
it extremely difficult for some families to live up to the ideals of seclusion. However
contrary to Alidou’s assertion that “poor” (i.e., non-middle class and rich) families in

Niger cannot afford to practice any form of seclusion (2005234), many do make it happen

in very difficult economic circumstances. Nevertheless, several male interviewees

148

explained to me that they used to seclude their wives but simply cannot afford to do so
any longer. When men are gone from home looking for work for weeks or months at a
time, they are unable to always ensure that water and wood are brought home for daily
needs and sometimes also need their wife/wives’ help in the fields while they are gone.
Several secluded women shared with me their desperate situation of needing food or
medicine while their husbands were away. Many times, however, other relatives can help
with basic necessities so that seclusion can be maintained. Several men who cannot
seclude their wives for financial reasons told me they hope God will bless them with
enough wealth to do it in the future. One of these men with two wives explained, “We
keep asking God to bring us prosperity (falala) to return them [to seclusion].” Seclusion
is indeed a marker of prosperity and blessings from God. At the same time, it is practiced
by poor families when possible in order to gain God’s blessings.

Age also is an important factor in who is and is not secluded and how strictly
seclusion is practiced. In general, most women of child-bearing years are secluded, and
most who are older are not secluded in Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gajeré. This has to do
with two main factors. First, seclusion is only about 20-27 years old in these towns, so
some of the older generation never adopted the practice. Second, seclusion is a way of
separating young, attractive women from the gaze of men in public. Once a woman is
older, loosing some of her sexual appeal to most men and no longer at risk of bearing a
child outside of maniage, she often gains more freedom to move about in public.

However, there are certainly exceptions to this as are evident in Table 15 and 16.

I49

Table 15: Ag and Seclusion in the Garin Jakka Random Sample of 22 Women

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Under 20-29 30-40 41-51 52 years
20 Bars years years years and older
Secluded 3/3 7/ 7 4/5 2/2 None
Not Secluded None None 1/5 None 5/5
Table 16: Age and Seclusion in the Tchika'i Gajeré Random Sample of 22 Women
Under 20-29 30-40 41-51 52 years
20 years years years gears and older
Secluded 2/2 5/9 5/6 1/2 3/3
Not Secluded None 4/9 ‘0‘ 1/6 1/2 None

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Garin J akka data on age distribution and seclusion came out as I had expected
(Table 15). Only one of the women in the sample under 52 years old is not secluded.
Furthermore, she was unsure of her age and may in fact be older.102 Also, two of the
women under 30 years old who are secluded also explained that there are times when
they must go out for water if their husbands are either away or sick. Therefore, economic
factors are also clearly at play in whether and how one practices seclusion in Garin J akka,
although age is indeed a strong factor in this group of women.

The data in Tchikaji Gaj eré are more surprising when one only looks at the
numbers in Table 16, which make age appear as a less important factor that in Garin
Jakka. The number of women under 52 in the sample who are not secluded is higher than
in Garin Jakka, even though a greater overall percentage of women (about 75%) do not
farm in Tchikaji Gaj eré. Furthermore, four out of five of the women over 40 years old
are secluded. A closer look at these case studies reveals other important factors affecting

seclusion in these women’s lives.

 

'0' Three of these four have their own granary that they control.

'02 Judging by the approximate age of her children, the youngest she could be is mid- to late thirties. It is
important to keep in mind that in nearly all cases, age is an estimate since most people do not remember the
year they were born nor keep track of their age by counting the years.

150

First, one of the women not secluded in the 20-29 age group is from the only
household that I did not choose randomly. I included her in the sample because she was
the sole female head of household in Tchikaji Gajeré. She had been secluded until her
husband got sick in 2003 and passed away in 2004. She farmed for the first time in her
life in 2003 and 2004. Within a few months after the interview, she had already
remarried; however, it was too soon to tell if she would continue to farm the following
year or not. The second woman in this group used to be secluded, but no longer is
because she has to help with the farming when her husband is away working in another
town. The third aspires to be secluded, but she also has to help her husband with the farm
work. And the husband of the fourth intends to seclude her in the future.

Among the secluded women over 45 years old in the Tchikaji Gajeré sample, two
are married to two of the very few men who have made the hajj from this town. Another
is the wife of an Islamic teacher. These exceptions to what one would expect to find in
terms of age not only accentuate the difficulty of practicing seclusion in households that
are struggling economically, but also suggest that certain men with considerable religious
training or stature make an effort to seclude their wives even beyond childbearing years.
Other Livelihood Strategies

Lack of sufficient farm land and the exit of women from agriculture have led to a
diversification of livelihoods in most households, including the increasing importance of
seasonal migrant labor, animal husbandry, trade, and hired farm labor. Migration is not a
new livelihood strategy in Garin Jakka and Tchikaji Gajeré. However, community
members agree that it has been used increasingly over about the past 30 years. Today in

Garin J akka, sixteen of twenty households interviewed (80%) have men who migrate

151

during part of the year. Most of them go to Kano and work as butchers (Table 17). In
Tchikaji Gaj eré, fourteen of twenty-two households interviewed (64%) have men who
migrate during part of the year. They are more varied in terms of their migration
destinations and types of work than the men in Garin J akka are (Table 17). In all cases, it
is exclusively the men who are the migrants. A few men in the Maradi Région have
started to take their wives with them when they migrate, but this is not common in Garin
Jakka and Tchikaji Gajeré.

Table 17: Mijration of Men from Garin Jakka and Tchika'i Gajeré

GARIN JAKKA TCHIKAJI GAJERE
Number of Households with 16/20 (80%) 14/22 (64%)

Migrant Workers out of the Total
Number Interviewed103

 

 

 

 

Most Common Destination of Kano Kontagora, Nigeria
Migrants (14 responses) (9 responses)
Most Common Occupation of the Butchers Most answers are

Migrants While Away from Home (13 responses) different. Six
respondents, however,
Hired field labor said transporting water
(7 responses) to people’s homes.

 

Most Common Amount of Time 1-4 months 1-4 months
Away from Home

 

 

 

 

 

The changing constructions of masculinity and femininity in Garin J akka and
Tchikaji Gajeré are linked to the long periods of time that large numbers of men from
these towns spend in northern Nigeria. Wife seclusion has become the norm throughout
northern Nigeria as mentioned above, particularly in urban areas where Ni gerien migrants
congregate, and is linked to class and Islamic identity. Many Ni gerien migrants to places

like Kano and Kontagora in northern Nigeria combine work with religious studies under

 

'03 In both communities, there were two households that had conflicting responses from the male and
female informants. These were left out of the total number of interviewed households shown here.

152

Muslim scholars who emphasize the seclusion of women and the responsibility of men to
provide for their families.

Also worth some attention, most migrants from Garin Jakka work as butchers and
many have inherited the trade. In Hausa society, butchers are considered of a lower class
than most other trades. In future research, it would be worth exploring how this class
identity affects the way residents of Garin J akka are seen by others and by themselves in
Nigeria as migrants.

In addition to labor migration, animal husbandry, trade, and working as hired field
laborers near home are all options open to men for additional income to supplement
agriculture. Women have more limited options, focused on raising small livestock,
selling food stuffs, and marriage and birth gifts.

Two-thirds of the women in the Garin Jakka sample and a little more than three
quarters of the women in the Tchikaji Gaj ere sample have their own animals.104 All of
these animals are sheep and goats except for one bull/cow, and the women interviewed
have between one and six animals each (Table 18). Keeping small livestock in the home
is a type of livelihood more compatible with seclusion than farming. Also, women
frequently get small livestock as part of their sadaki (gifts given from the groom to the
bride and her family when they many). Some women keep these animals for years after
their marriage. In general, men rather than women tend to keep the cattle, which are used

for plowing and hauling (Table 19).

 

'04 This does not include women who are taking care of an animal owned by someone else.

153

Table 18: Number of Women Who Own the Following Animals in the Garin Jakka
and Tchikaji Gajeré Samples

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Garin J akka Tchikaji Gajeré Total

2 (out of 22 women) (out of 22 women) (out of 44 women)
Cattle 1 0 1

Goats 13 12 25

Donkeys O 0 0

Sheep 4 6 10

None 7 2 9

No data 0 2 2

 

 

 

 

 

 

Table 19: Number of Men Who Own the Following Animals in the Garin J akka and
Tchikaji Gajeré Samples

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Garin Jakka Tchikaji Gajeré Total
(out of 17 men) (out of 23 men) (out of 40 meg)
Cattle“ 5 8 13
Goats 2 3 5
Donkeys 1 1 2
Sheep 3 7 10
None 9 7 16
No data 0 l 1

 

 

 

 

 

 

Women who manage to acquire a little capital, often make food stuffs to sell, such
as tuwo,m6 sauces, firm, I 07 seasonings, and fiied cakes. The income from these is not as
much as one gets from farming, however. For example a woman in Garin Jakka said that
she can make about 20 naira108 (US$0.14) in profit from selling a batch of fura. Another
who sells seasonings said she makes about 5-10 naira (U SS0.04—$0.07) a day. By
comparison, the average price for a bowl'09 of millet grain in the Maradi Région in 2003
was 310 CFAl '0 (U S$0.58).1 11 The slightly more lucrative peanut processing for oil and

flied peanut butter balls is usually dominated by older women in these communities.

Furthermore, about half (50%) of the women in the Garin J akka sample and one-third

 

'05 These are mostly owned in pairs.

'06 T uwo is a sticky mixture of millet flour and water, and the staple food for this area.

'07 Fura is a thick drink made fi'om millet that people in Niger consume daily.

'08 The 2004 exchange rate was approximately 140 naira to one US dollar.

'09 The measure is a bowl called a tiya.

”0 The rate of exchange for dollars to CF A in 2004 was about one dollar to 530 CF A.

“' Price of millet from CARE NER 051’s Annual Report (CARE-International au Niger 2004a).

154

(33%) of the women in the Tchikaji Gajeré sample did not have any trade or small
business going on at the time of interview. Nine out of 21 women in Garin J akka and one
out of 21 women in Tchikaji Gajeré for whom I have data112 had no land, no trade, and
are secluded. Women in Tchikaji Gaj eré, generally speaking, have a little more access to
land and a trade than women in Garin Jakka. In both towns it tends to be young women
who have no trade.

Women used to spin cotton and weave textiles in the Maradi region in the late 19th
and early 20th centuries. However during the colonial period as trade was monopolized
by European trading houses and the Alhazai, women’s former production of and trade in
textiles declined (B. Cooper 1997:53, 98, 103). Today while some elderly women still
talk about the cloth that used to be produced years ago, one finds people in Garin Jakka
and Tchikaji Gaj eré wearing only imported fabrics. No one in these towns makes cloth
anymore.

The options open to men for trade and small business in Garin J akka and Tchikaji
Gajeré are quite different from those open to women. Men engage in supplementary
income generating activities such as butchery, construction, trading animals, running
convenience stores, sewing, blacksmith work, and selling secondhand clothes. In
general, these activities deal with higher priced commodities than women’s income
generating activities. Furthermore, only 25% of the men in the Garin Jakka sample and
about 40% of the men in the Tchikaji Gajeré sample did not have a trade at the time of

interview.

 

”2 Part of the data is missing for one woman in Tchikaji Gajeré and one woman in Garin Jakka in my tapes
and transcripts.

155

Men and some women hire laborers to work in their fields (‘yan barema). Some
residents of Garin Jakka and Tchikaji Gaj eré also work as hired field laborers.
Inforrnants say that the use of hired laborers has increased over the last three decades.
Laborers are usually hired for either a morning or an afternoon of work. In 2004, rates
ranged fiom 100-300 naira (US$0.71 - $2.14) for mornings and 50-100 naira (US$0.36 -
$0.71) for afternoons, depending on the time of year. Very few women are hired as field.
laborers. Those who are, tend to be hired by elderly women who pay less for women
laborers than for men. These women justify the pay difference by claiming that men are
stronger and work harder than the women. All in all, few women hire and few women
work as hired laborers. For many men, this is an opportunity to earn some extra money
as needed, or relieve themselves of farming duties when they have a little extra cash.
Twelve (71%) and thirteen (57%) sampled men use hired laborers in Garin J akka and
Tchikaji Gajeré, respectively. Three (14%) and six (27%) sampled women use hired
labor in Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gaj eré, respectively (Table 20). Rather than hiring
field laborers, the husband and/or children of a secluded woman with land more
commonly farm it for her.

Table 20: Interviewees Who Hire Laborers to Work in Their Fields

 

 

 

 

 

 

Garin Jakka Garin Jakka Tchikaji Tchikaji
(out of 17 (out of 22 Gajeré Gajeré
men) women) (out of 23 (out of 22
men) women)
Hire male 12 (71 %) 1 (4.5%) 13 (57%) 5 (23%)
laborers
Hire female 0 2 (9%) 0 2 (9%) ”3
laborers
No data 0 0 l (4%) 1 (5%)

 

 

 

 

 

 

” 3 One of these women also hires male laborers sometimes, so she is included in both categories.

156

From talking with residents of Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gajeré about hiring men
versus women as laborers, it is clear men and women do not work together in a field.
Women who hire men do not work alongside the men, even if those women normally
farm. And men, whether present or not, would never hire women to work in their fields.
This is one more example of the separation of men and women’s space in this society.

One might speculate that hired labor supplements dispersed and lost labor on the
gandu. Indeed, all gandu households in my Garin Jakka and Tchikaji Gajeré samples use
hired labor. This suggests that those families are in need of extra help to keep up large
farms, especially since interviewed women in all of these homes are no longer
contributing to field work and young men are often away from home looking for work.
Hired labor, however, is not limited to gandu households. Some households who operate
outside of a gandu also use hired labor, and some do not. This varies depending on
whether or not one has cash on hand and a need to hire laborers. Some men who are not
part of a gandu still have large amounts of land to manage on their own. Other men are
away for a time looking for work in other towns, so they hire laborers to work in their
fields at home. And some women are secluded or live alone and are too old to do all
necessary field work, so they rely on hired laborers to work for them if they have the
means.

Finally, women rely on gifts from their parents—kayan daki—at marriage as a
kind of savings, as well as gifts from other women at their marriage and children’s birth
celebrations (biki) for capital. Kayan daki gifts commonly include enamel pots, bed
fi'ames, mattresses, cupboards, and bedding. For a young married woman, they are an

important source of wealth and savings. In the case of divorce, they are considered her

157

property and can be sold in times of great need. As women get older, however, these
gifts wear out or are given to younger sisters when they marry. For a biki, a woman in
these communities can get a total of anywhere from about 3,000 to 10,000 CF A
(US$5.66 to $18.87) as gifts from celebration guests, not to mention gifts of food that
they bring. The woman who receives these gifts will carefirlly observe how much each
woman gives her because she will be expected to return the gift in a greater amount
(usually double) at that woman’s biki.

While kayan daki, biki gifts, selling food stuff, and raising a few small livestock
are important sources of wealth for secluded women with no access to or control of land,
they do not rival the income generating opportunities available to men. As women are
being increasingly pushed out of agriculture in this region and have few alternative
income generating activities available to them, they must rely on their husbands to
provide for most of their daily needs in a very precarious economic environment where
men also struggle to make ends meet.

Women’s Access to Education and Information

In addition to access to material resources, access to information and the right to
participate in community and household decision making remain challenges for women
in Garin Jakka and Tchikaji Gajeré. As I discussed education (karatu) and upbringing
(tarbiya) with the 84 interviewees, there was a clear consensus that adult men are taught
these things by an Islamic teacher (malam), while adult women are taught them by her
husband. It is not hard to see how difficult it would be for a woman to contradict her
husband or participate in debate as his equal when her information is being primarily

filtered through him. In addition, most girls only have at most a couple of years of

158

Koranic school before getting married. In contrast, most men have had more Koranic
study (some into adulthood) and an enormous edge over women in terms of Islamic
knowledge. ' Those women with religious knowledge of bori healing keep this secret as it
is frowned upon publicly as un-Islarnic in these communities, even though a number of
women still practice it quietly. No one in Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gajeré personally
admitted to practicing bori, although a few acknowledged there are a couple of people in
these towns who participate. This is in stark contrast to other towns I have spent time in
south of Maradi where women are forthright about their involvement in bori and have
even invited me to participate in it.

Few boys or girls from these towns get any kind of state-sponsored education.
However, Tchikaji Gaj eré does share a small primary school with the neighboring town
of Ai'na. Boy to girl ratios in the school are relatively equal, which is typical of schools
receiving aid fiom UNICEF and demonstrates a partial commitment to the second and
third Millennium Development Goals.”4 In the Tchikaji Gajeré school, I was pleased to
find some very bright students with a good senior teacher. All but one of the students
passed their exams in 2004 to proceed from primary school on to college. I 15 This success
seems to be largely due to the teacher, whose students at past posts have also been very
successful. Garin Jakka, however, has no state-sponsored school. A few boys from
Garin Jakka travel daily to ‘dan Issa for primary school. No girls attend a state-Sponsored

school from Garin Jakka, although one girl goes to a private medersa’w in ‘dan Issa.

 

”4 These read, “Achieve universal primary education: Ensure that all boys and girls complete a full course
of primary schooling” and “Promote gender equality and empower women: Eliminate gender disparity in
primary and secondary education, preferany by 2005, and at all levels by 2015.”

’5 College is middle school (7‘11 through 10 year).
”6 School that combines French and Arabic.

159

Unfortunately none of the students from Garin Jakka I have spent time with have much

ability in French, Arabic, or Hausa reading comprehension.

  
   

lgure l4: Pmriary SocholBeing for Students from
' Tchikaji Gajeré and Aina'17

 

Many girls are kept from attending school in Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gajeré
because their families expect to marry them early and therefore do not see the need to
educate them. The average age of marriage for girls in the Maradi Région is 14.9 years
(Magagi 2002), although some many as early as 10 years old. Furthermore, women and
girls are not encouraged to travel to other towns to study as boys are and therefore limited
to opportunities in their communities of residence. Alidou, speaking of Nigerien parents’

opposition to sending daughters away from home for schooling, writes:

 

”7 In 2004, students met in rooms made out of millet stalks, which used to lie in front of this building
before being destroyed by a heavy rain.

160

Their opposition is tied to the strong determination to control female
sexuality, to groom female children for early marriage, and to prevent
childbearing out of wedlock. Consequently, parental objection to long-
distance commuting for education also leads to early female dropout.
[2005174]

There is an additional complication. Women—especially secluded women—are

”8 to help them sell

dependant on their young daughters or other young female relatives
the food that they make. At sun up and sun down, the streets in both towns are filled with
young girls selling food made by their mothers. Some even send their daughters to ‘dan

Issa for the day to sell their products. A woman in one of my towns of research had been

given the nickname “T allo” by her mother because she was so happy to finally have a

daughter who could do talla (selling goods) for her after bearing several sons.

 

Figure 15: Girls Selling Their Mothers’ Food in
Tchikaji Gajeré Surrounded by Some Boys

 

”8 Occasionally a boy is used for this purpose, but in most cases it is a girl.

161

In addition to the lack of religious and secular formal education for most girls,
men in these towns tend to dominate radios and discuSsions with visiting politicians,
government workers, religious scholars, and NGOS. For example, I was present in both
towns during the 2004 campaigning for municipal elections. When party members came
to talk to the communities about their candidates, no women came out of their homes to
attend the meetings (Figure 16). In general, women rarely come out for community
meetings, unless specifically provoked to do so by, for example, an NGO. Even then,
one is likely to get mostly older women for such a meeting. Segregation of men and
women in this society makes it very difficult for women—whether secluded or not—to
access information shared in male circles. These rural women do not have the
opportunities to engage in the public space through means such as writing and the radio
that well-educated and middle/upper class secluded women in Niger can (Alidou 2005:
33-56). And going to the well and working in the fields, common ways that women
exchange news, are tasks no longer performed by secluded women on a daily basis.

Despite these difficult circumstances for women, there is potential for change. An
Islamic teacher in Tchikaji Gajeré shared with me that within understandings of Islam in
their society, an educated man or woman is recognized as having the right to speak in
his/her community and household. If women had more and equal access to education—
especially Koranic studies—they could gain respect and a stronger voice in their
communities. Women’s right to education within Islam is, in principle, accepted by
many Muslim scholars and communities worldwide. In fact, northern Nigeria has a
tradition of prominent women Muslim scholars, such as Nana Asma’u, daughter of Shehu

Usman ‘dan Fodio (Mack and Boyd 2000), and Hajiya Iya and Umma Makaranta of the

162

H 9 (Hutson 1999). The life of a nationally prominent Nigerien Muslim

Kano Tijaniyya
female scholar Malama A’ishatou Hamani Zarrnakoy Dancandu has also been

documented by Ousseina Alidou (2005).

 

Figure 16: Political Campaigning in Garin Jakka for the July 2004 Elections
(No Women Came out to Hear Them Speak)

Power Relations and Hierarchies in the Maradi Region

Even though there are continuities between many regions of the world in terms of
European colonization and Islarnization, these have had different impacts on social
structures and hierarchies in various places, developing unique histories. The following
section looks at how these social structures and hierarchies have developed in the Maradi
Région, setting the stage for a discussion in Chapter Six on power dynamics in contexts

where CARE and UNICEF intervene.

 

”9 Tijaniyya is a Muslim Sufi order, common in Nigeria and Niger.

I63

Marriage

After looking at the data on gender in Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gajeré presented
in this chapter, it is clear that economic, political, religious, and marital power are not
equal between men and women in Tchikaji Gajeré and Garin J akka. Men have access to
resources that most women do not, especially secluded women. Women, however, have
the right to expect that their husbands will support them. It is, therefore, important to
look at the reciprocal nature of husband-wife relationships to fully understand what is
going on here.

A strong societal pressure exists for a woman to be married. For example, my 34
year old female Nigerien colleague who was divorced and worked as a CARE field agent
was frequently told she needed to get married with great urgency. The only female
headed households in Garin Jakka are headed by widows who are elderly. As mentioned
above, the only female head of household in Tchikaji Gaj eré was quick to rernarry before
I completed my field work in 2004.120 Marriage is vital not only to a woman’s good
reputation in these communities, but also to provide for her basic necessities.
Historically, single women in the Maradi region could live together as karuwai
(courtesans) without marrying; however, single women have increasingly come under
attack in recent years in Maradi as mentioned in Chapter One (B. Cooper 2002). In rural
towns such as Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gaj eré, one does not find a home for karuwai,
although they still exist in Maradi. The only women who are socially permitted to live as

singles in Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gajeré are a couple of elderly women. Other

 

'20 Her mother-in-law and daughter lived with her in her deceased husband’s home prior to remanying.

164

unmarried women (whether divorced or never married) normally live with farrrily until
(re)rnarried.

Within marriage, people in Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gajeré understand clear
rights and duties of the husband and wife. These were clearly and consistently articulated
by informants in their interviews when asked about them. As mentioned above, husbands
have the duty to provide for their wife/wives’ necessities, including food, water, fire
wood, clothing, housing, and beauty products. Some also acknowledge the duty of a
husband to educate his wife/wives about Islam and provide money or food for gift
exchanges with other women at marriage and birth celebrations. Women in turn have the
right to expect these things, and are obliged to obey their husband first and foremost.
Women are also expected to prepare and cook food for the family, bring the husband
water for prayer and bathing, and greet the husband each day. As one Garin J akka
woman, who I asked about her duties in marriage, put it, “What [your husband] says to
stop, you stop. What he says to do, you get up and do for him.”

Age and Status

My data have demonstrated that although gender roles and identities have
changed over time, gender has been and remains an important (although not the only)
marker of social hierarchy in the Maradi Région. Age also helps determine one’s status
in this region, although perhaps to a greater extent in the past than is the case today. For
example in the past, only the eldest males owned and managed land. Today in Tchikaji
Gajeré and Garin J akka, all men have access to land that they own as do some women.
Although age has become less critical in terms of property ownership these days, age

remains important in other ways. As mentioned above, age is related to women’s

165

mobility. Also in Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gajeré, younger community members kneel
to greet older community members, regardless of gender. This practice has been lost to
some extent in towns such as Maradi. However, respect for and obedience to one’s
elders is a strongly held cultural value throughout the Maradi Région.
Sarauta, Alhazai, and T alakawa

People in Tchikaji Gajeré and Garin J akka consider themselves to be talakawa

121 and

(commoners, farmers, and non-royalty). T alakawa are subject to sarauta (royalty)
sometimes Alhazai (wealthy traders) around them, and they are accustomed to serving
these people of higher rank, although not without the expectation of something in return.
AS in marriage, these relationships are reciprocal, even though they are hierarchical and
sometimes exploitative. As with a wife and husband, talakawa and Alhazai or sarakai
(members of the royal family) have certain rights and duties to one another in this
society. Maradi historian Mahamane Addo, writing of the 19th century Maradi Katsina
kingdom, also links the relationship of the sarki (king)122 and the subjects of his kingdom
with that of a husband and wife:

The sarauta order can be explained, to a certain extent, as the act of

marriage between the king as husband of Katsinaland and the kingdom.

That which makes possible bringing the union of the king and his kingdom

together is the union that governs the relationship between a groom and

bride. The relationship between the role of king and the role of husband is

evident in the mentality of Katsinawa people. The king is the master of

the kingdom as the husband is the master of the home. [Addo 2003:169-7,
my translation]

 

121 Garin Jakka and Tchikaji Gajeré are a part of the Katsinawa kingdom with its palace and royal family
based in Maradi. Kingdoms are also divided into cantons with a lesser king as head of each.

122 A sarki is always male. There is also the position of sarauniya (queen); however, she is not the wife,
but a relative of the sarki. Her power and duties are mainly within the royal family, unlike the Iya or Inna,
whose authority extends throughout the kingdom.

166

Nicolas also notes that the Sarkin Gobir is called mijin ‘kasa (husband of the kingdom)
(19692217). Furthermore, talakawa have the right to expect certain duties of sarauta.
For example, they are called on to resolve conflicts and expected to give gifts on
occasion. At the same time, talakawa have the duty of paying tribute to the sarauta
through, for example, gifts of food at the harvest or participating in collective work for a

,123 although less so today than in the past (Olivier de Sardan

sarki at the canton level
1999:144-145). Sarauta in Maradi or Gobir also serve a spiritual role to interact with

Spirits of the land to ensure the health and fertility of the kingdom (Nicolas 19692220).

 

 

'23 A canton is a collection of towns with a lesser sarki under the authority of the sarki of the entire
kingdom. For example, the kingdom of Gobir is divided up into five cantons: Guidan Roumji, Chadakori,
Guidan Sori, Saé Saboua, and the Tibiri commune (the capital). Each of these cantons has a sarki who is
subject to the sarki in Gobir.

167

I differentiate sarauta from mai gari, or town head (who I discuss further below).
In this region, a mai gari is not considered a sarki. Within the sarauta, I also differentiate
the sarki who governs the kingdom from the various sarakai (plural of sarki) in charge of
the cantons under his authority. The French call the mai gari, canton sarki, and the sarki
of the kingdom all the “chefibrie.” It is evident, however, that they are not the same, nor
were they all historically present in this region as the French actually created the cantons
and the position of chef de canton in the colonial era (Lund 1998266; Olivier de Sardan
19992141). For this reason, I am using Hausa terms as much as possibly in describing
these groups, as this better differentiates their roles than the French and English terms
chef and chief.

Although sarauta usually means royalty, it can also be used more broadly to
encompass people with regional or national administrative or leadership positions. For
example, I was asked by the mai gari in Garin J akka if I was taking up sarauta work.
When I asked more specifically what he meant, he gave the example of being a customs
official or some such position in the government. Members of royal families can, but do
not always, serve in such government positions, as I point out further below. So he was
indeed associating sarauta with something larger than just royalty. This broader
definition of sarauta has important implications for project and government employees, a
topic which I will return to in the next chapter.

Similar kinds of hierarchical reciprocity also exist between Alhazai and talakawa.
The Alhazai, already mentioned above, are a particular group of merchants who arose in
Maradi with a strong Muslim identity and trade networks. Gregoire explains that Alhazai

are patrons who have servants/dependents (barori). He writes:

168

The dependents (barori) are the first to receive favors (alheri) from the

Alhazai, and the number of dependents provides one measure of an

Alhaji’s actual commercial networks. The Alhazai also give away part of

their wealth in the form of gifts and assistance (saddaka) to the poor, the

sick, and those down on their luck (arziki). [Gregoire 19922148]
Literally, barori means slaves. However, these dependents are not slaves in the historical
sense, as slavery is technically illegal in Niger today.124 This relationship between
Alhazai and barori is, however, reminiscent of former master-slave relationships
common in the Maradi region (Gregoire 1992254). The dependents of Alhazai are a
particular group of talakawa. Alhazai sometimes make generous gifts to talakawa—both
to their dependents and the larger community—earning them respect and status. There
are no Alhazai of the type that Gregoire discusses who live in Garin Jakka and Tchikaji
Gaj eré. However, residents of these towns encounter Alhazai when in Maradi or other
urban settings as migrants. And while they have not directly benefited as a community
from an Alhaji’s gift, they know of the gifts other rural towns receive on occasion from

Alhazai and hope to one day receive their own.

F onctionnaires, the Colonial Legacy, and Development

Colonialism in Niger Significantly altered the power of the sarauta and created
spaces for new kinds of elites to develop, such as the Alhazai described above and

’25) who work in government administration and are

fonctionnaires (also called évolués
educated in French-style schools. During the colonial period, having a French education
came to be more important to entering the colonial governing structures than the claim of

being a member of the sarauta. French educated elites eventually began replacing

sarakai as intermediaries between French colonial administrators and Ni geriens. These

 

'24 Slavery does still exist in some parts of Niger (although not in this particular context), even though this
has been denied by the current Nigerien administration.
"5 In Fuglestad 1983.

169

French educated intermediaries were part of the new fonctionnaire class that was rising in
fiancophone West Afiica and would be instrumental in colonial and post-colonial
governance. As mentioned in Chapter Three in Niger, primarily certain Zerma/Songhays
were trained by the French as the first fonctionnaires. Over time, however, the
fonctionnaires came to slowly include a more ethnically diverse group of Nigeriens who
had been French educated and groomed for administrative jobs. Some members of the
Katsina and Gobir royal families near Maradi have entered into this group (B. Cooper
19972112) as have some talakawa and former slaves (Fuglestad 1983:191-2).

As the non-governmental development sector has expanded in Niger especially
since the return to democracy in 1999 and because the government has downsized under
SAPS, many fonctionnaires have moved into private sector development work. Thus,
employees of development organizations such as UNICEF and CARE as well as their
government collaborators fit within this designation as fonctionnaires. In the minds of
residents of Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gaj eré these days, the boundaries of sarauta and
fonctionnaires are sometimes blurred as both groups do administrative work, are
relatively wealthy compared to them, and have some kind of authority over talakawa. I

will return to this discussion in Chapter Six.
Mai gari in Garin Jakka and T chikaji Gajeré

In a rural town, a mai gari (always male) can carry a good deal of weight in his
community. Niger was, until communes were formed country-wide in 2004, the only
remaining country in West Africa where “traditional chiefs” were the sole authorities
below the then-arrondissement level (Olivier de Sardan 19992140-1). These “traditional”

authorities for towns (mai gari) and cantons (sarki) deal with issues such as conflict

170

resolution, tax collection, and land distribution. That said, these Nigerien “chiefs” note
that their power and status has been diminished over the years. Compared to their
counterparts in northern Nigeria, they feel poor and as if they have little influence.

In Garin J akka, the mai gari is by no means the wealthiest person in town,
although he is part of one of the four original families who founded Garin Jakka. He, his
two wives, and several sons (one of whom is married with no children as of 2004) reside
together in a compound of average size and condition. Like most people in this town,
members of this household own no special tools for agriculture and food processing
beyond the usual hoes, ax, mortar, and pestle. They do have two bulls for plowing,
however. The mai gari has two average size fields, no money for commercial fertilizers,
and his harvest only fed them for ten months the previous year. In comparison, one man
in this town has six fields and a few others own income generating equipment such as
peanut shellers, grinding machines, and motorcycles.

The mai gari in Tchikaji Gajeré is. also a descendent of the town’s founder,
although men from three other kin groups were mai gari at certain points in history. He
lives in a compound with one wife, two sons (one of whom spends part of the year in
Nigeria), a daughter-in—law, and a grandson. His other wife lives in another part of town
with one of their grown sons. The mai gari and his brothers have relatively good land
(some fadama land included), and he has eight fields that he farms with his sons, some of
which are quite large. In general, residents of Tchikaji Gajeré have more land than
residents of Garin Jakka; nevertheless, the mai gari is among those individuals with the
most land in his town. He too has bulls to plow the fields, although no other special

income generating equipment. The mai gari is relatively well off in this town, although

171

he too copes with frequent drought and no money for fertilizer. Neither he nor the mai
gari in Garin Jakka have made the hajj, although eleven people (nine men and two
women) in Tchikaji Gajeré and five people (at least two of these are women) in Garin

J akka126 have found the means to make the hajj. Both the mai gari of Garin J akka and
Tchikaji Gaj eré are quite influential in community decisions. However, other community

members, including women, also have considerable power in these towns.
Women with Power in Garin Jakka and T chikaji Gajeré

Within the hierarchies discussed thus far, women have various positionings. I
have already mentioned the effects of class status, education and training, and age on a
woman’s positioning. However, there are also certain roles that women can have in
T chikaji Gaj eré and Garin J akka that affect their social standing in the household and
community. First, being the senior wife is a position of power within the household. Her
title is uwar gida, or the mother of the home. Her co-wife/wives are called kishiya
(kishiyoyi, plural), which translates literally “the jealous one.” In extended family
households, mother-in-laws also hold a higher rank over wives of their son(s).

Each town in the Maradi Région has a woman designated ‘Kungiya. ‘Kungiya in
a general sense means a committee or association. However, it is also a title given to the
leader of women in each town. ‘Kungiya as a leadership position was a tool of Seyni
Kountché’s regime to mobilize women through the national women’s association AFN in
the Société de Développement. These women are still recognized today, although any
formal links to AFN are dubious. However when a visitor comes to Garin J akka or

Tchikaji Gaj eré and needs to mobilize women (whether it be a development project,

 

‘26 Two of these people (one man and one woman) left in July 2004 when I was doing fieldwork in Garin
Jakka.

172

government worker, or political campaigner), that person goes to the ‘Kungz’ya to explain
what they are doing and rely on her to mobilize women as needed. Her capacity to be
able to do so varies according to her influence in town and her personality. In Tchikaji
Gajeré and Garin Jakka, the ‘Kungiya is an older widow with considerable economic
endeavors and social influence. However, these ‘Kungiyoyi (plural of ‘Kungiya) do not
seem to use their influence much to mobilize for CARE or UNICEF activities.
Project Volunteers

Certain residents of Garin Jakka and Tchikaji Gaj eré have emerged as volunteer
leaders in CARE and UNICEF. CARE’s PN 51 is the only development project active in
Garin J akka. One of the CARE volunteer leaders in Garin Jakka, Daouda, also
participated in a non-CARE nine-month training on agriculture and literacy in
neighboring ‘dan Issa several years ago. Daouda is the CARE secretary in Garin Jakka,
the volunteer Hausa literacy teacher for CARE, and grain and money collector for
CARE’s community cereal bank initiative.127 As one of the few individuals who can read
and write Hausa in town, he steps up into such positions of leadership and authority.
Other community members have participated in CARE trainings and meetings, but do not
have the same access to power through project resources that Daouda has (including the
mat gari) due to their status as literate. Daouda has been able to monopolize project
resources for his own gain, an issue I will return to in the next chapter.

In Tchikaji Gajeré, UNICEF has been the long-standing project. However,
another project financed by the lntemational Labor Organization helped women get small

animals in 1995-1996; and about November 2003, a CARE woman’s microfinance group

 

'27 This activity, called warrantage, entails having community members store their grain in a warehouse to
use as collateral on cash loans for income generating activities in the dry season or to sell off when grain
prices are high

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started up under the leadership of a CARE volunteer who lives in ‘dan Issa. One man in
particular, Ahmadou, has been the point person for all UNICEF activities since they
began. He, like Daouda, is one of the few people literate in Hausa in his town, so he was
designated UNICEF secretary and selected to teach the adult Hausa literacy classes.
UNICEF, in contrast to CARE, paid him 6,000 CFA (about US$1 1) a month to do this
work several years ago. Since they stopped paying him, he stopped teaching. This is one
exception to volunteerism in UNICEF’s aid recipient communities. Ahmadou is always
asked to help select participants for various UNICEF trainings and activities.

Numerous others in Tchikaji Gajeré and Garin J akka have served on committees,
been trained, and received aid as a result of UNICEF and CARE’s work in their towns.
These tend to be members of powerful families in each town, particularly relatives of the
mai gari and ‘Kungiya. Unlike Daouda in Garin J akka, Ahmadou has not managed
money for UNICEF activities. He has tried to position himself as non-partisan in the
town and not interested in using UNICEF resources for his own gain.

Conclusion

This chapter has taken us through historical changes in men and women’s
positioning in economic, political, religious, and family life in the Maradi Région of
Niger. In particular, a close look at the data in Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gajeré (where
CARE and UNICEF intervene, respectively) demonstrates the increasing disappearance
of women from agriculture and public life over the last three decades as land has become
scarce, livelihoods have diversified, and new interpretations of Islam have been adopted.
With these changes, gender and other hierarchies have adapted to new circumstances.

Indeed, this is impossible to understand without looking at the complex intertwining of

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ideological and material factors. For example, land shortage and drought drive seasonal
labor migration to places where male migrants pick up and bring home ideas about
seclusion, male provision, prosperity, Islam, and new class identities. Pious living,
including domestication of women and male provision, has become another livelihood
strategy amidst economic scarcity as people seek God’s blessings. Examining the
relationships of the ideological and material helps us see the reformulation process of
gender roles and relationships as well as shifting patriarchies in rural Niger. Although
women are subordinate to men in a number of ways, women’s status is far fiom stagnant.

This chapter also demonstrates that gender identities and relations in the Maradi
Région are extremely complex. Power relations extend well beyond gender issues to
include a web of various positionings and material and social factors that determine one’s
influence and ability to act. Age, kin group, education, and class in addition to gender
affect one’s social status in the home and broader community.

Additionally, colonial and post-colonial govenring structures have carved out or.
denied spaces of power for men and women in the Maradi Région at different points in
history. For example, male “chief” positions were redefined and sometimes invented by
the French, while ignoring historical positions of royal women in Hausaland. Women
were also largely excluded from French education and subsequent leadership positions in
the colonial period. Also, new colonial and post-colonial trade networks ended women’s
cloth trade, placing it in the hands of male traders. Later, the position ‘Kungiya was used
in rural towns to help promote Kountché’s Société de Développement and has continued
to be used by development projects thereafter to mobilize rural women, reinforcing this

leadership position. These examples also demonstrate the intertwining of the ideological

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and material as colonial and post-colonial policies influenced gender roles and affected
access to material resources for certain groups over others.

In the current era of neocolonialism, government restructuring and development
projects also create and deny spaces for certain individuals, again shifting social
hierarchies. And citizens react to these changes—sometimes resisting, sometimes finding
opportunities, and sometimes losing out. In examining the history and social change
around gender and other social hierarchies in the Maradi Région, categories of global and
local again seem overly simplistic. Residents of the region have long been influenced by
French colonialism, transnational religious networks, and migration. Keeping this rich
history in mind, Chapter Six examines reformulations and translation of development
interventions in this social context. It looks more explicitly at how CARE and UNICEF,
as the two primary development organizations doing gender and rights-based work in the
Maradi Régz'on, are impacting and interacting with social hierarchies. More specifically,
how are their gender and rights-based policies and programs being understood and

translated, reformulated, or rejected in the social context described in this chapter?

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Chapter Six
Translation, Reformulation, and Rejection of Gender and Rights in Development
Interventions
Building on the social context laid out in the previous chapter, this chapter
explores the rich discussions and diverse practices around gender and social hierarchies,
rights and duties, and participatory development among CARE and UNICEF paid
employees, key government collaborators with UNICEF, CARE and UNICEF volunteers

‘28 These discussions

in Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gajeré, and residents of these towns.
and practices are translations, reformulations, and at times rejections of notions of gender
and rights at various levels of CARE and UNICEF interventions. And as gender and
rights are negotiated and made culturally resonant in CARE and UNICEF’S work, core
aspects of these notions fiom higher levels of CARE and UNICEF are often transformed
or, in Merry’s words, “indigenized.” In particular, the radical challenge to patriarchy,
which Merry found was maintained in her study of translating women’s rights, has in
many instanced from my study been transfonned so that patriarchy is accommodated.
This chapter, drawing on the background laid out in previous chapters, analyses this
process of translation and transformation.
Translations and Reformulations in CARE and UNICEF
Negotiating Male Headship and Female Power

Chapter Five noted many of the power relations and social hierarchies that exist in
the Maradi Région, among which a strong belief in male headship in the home and in
public life is especially prominent. Not surprisingly, CARE and UNICEF find it a

challenge to talk about women’s empowerment and gender equity in this social context.

To a certain extent CARE and UNICEF have to accept or negotiate with Nigerien notions

 

'28 In this chapter, when I refer to CARE or UNICEF, I mean CARE or UNICEF in Niger.

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of patriarchy in order to gain credibility. Some of the most prominent sites in which this
happens are with Islamic leaders and “traditional chiefs” (those titled sarauta and mai
gari). Additionally some of these negotiations play out in the nuances of language and
choice of terminology.
Islam and Gender

CARE’S PN 51 has been involved in two main relationships with Muslim leaders
Since its inception. The first concerns PN 51’s Communication pour un changement de
comportment (CCC) activities, which include a group of CARE personnel and non-
CARE professional colleagues who periodically tour rural towns to inform people about
their rights (e.g., inheritance, divorce, voting) and health issues (e. g., HIV/AIDS,
nutrition, family planning). Also through CCC, malamai in these rural towns have been
trained and provided with refresher courses to talk about rights and duties in maniage,
women’s rights to education and land, divorce, and wife seclusion according to Islam;
these activities are referred to as “marabout relais.” Normally male malamai participate,
although PN 51 says it has started to identify women to be trained. The second main
relationship PN 51 has formed with Muslim leaders is through the Association des
F emmes Musulmanes du Niger (AF MN),129 who put PN 51 in touch with prominent
malamai in the Maradi Région. As a result of this relationship, several documents were
produced by CARE in 2001 and 2002 based on sermons and teachings of a prominent
Maradi (male) malam that address marriage rights, inheritance rights, and proper male-
female relations. In general, AF MN and the Maradi malamai helped PN 51 staff as well
as people in towns where CCC toured to better understand lslarnic teachings around these

issues.

 

'29 Muslim Women’s Association in Niger

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In talking with CARE administrators and field agents in Niger who are Muslims
about CARE’s relationship to Islam, I was told that CARE is indeed a secular
organization. However, CARE recognizes that Islam is an important part of most
Nigeriens’ lives and necessary to include in CARE’s work so as to be culturally sensitive.
In so doing, CARE is taking account of knowledge and cultures in aid recipient
communities, a popular theme in development discourses today (Chambers 1997;
Helmore and Singh 2001 :3) and core to CARE-Niger’s organizational culture.
Furthermore, CARE staff claim that aid recipients themselves request Islamic content in
CARE programs as they would like better information about their religion. From this
perspective, including Islamic components in CARE programs can also be considered a
participatory strategy. Finally and perhaps the most interesting justification for including
Muslim teachings in CARE’s work, CARE staff see acquiring a better understanding of
Islam as a way to engage in debates about what is truly Islam and what are
traditions/customs (a1 ’adu). One female field agent for CARE explained to me:

They themselves, people in the rural areas, they said to come, sit, and

sensibilize them about things—to distinguish custom, to distinguish what

religion is. That’s why we do that training for marabout relais...You get it

all out there so one knows religion. It does not say to step on a woman’s

rights [hakki]. It’s only people [who do that].

So what is the difference between Islam and al ’adu? According to one CARE
administrator and another CARE field agent I interviewed, customs/traditions are things
that change. One of them went on to say that they are not written down. Religion,
however, does not change. As far as religion, he adds, people simply decide whether or

not they will follow it. This idea that there is a true Islam out there to be understood is

central to CARE employees’ thinking. When something is done in the name of Islam that

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one of them does not like, the usual explanation given is a misunderstanding or ignorance
of true Islam.

Lack of understanding and ignorance (iahilci) about Islam was brought up again
and again in my interviews with CARE employees. For example, I pointed out to two
Muslim women employed by CARE the following passage from one of the documents
that CARE produced with the prominent Maradi malam mentioned above:

Islam has only prescribed rights for a man after having performed his

duties [droits] to his wife, in accordance with the word of the exalted God

when he said, “Women have rights equivalent to their obligations and in

accordance with everyday practices. Men, nevertheless, have a

preeminence over them.”13
Troubled by the last sentence, the women quickly slipped into a discussion about bad
interpretations and people’s (especially rural people’s) ignorance of Islam. One of them
replied:

I don’t know if this one is in [the Koran].. .religion doesn’t say that a

woman must stop at whatever her husband says. In fact in the villages, it’s

not like the men don’t want this. It’s lack of understanding. There is a

lack of understanding. They don’t understand.

Similarly, a male employee at CARE told me, “It’s not understanding Islam. Lack of
understanding is what brings deteriorating gender relations.”

The notion of not practicing Islam the right way is invoked by some CARE
employees when talking about wife seclusion as well. Several interviewees talked about
two kinds of seclusion—one fiom poverty and ignorance, and another from wealth and
following the rules. In other words if a man provides for all of his wife/wive’s needs and

she has chosen seclusion, it is permissible. Then they go on to explain that most men in

Niger do not provide properly for their wives or respect their wive’s wishes about

 

13° This quote is paraphrased from the Koran 2:228, although taken out of context.

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seclusion. By not coming out and saying that seclusion is bad but rather that it is often
not practiced correctly, Muslim CARE employees avoid having to critique what they
often consider to be a part of Islam itself.

However, some CARE employees (often women) acknowledge that in addition to
support for women’s rights in Islam there are some problematic teachings in Islam for
someone interested in women’s equality and empowerment. One female CARE field
agent explained to me:

There are a lot of things [in Islam] that don’t give a woman freedom/rights

[‘yanci] to go out in the street, to go out everywhere. These exist, but

related to the CCC work, none of these Hadiths are used. The Hadiths that

are selected are those that give a woman freedom/rights [‘yanci], those

that are able to improve a woman’s life.

Another woman speaking about seclusion’s relationship to Islam and human rights said:

[Seclusion] is not obligatory, only if she wants it. Although religion says

so, well, in my opinion, if a man wants to do [seclusion], it is necessary

that he has all the means to give his wife everything; she should have no

troubles. At that time, he can do it to her, but nonetheless she has made a

big mistake since truly she does not have her freedom [liberté]. Total

freedom. Therefore on the other hand even though it is true that Islam

says so, if one looks at universal rights, one is restricting women from one

side of things. Now the problem is how does one balance universal rights

and Islamic rights. That’s the thing.

UNICEF also has relationships with some Islamic leaders, although to a lesser
extent than CARE. From time to time, Islamic leaders are included in meetings UNICEF
has with the Association of Traditional Chiefs in Niger (ACTN), mentioned further
below and with whom UNICEF has a formal partnership. In the case of one such
national forum on early marriage of girls organized by the ACTN, UNICEF, and the

Niger government in 2002, one Islamic scholar was asked to give a speech on the topic

from an Islamic perspective. As he weaves his way through an eloquent speech on

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Islamic marriage, he states that a girl and boy who marry should be old enough to give
their consent. Elsewhere, however, he explains that a marriage before puberty is indeed a
valid marriage and the bride’s relatives’ have the duty to decide when she is ready for
conjugal life. In the end, he concludes that Islam does not speak for or against early, pre-
pubescent marriage (Daouda 2002). In this example, the rights of the individual are
blurred with rights of relatives over an individual. One would have a hard time
reconciling such conclusions with the CEDAW and CRC that UNICEF upholds so
centrally. In particular, article sixteen of the CEDAW ends, “The betrothal and marriage
of a child shall have no legal effect, and all necessary action, including legislation, shall
be taken to specify a minimum age for marriage and to make the registration of marriages
in an official registry compulsory” (United Nations 1979).

In general, however, UNICEF employees are much less engaged in debates about
Islam than CARE employees are. UNICEF employees insist that UNICEF is secular and
that any collaboration with Islamic leaders is a strategic alliance. UNICEF employees
who I interviewed tended to be more critical of seclusion than CARE employees were,
even though both groups of employees are all Muslims. In one of the harshest critiques,
coming from a male administrator in UNICEF, he says:

Interviewee: It’s my personal point of view. Me, I think that it’s an

institution of men.

KBH: Seclusion?

Interviewee: Seclusion. It’s an institution of men to protect their wives

against possible conquering or against possible lovers. That’s it. In fact,

it’s a question of jealousy. If my wife stays in her home so that she does
not go out, no one else can see her except for me. Isn’t that so?

KBH: Yes, it’s like that.

Interviewee: I don’t trust her. There is that also. This is a relationship of
imposition. This is my point of view. It’s true that it’s a custom, but is it
really a foundation of Islam? I am not very strong in Islam but I ask the
question—Is it truly an Islamic way?

182

This informant went on to talk about the violation of women’s rights and freedoms
through seclusion. Unlike those I interviewed in CARE, this individual is willing to ask
the question of whether or not seclusion is really a part of Islam, rather than assuming it
is and falling into the rationale of differentiating good and bad types of seclusion. But in
so doing, he is still working under the assumption that there is a true Islam out there to be
understood and attempts to relegate seclusion to the level of custom—something easier to
critique, change, or reject than Islam, as discussed further below.

Other UNICEF interviewees made a narrower critique of seclusion that focused
on how it prevents women from taking their children to the doctor, going to the doctor
themselves, getting an education, or coming to UNICEF meetings. By focusing on how
seclusion affects women’s participation in UNICEF ’3 activities, however, some UNICEF
employees seem to quietly dismiss seclusion as part of a person’s private life without
making a bolder critique of the practice such as that of their colleague above. Although
making a more direct critique of seclusion than some CARE employees, they avoid
taking on any criticism of Islam or a defense of certain types of seclusion in their
comments.

Indeed, Islam is a central part of these CARE and UNICEF employees’ lives and
therefore has to be reformulated rather than simply rejected or accepted as a whole.
CARE and UNICEF employees sometimes challenge Islam and seek to redefine it from
within, while at the same time making an effort to mark their Muslim identities in their
work. This is evident in particular through prayer times that are scheduled into CARE
and UNICEF meetings, whether these are in rural communities, just among employees,

or otherwise. And Muslim employees usually participate in the prayers. As is typical in

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Niger, the men pray outside, and the women pray inside. Furthermore, Muslim CARE
and UNICEF employees who I interviewed were quick to clarify in my questions about
religious identity that they do not practice any bori, bokanci (indigenous healing
traditions), amanci (pre-Islamic animist spiritual traditions), or tsahi (magic)—only
Islam. These are considered a1 ’adu, not adini 13 1 (religion).

Both CARE and UNICEF employees are concerned about women’s rights, but
find different ways of negotiating their understanding of Islam with notions of rights.
Many do so by focusing on needing to understand true Islam in order to help women,
distinguishing al ’adu and adini. UNICEF employees, being considerably more
disconnected from the communities where they intervene, have more freedom to critique
seclusion and accommodate an understanding of rights that is more in line with the
notions of individual freedom or emancipation and UN Conventions and Declarations.
Most CARE employees, on the other hand, are deeply engaged on a daily basis with aid
recipients and must more carefully grapple with popular Islamic teachings and notions of
male headship, couching their work in this social context. Thus, they latch onto
examples of rights for women found in Islamic traditions, such as a woman’s rights to
inheritance and education. In this way, they see the work as, participatory and culturally
sensitive. UNICEF government collaborators must also grapple in this way with the

communities where they intervene. Details on their views are covered further below,

however.

 

'3' Adim' is a general term referring to certain religions, namely Islam, Christianity, and Judaism. Usually
when people use it in Niger, they are implying Islam, however.

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Traditional Authorities and Gender

Tradition, like Islam, is also something to be negotiated with and reformulated in
CARE and UNICEF’s work. Traditional authority in Niger is usually understood by
CARE and UNICEF to be patriarchal, although we have seen in Chapter Five that there
have been prominent female figures in Hausaland royalty and bori religion. Nonetheless,
those traditional authorities with whom CARE and UNICEF work are mainly male
leaders. These include the mat gari in towns where these organizations intervene and
various sarakai. The main exception to this is CARE and UNICEF’s work with the
‘Kungiya and often also female members of her and the mat gari’s family in rural towns.
Also UNICEF has begun to talk about including female royalty (called “les innas” and
“les reines me‘res”132 by UNICEF interviewees) in their work.

UNICEF has strategically allied itself with the Association of Traditional Chiefs
in Niger (ACTN) to gain credibility with and promote its messages to the public about
vaccinations, early marriage of girls, and girl’s education. As already mentioned in
January 2002, the ACTN organized a national forum on early marriage of girls in
collaboration with UNICEF and the Nigerien government that addressed Nigerien legal
rights as well as Islamic teachings on the matter. Similarly in April 2004, the
“Transborder Meeting between Nigerien and Nigerian Traditional Chiefs on Polio
Eradication” was held after some Nigeriens began resisting polio vaccinations, believing
they are harmful. Although for years people in northern Nigeria have been suspicious
that polio vaccinations cause HIV/AIDS or infertility and are part of a Western

conspiracy to limit the black and/or Muslim population, a new surge of rumors began to

 

132 Inna is another Hausa title for Iya, mentioned in Chapter Five, and reine me‘re means queen mother,
which is this informant’s generic term for the various “traditional” positions for women in Niger.

185

fly in 2003 when a group of politicians and religious leaders claimed to have medical
proof that the vaccines being distributed in Nigeria could cause infertility. The meeting
UNICEF helped organize in 2004 brought together sarakai (all male) fi'om northern
Nigeria and Niger as well as some Islamic leaders, medical professionals, government
dignitaries (including Ni gerien President Mamadou Tandja), and UNICEF personnel.
Among the medical professionals and UNICEF employees, a few women were present. '33
It ended with a resolution and recommendations agreed to by the Nigerien and Nigerian
“traditional chiefs” that recognized the importance of vaccinations against polio and
acknowledged that they would actively participate in vaccination mobilization.
Speaking with one UNICEF administrator about UNICEF ’5 work with

“traditional chiefs,” he explains:

Why work with the chiefs? They’re a moral authority, a leader of his

community. Normally when a chief says something, in our culture, no one

can question him because the chief cannot mislead you as your chief.

Therefore, one believes in him. So that’s why the chiefs are used because

there is this relationship of faith between the chief and his community. ..So

he is used [by UNICEF] like this to do civic education, to do sensibilisation,

to convince, for example, parents to send their children to school, to let their

children be vaccinated, and so on.
This informant, however, made it clear that UNICEF works with these “chiefs” to
promote UNICEF ’s agenda, making it a political strategy. Indeed, tradition or custom are
used strategically in many ways by UNICEF employees, both positively and negatively
depending on the context. For example, one of the doctors who presented at the polio

meeting explained to the “traditional chiefs” that a reason why there are problems in

polio eradication is al ’adu. He went on to explain that al ’adu are behind why people do

 

‘33 I estimated about 150 people were present in total. I counted 15 women the first day and six the second
day of the meeting, including me. Also, I was one of only three white people at the meeting. The other
two worked for UNICEF in Dakar and Niamey; none of us presented or gave a speech at the meeting.

186

not bring their children to vaccination sites. This is also somewhat ironic since
prominent and well-educated Muslim professionals played a large role in spreading
suspicion about polio vaccinations in 2003—2004. Nonetheless, the doctor is associating
ala ’du with ignorance. Thus in this case, al ’adu are bad. Other times, al ’adu are seen as
good, something that can help women and children. In an address at the same meetings,
the UNICEF Representative of Niger said to the traditional chiefs:

At once guardians of traditions and grand visionaries of the fitture, you are

also certainly true agents of change. Our traditions are a wealth and we

must use them to forge ahead. [Adjibade 2004:3, my translation]
Indeed, some UNICEF employees tend to see traditions/customs in a much more
dynamic way than others in this organization. The UNICEF Representative in the above
quote is framing traditions as something that can be an integral part of positive social
change; they are building blocks for creating a better life. By contrast in a UNICEF
consultant’s report on UNICEF ’5 work in Niger on gender, she explains:

The participation of all members of a community is essential to the

success of the Niger Govemment/UNICEF cooperative program, but one

is forced to notice that it still clashes with the weight of traditions that

keep women at a very inferior status to that of men. [Monnet l998:5, my

translation]
In particular the word “keep,” or maintiennent in the original French text, implies a
certain stagnation about traditions. A UNICEF interviewee also mentioned with regard
to the high illiteracy level in Niger, “Tradition is still strong/deep (lourde). Therefore, it
takes time to create the change that one would like.” This picture of tradition gives one a

sense that it holds people back and resists change. Such comments reveal a view of

tradition similar to that of the doctor at the polio meeting—a barrier to UNICEF’s work.

187

CARE employees also invoke tradition, although in slightly different ways. In
one interview with a CARE employee, I asked her what prevents women from knowing
their rights. She said:

What prevents it? It’s all about, concerning tradition [al ’ada]. Therefore,
from the time a woman gets up, since her grandparents’ and parents’ time,
she knows that in the rural areas, a woman is nothing. Therefore, to them,
since they wake up, they see their work, this work in the home. The work
is threshing, pounding, going to the field, getting wood, getting water.
That’s their only work. Any work concerning the development of the
town that comes along, their intention is that it is not for women. It’s
tradition, since their parents’ and grandparents’ time. But also that’s not
how it is. Now in this time, it changes. So tradition, whenever one says
tradition, it’s a thing that can be changed. So necessarily, this tradition is
what prevents them [from obtaining their rights].

In this statement, she acknowledges both tradition’s negative impact on women, but also
the dynamism of tradition and potential for change. In social scientist terms, she
understands that tradition is “socially constructed,” albeit certain traditions are bad for
women. In the following statement fiom one of her coworkers, tradition is also seen as
dynamic. I asked her about CARE’s goals concerning gender, and she replied:

Our goal, we want, since everyone knows that women are left behind.

There are matters like religion and tradition too. They cause, even if

women want to develop/progress, there is something oppressing them.

Because sometimes, women don’t know. Sometimes too they know but

don’t have the information. What can they do to get out of this problem?

And sometimes too, it’s the men who cause things to not go well.

Therefore, our goal in CARE, is not to change customs and tradition

[a1 ’adu da gargajiya], but we get to teach women strategies, we give them

complete information, we give them firll training. Some of them, they

themselves struggle to get out of this situation.
Although she acknowledges that some traditions are bad for women, they are not the
target that CARE is aiming at. Rather, she argues, CARE seeks to give women tools to

change their lives as they see fit.

188

CARE has less formal ties with the sarakai than UNICEF, although they do keep
them up to date on what they are doing and periodically invite some to come and see their
work. CARE, however, does work closely with the mai gari in each rural town, as does
UNICEF. Any time that CARE or UNICEF begins work in a rural town, the mat gari is
consulted. Similarly as activities and trainings unfold, the mai gari continues to be
consulted about them. For example if people fi'om Garin Jakka or Tchikaji Gajeré need
to be chosen to attend a CARE or UNICEF training (e. g., learning about conflict
resolution in the household or animal husbandry) or to form a village committee, a CARE
field agent or government worker collaborating with UNICEF will talk to the mat gari
and usually also the ‘Kungiya and a few other prominent men in the community about
who to select. Working through already established authority figures is familiar and
facilitates easier entrée into rural communities.

Al ’adu is therefore something that can be used strategically when it serves the
purposes of CARE or UNICEF, as is Islam. And CARE and UNICEF recognize that as
strong social forces in Nigeriens’ lives, traditions/customs and religion can be used as
tools for change to help women, children, and vulnerable households. However, a] ’adu
tends to be critiqued more harshly than Islam and is understood to be more amenable to
change. It can be good or bad, and there is no “true” al ’adu to be practiced. However,
Islam is usually considered good; Muslims tend to attribute the incorrect practice of Islam
to what makes things bad. In this sense, traditions/customs are seen by many CARE and
UNICEF employees to be dynamic, unfixed, and changing. True Islam is not any of
these; it remains the same. And it is often believed that one can and should seek to

understand true Islam. These perceptions of ala ’du and Islam make implementing

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gender-oriented programs in CARE and UNICEF a challenge, but in different ways.
Islam is harder to critique, especially if a belief or practice is based on a passage in the
Koran or a Hadith. On the other hand, Islam itself often serves as a critique for al ’adu.
Nevertheless, both Islam and al ’adu in Niger embrace versions of patriarchy. So in this
debate over what is Islam and what is al ’adu, patriarchy itself is critiqued only
selectively. For example, issues such as women’s inheritance rights, marriage rights, and
the right to education are raised by Muslims as part of Islam and a critique of al ’adu.
Other practices such as wife seclusion become harder for Muslims to critique. And male
headship itself is even harder as it is affirmed by both al ’adu and Islam.

Choosing T erminology I: Equité and Egalité

Terminology becomes important for understanding the goals that those affiliated
with CARE and UNICEF have reformulated in terms of gender and human rights. For
many Nigeriens, women can be empowered to make their lives better as long as they do
not become equal with men. For such people, male headship is an important part of their
worldview and the proper social order. Several employees of CARE and UNICEF told
me that they do hope for equality or women’s emancipation, but are careful who they say
this to.

For example, a CARE administrator who advocated for true equality explained to
me that most Nigeriens prefer the term équité (equity) rather than égalité (equality). She
said, “If one says equality, it’s like a woman becomes equal/level (daidai) with a man.
Whereas in the Koran, a woman and a man are not equal.” She goes on, providing
examples to distinguish the two terms:

Since they know, equality, men and women are able to go to school, able
to have a job, right? They are equal [égaux]. But equity, it’s not the same

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thing. It’s still possible they have equal work; they don’t have the same
salary...It’s less strong.

In PN 51’s Workshop Guide for Gender Sensibilisation in Rural Areas, it states that
égalité means “That which is identical, the same in number, rights, power.” Equité
means, “Something fair; it’s the equality of opportunities” (CARE 2002253, my
translations). Equité connotes, in this context, a sense of justice or fairness without
having to mean completely equal. Diarra (1974) also makes such a distinction in Niger
using the term “complementarity” rather than equality. In other words, men and women
have different roles and positions in a society; they are not meant to be the same. By
using “equity” rather than “equality,” many Nigeriens can acknowledge the importance
of some women’s issues without having to deal with the seeming contradiction created
between their religious beliefs and the idea of gender equality. For example, one can say
that women have rights to inheritance according to Islam by using “equity,” since women
and men do not inherit equally. Equity can still accommodate female domesticity, wife
seclusion, and male provision as better alternatives to historical household economic
systems around Maradi in which women worked hard to fend for themselves much of the
year.
Choosing Terminology II: Hakki and ‘Yanci

As with many words in Hausa, there is no direct translation of the English or
French terms “right” (droit) or “human rights” (droits de l’homme). Right is sometimes
translated hakki, which implies something is owed to you by someone, and sometimes
‘yanci, which implies a sense of freedom, power over, or ownership of something.
CARE and UNICEF employees tend to use the two terms interchangeably. In fact, the

two terms are frequently used as synonyms in casual conversation in Hausa. However, as

191

I describe in more detail further below, there are important distinctions that native Hausa
speakers in CARE, UNICEF, the government, Tchikaji Gajeré, and Garin J akka pointed
out to me as I compared ‘yanci and hakkz' with numerous individuals.

The discussion of rights and duties in marriage from Chapter Five illustrates well
the notion of hakki. For example, a husband fully provides for his wife (his duty and her
right), while she fulfills her duty and his right by being obedient to her husband. This
understanding of rights is reciprocal and relational. ‘Yanci, however, better captures the
Enlightenment conceptions of individual Rights of Man in Europe, the 1948 UN
Universal Declaration of Human Rights, and civil rights movements in the US. that form
the basis of “rights” in Western traditions (Cowan et al. 2001; Merry 2001). ‘Yanci (or
‘yancin kai) is used, for example, to express Niger’s independence fiom France. One
native Hausa-speaking male UNICEF administrator made a distinction between the two
terms by explaining to me that Nigeriens are not ready to hear about ‘yancin mata (or as

134), which includes, for example, the right not to

he translates it émancipation desfemmes
marry or to do as a woman pleases. UNICEF can, however, talk about hakkin mata,” (or
as he translates it droitfemme), which is compatible with Islam and includes, for
example, improved opportunities for education, health care, and work. He confessed to
me, however, that UNICEF’s ultimate goal is ‘yancin mata.

These nuances in translating and choosing terminology are significant tools

Nigeriens use to accommodate or critique male headship. Equité and hakki allow male

headship to remain, while égalité and ‘yanci leave less room for it.

 

”'4 Women’s emancipation/liberation.
'35 Women’s rights using hakki.

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Defining Gender in CARE and UNICEF
Translating Gender

First and foremost when studying gender in the Maradi Région of Niger, one must
acknowledge a language and translation problem. There is no Hausa word for “gender.”
One translation for gender, which is used by some CARE employees, is jinsi; however,
jinsi better translates as “type,” “color,” or “race” rather than gender. While one can talk
about what one means by “gender” in Hausa, a single term will not translate this concept.
For example, a common phrase development professionals use to explain gender in
Hausa is “hul ’da ce tsakanin mata da maza” (it is relations between women and men).
This problem in translation exemplifies a larger disconnect between competing
discourses on gender in the Maradi Région, especially over the last 30 years with the
entrée of transnational aid organizations such as UNICEF and CARE as well as
increasing Islarnization, domestication of women, and wife seclusion.

Most conversations, meetings, and printed materials of transnational. aid
organizations and the Nigerien government are in French. Furthermore although literate
in French, very few development professionals and civil servants can read and write in
Hausa, Zerma, or other indigenous languages, even when it is their mother tongue. On
the other hand, most rural aid recipients have had no French education, although most
towns have a couple of exceptions to this. Many aid recipients have attended Koranic
school, but cannot functionally read and write in Arabic. Also a few have attended adult
literacy classes in Hausa or other indigenous languages, but have minimal abilities to read
and write in those languages. In other words, these rural populations are largely

functionally illiterate in any language, although they speak one or more indigenous

193

language (and usually not French) fluently. All this is to say that there is a language
divide between CARE and UNICEF employees and the rural populations with whom
they work. Even though all of the UNICEF and CARE employees based in Maradi speak
Hausa fluently, they prefer to hold staff meetings in French (a second language for all of
them). During breaks, they slip back into Hausa to chat with each other.

So why use French, if they are native Hausa speakers? I argue that the answer to
this question, at least in part, lies in the problems of translation that I have already
brought up. Many of the ideas that CARE and UNICEF discuss as central to their work
are rooted in a certain set of languages and traditions coming from donor countries. In
the case of CARE and UNICEF, development discourses in English and French are the
greatest influences in this regard. Words like “gender,” “human rights,” “development,”
“modernization,” and “empowerment” have become such popular terms that they are
used in a jargony way by development professionals. Nigerien CARE and UNICEF
employees learn about such concepts in French (or occasionally English) discussions
with development colleagues. Thus when with other F rench-educated development
colleagues, it is easier to just continue to talk about these concepts in French rather than
Hausa. Furthermore, all or most of their formal education has been in French, so in an
educational or professional setting, it may feel most comfortable to use French. In some
cases, demonstrating one’s fluency in French can also be a way to mark oneself as part of
a certain social class of professionals.

In the interviews that I conducted, I asked native or fluent Hausa speakers
questions in Hausa (my language of preference), although sprinkling in French

development terms such as “genre” when asking about such concepts. However, often

194

the interviewees chose to answer partly or wholly in French rather than in Hausa. Again,
they may have preferred to talk about development concepts in this language that is more
closely connected to the concepts themselves. And some may have persevered with the
idea that as a white person I would be more comfortable in French than in Hausa,
although Hausa is clearly my stronger language. In general, UNICEF employees used
more French in their interviews than CARE employees, probably reflecting the fact that
UNICEF employees less fi'equently have to converse about development ideas in Hausa
as administrators who do not spend much time in the field. CARE employees regularly
spend time with Hausa-speaking communities who receive aid. Interestingly, the person
who insisted on answering all of my Hausa questions in French is the native Hausa-
speaking UNICEF employee who had the harshest critique of seclusion of women, cited
above. Was he so immersed in development circles in the capital city that he could
afford to critique patriarchy head-on since he did not have to negotiate on a regular basis
with attitudes of aid recipients in the field?
Defining and “Doing” Gender in CARE

Beyond choosing a language and term to use, there are also different ways to
define a single term. Several key interactions with CARE, UNICEF, and government
employees helped me realize the different ways in which they and I were conceptualizing
gender (genre). First, at a CARE workshop that I attended with PN 51 employees, we
were asked to come up with a definition of gender in small groups. Trying to quickly
summarize a slew of academic readings on gender I have studied over the years, I
suggested the following definition to my small group and later the group at large: “All

aspects of culture that touch on masculine or feminine identities, and social roles

195

according to these identities.” Several people critiqued my definition because it did not
include a means/way for change or did not have rights in it. It was just gender, not doing
gender. The three small groups eventually each agreed on the following definitions
(translated from the original French):

Group One: Together the actions that aim at an equitable sharing of

benefits and risks between men and women all while taking account of

their needs in order to transform power relations for a harmonious and

sustainable development.

Group Two: Gender can be defined as a way by which man and woman

accept a sustainable development through equitable sharing of risks and

benefits.

Group Three: An approach taking account of attitudes and aptitudes of

men and women, of their needs and their rights, the roles and

responsibilities of each at the same time that it permits an equitable

sharing of risks and benefits. This is in the perspective of sustainable

development.
Some of the comments the rest of the staff made about these definitions were revealing.
“Does ‘taking account of’ actually mean helping women?” one man asked. “Why
'weren’t rights included?” wondered someone else about the first two. The following day
in the same workshop, someone suggested that “gender” (relations between men and
women) is passive while “gender and development” is active. I was beginning to see that
with this group active change to improve women’s lives was understood to be central to
“gender.”

Also worth noting in the three definitions above is a relationship acknowledged
between sustainable development and equitable sharing of risks and benefits between
men and women. First, it is significant that “equitable” is chosen by each group over

“equal” in light of the above discussion on equity and equality. Therefore, sharing risks

and benefits does not have to be equal between men and women in order to be a part of

196

sustainable development. Sustainable development is closely related to the concept of
lahiya (well-being), mentioned in Chapter Five. There I suggest that women acquiesce to
seclusion and male headship as they seek well-being for themselves and their children.

In this context, hierarchical, reciprocal, and relational rights and duties of men and
women can be seen as equitable (not equal) and associated with well-being, development,
and prosperity. Lahiya seems in such contexts to be a viable option for translating
“development” into Hausa, circumventing the politicized term ci gaba and not presuming
concepts such as modernity and progress often implied in the English term. Second, a
sharing of risks and benefits is invoked in all three definitions, but only in the context of a
household and gender relationships. As I will point out later in this chapter, sharing risks

and benefits also has implications for class relations.

 

      

0.

Figure 18: Most of the CARE PN 51 Saff Members August 2004

197

Part of CARE’s discussions about defining gender also involve distinguishing it
from sex. In the opening vignette to this dissertation, I cite an exchange that CARE
employees have in a workshop as they try to distinguish gender and sex. The woman
who says that gender can change while sex cannot reiterates a common belief among
CARE employees. In the CARE PN 51 Workshop Guide for Gender Sensitization in a

Rural Setting, the chart found in Figure 19 appears.

 

_S_e_x_ Gender

-Universal -Different according to region, country, context

-Biological -Cultural

-Determined at Birth -Determined by society

(Therefore cannot be (Therefore can be changed or can evolve)

changed)

Examples: Examples:

-Only women can give birth —Men and women can work as an engineer.

-Only men can procreate -Women and men can take care of children and
the elderly

 

 

 

Figure 19: Sex as Opposed to Gender in CARE Workshop Guide136

The same chart appears in materials that UNICEF has used in years past to do
gender trainings. This sort of division between sex and gender is not uncommon in
Western contexts.137 Nonetheless, I find it problematic for several reasons. First, linking
culture to change and seeing biology as fixed does not allow room for the dynamic world
of biological change. For example, age changes a body over time. Also, someone’s
“sex” can be changed, as in the case of hijras of India (N anda 2000:27-40) or those who
have had a sex change operation. And universal classifications of sex are problematic as

biology is extremely diverse. For example, a person can have all the physical traits to be

 

‘36 From CARE-lntemational au Niger 2002:25.

'37 The “only men can procreate” line would be challenged by many Westerners today as assigning men an
active and women a passive role in human reproduction (for example, see Martin 1997). But this concept
is certainly a part of the history and even some contemporary attitudes in the West.

198

called a woman but be unable to conceive, or a person can be intersex, carrying some
physical attributes that are socially ascribed to a man and some ascribed to a woman.
Second, gender also sees tremendous change and variation, but this is not only between
cultures. It is also between individuals living side by side in the same place, speaking the
same language, and sharing many cultural similarities.

Thus, implicit within the way that CARE discusses sex and gender are two sets of
dualism or oppositions: 1) sex versus gender, and 2) men versus women. I argue that
historically Hausa culture and “gender” categories are not deeply rooted in dualistic
thinking as they are in many Western societies and transnational development discourses.
In fact, “opposite,” a concept at the core of dualistic thinking, is another concept that is
difficult to translate into Hausa. Furthermore in terms of marriage and household
relationships, I have observed that rivalries or competitions occur at least as much if not
more between co-wives as they do between wife and husband. In fact, the Hausa word
for co-wife, “kishiya,” translates as the jealous one or a rival. Hausa-English dictionaries
often list “the opposite of something” or “opposite” as one of kishiya’s definitions as well
(Abraham 1962; Awde 1996; Newman and Newman 1977), although this is not an exact
translation. Additionally, studies of homosexuality (Gaudio 1998) and bori relationships
in Hausa cultures (Echard 1991; Masquelier 2001) further raise the question of the
relevance of conceptualizing “gender” as a strictly bounded opposition of male and
female. For example, what about metaphors of marriage and sexual penetration between
spirits and the spirit possessed, or women who marry one another in trance through the
bori religion? What about ‘yan daudu (male homosexuals and/or transvestites) who vary

from the role of namiji (man) in Hausa culture? Falling outside a dualistic gender

199

framework, these types of individuals have been overlooked or villainized in both
development and Islamic discourses. Speaking more generally, development discourses
on gender worldwide have not adequately problematized the dualistic assumptions woven
throughout them. In some ways, this contributes to the further marginalization by
development projects of bori, ‘yan daudu, or other Ni gerien traditions and persons that
exhibit gender variation, while also further supporting a sharp dualistic divide between
male and female. Such a divide is also characteristic of contemporary Nigerien Muslim
conceptions of proper sexuality and gender roles. Sharp dualisms such as this are usually
accompanied by hierarchy and firm boundaries, which is the case in south-central Niger.

Nevertheless, I found that CARE employees in PN 51 as well as in other CARE
projects were able to discuss the meaning and applications of a gender approach to their
work in great depth. And they certainly challenged me to rethink in certain ways my
sometimes highly theoretical ideas about and approach to studying gender. Their in-
depth discussions on gender, however, stand in sharp contrast to UNICEF.
T echnocratic Gender and Fabricated Gender Relations in UNICEF

UNICEF put on no specific gender trainings in Madarounfa Département during
my field work, although they have done some in the past. However, materials on these
past trainings, interviews with employees, and other UNICEF activities in 2004 showed
me some distinct ways that UNICEF tends to view gender in Niger.

First, some UNICEF employees saw incorporating gender as a part of UNICEF ’s
mandate. When I asked a UNICEF employee about UNICEF ’5 goals for gender policies
and programs, he replied:

It’s written in UNICEF ’s mandate. Therefore it’s an obligation for
UNICEF as long as it does its activities to consider the specific roles of

200

each sex. . .It is a question of mandate. It is a question of rights. UNICEF

must be vigilant about this. It’s UNICEF who is a representative and—

what is it called?—signatory of CEDAW. Right? OK, therefore, one is

vigilant about putting into practice the CEDAW. Thus, it’s become like a

law for us, CEDAW. The CRC too.

Such language of mandates and laws are not uncommon in UNICEF. There is a keen
awareness of what New York says to do or, in the case of the Maradi sub-bureau, what
Niamey says to do. A hierarchical order certainly became apparent as I invited various
UNICEF personnel to be interviewed. All of them required that I show written
authorization fi'om the UNICEF Representative before consenting to be interviewed (by
contrast no CARE or government personnel were very concerned about authorization
from their superiors). Several UNICEF employees, even when I showed this
authorization, either refused the interview or told me they would have to ask special
permission because they did not think they had the authority to speak for UNICEF about
gender.

This leads to another observation of UNICEF—within this hierarchical structure,
UNICEF is very compartmentalized. During my first few months on the field, I was
Struck by the conflicting messages I received between UNICEF administrators in Niamey
and UNICEF administrators in Maradi. Those in Niamey (as well as published materials)
were telling me that gender had been mainstreamed throughout UNICEF. However, one
administrator in Maradi insisted that UNICEF did not integrate a gender approach in its
SBI activities. She explained to me that CARE uses a gender approach, not UNICEF.
She also was referred to me by several UNICEF-Niamey personnel who said she had

some expertise in gender. She refused an interview with me because she claimed she was

not authorized to talk about such matters and insisted that the UNICEF gender focal point

201

person in Niamey is the person who I should talk to about gender in UNICEF. He would
tell me everything I needed to know, she told me. I explained that I had already spoken
with him several times but was interested in hearing the points of view of other UNICEF
employees. I invited her numerous times to be interviewed, but she always refused. We
discussed logistics of my stay in Tchikaji Gajeré, but never development concepts or
approaches. Eventually, I managed to interview another administrator in Maradi. This
administrator insisted that only the UNICEF Representative can officially speak for
UNICEF, so he asked not to be tape recorded. He limited his comments to speak mainly
about gender and education as this is one area in which he has some training.

The confirsion over what gender is and if UNICEF is actually doing it continued
in other interactions. A Ni gerien government employee, Omar, was one of the teachers
for a UNICEF-sponsored training for Integrated Community Development. Male and
female representatives from the intervention units138 where UNICEF works in
Madarounfa Département attended. Omar led a session in which he talked about reasons
why women often do not enter into community development planning. The class listed
barriers that prevent women from participating, such as lack of education or not getting
permission from their husbands. After the session, I greeted Omar and said I was happy
to see he integrated some gender issues into the lesson. He returned my comment with a
blank stare. Then he proceeded to tell me that the lesson was not about “genre,” but
integrated community development. I tried to explain that I thought talking about what
prevented women fi'om participating in community development planning was related to
“genre.” It was clear that he did not understand what I meant. I knew that Omar had

been trained in gender issues. In fact, he was the one person from his office who had

 

'38 These consist of between two and ten rural towns grouped together in a geographic area.

202

attended a gender training (put on by CARE) and taught at a gender training for school
teachers (sponsored by UNICEF). We had already talked about these events at great
length in an interview. “Who wrote the class materials?” I then asked him. He said he
did not know, but that a UNICEF administrator had given them to him. Later I found out
that one of Omar’s superiors, a fellow civil servant, wrote them with some of his
government colleagues.

I was baffled by this interaction for some time. However thinking about it in light
of the compartmentalization of UNICEF as a whole, it started to make some sense.
Gender is a certain development approach seen in a reductionistic way in UNICEF. It is
a technique, a technical and specialized area. But even for those working with UNICEF
who have been exposed to ideas about gender, they have a hard time seeing how it relates
to the day-to-day SBI activities UNICEF is doing in rural Nigerien communities. As I
learned more and more about what UNICEF is doing in Tchikaji Gaj eré and neighboring
communities, I could see that gender was in fact taken into account in planning the
activities. For example, resources and training were given to women as well as men,
women representatives were required for certain committees, and gender differences and
relations were sometimes discussed. As mentioned in Chapter Four, even rural aid
recipients involved in UNICEF trainings had noticed and remarked to me that UNICEF
now works with both men and women. However, lower level UNICEF personnel in
Maradi and their collaborators in Madarounfa seemed to have a hard time seeing that
these activities take account of gender relations. Perhaps they were not told that this is
gender. Perhaps they were never encouraged to debate what gender is, as CARE

employees do. Thus, how “gender” is understood and implemented in UNICEF reflects

203

the hierarchical and compartmentalized organizational culture that exists in UNICEF.
Gender is incorporated at higher levels of program planning, but lower level employees
and government collaborators do not always know what it is and why it is included.

Because of this and the infrequent contact UNICEF personnel have on the ground
in aid recipient communities, they sometimes misunderstand gender roles and relations in
these communities. For example, the extent to which seclusion was practiced in
Madarounfa Département was greatly underestimated by a key UNICEF administrator
for that geographic area. At the start of my field work, this person informed me that
UNICEF does not do much work in towns in Madarounfa Département where there is a
lot of seclusion. Later, I reported back that the majority of women in Tchikaji Gaj eré,
where UNICEF has been active for eight years, are secluded.

The most striking example I found of a disconnect between UNICEF rhetoric on
gender relations and social change on the ground in and around Maradi is evident in a
report on UNICEF’s gender approach by a UNICEF consultant (Monnet 1998). In this
report, the author recounts a story fiom her brief trip to an aid recipient community near
Maradi. The mat gari of this community told her about a man in his town who decided to
reduce the household tasks that were expected of his wife, namely going for firewood,
getting water at the well, and working in the fields. However with no recognition that
these are core attributes of seclusion, the consultant naively attributes this positive change
in household work distribution to the success of UNICEF’s program in that village that
has sensitized men to share work responsibilities with their wife(s). Ironically, the author
shows no evidence of speaking with any women in this community for her gender report;

all of her quotes are from the mat gari.

204

If, however, one looks at the training materials that have been developed and
used by UNICEF, clear definitions of gender are laid out. For example, sex and gender
are distinguished in one UNICEF manual on gender and development as follows:

Sex is generally defined as being “together the biological and

physiological characteristics that permit distinguishing in most living

beings the male gender from the female gender. The word indicates as

well the external genital organs of men and women. . .Gender, as with age

and socio-economic status, is considered as an aspect of social

construction. It’s a way to show that identities of men and women have

essentially social origins and that social relations between men and women

are defined by social organization. [Mindaoudou 1999:7, my translation]
The materials Omar used for the training of school teachers he led were largely taken
from this manual and some of CARE’s materials. A few pages from UNICEF’S manual
with an exact copy of the above definitions as well as CARE’s table found in Figure 19
constitute the majority of his notes and visual displays used for this training. Even with
these materials available, I was unable to stumble upon or initiate a serious debate with
most UNICEF employees over what gender is and how to apply it in programs and
policies as I had done numerous times with CARE employees.
Government Collaborators on Gender, Rights, and Development

As already explained in Chapter Four, the Technical Services at the département
(formerly arrondissement) level carry out UNICEF-sponsored programs in rural areas.
The Technical Services who work in Tchikaji Gajeré are based in the town of
Madarounfa. Indeed, Madarounfa is the place where I found civil servants doing
development work who were knowledgeable about the rural towns in the département.

Unlike UNICEF employees, they visited these towns on a regular basis and knew many

of the residents in them, including Tchikaji Gaj eré. While most in the Technical Services

205

had a good knowledge of events and people in aid recipient towns, few had training in

gender.

 

. 1....

Figure 20: Government Wkorers Distributing Mosquito Nets from UNICEF for
Tchikaji Gajeré Women and Children in July 2004

Fifieen people from the Technical Services in Madarounfa had been trained in
gender issues, and no rural communities have had a training in gender through the
Technical Services/UNICEF as of 2004 in Madarounfa Département. This comes out to
about one trained person per unit of the Technical Services (i.e., one person from
Agriculture, one person from Environment, and so on). One such person is Omar,
already mentioned in the section above. Omar received training in 2000 from CARE
because he helped them with a research study. I talked to Omar in his interview about
how UNICEF worked with women and/or used gender in the past and today. He

explained that in the past:

206

Men would dominate things too much. They would lead things too much.
It was like it was theirs. It wasn’t us who did it, but if you went to a
place—if you went for example to a town, if one wanted to, one could go
and see—you would have a meeting. You know, one would see there is a
meeting being held or something. Only men would be doing it. That’s it.
One would see only men undertaking the thing. Women were left behind
them. They put—them, it was them—they put themselves behind. They
did not want to enter into the thing. Then afterwards when it was
realized, it was said this is not appropriate since they too are many. They
are more in number than men. It is not right to say that one has left half of
the people behind and say that development has been reached.

Shortly thereafter, I asked him, “Did you ever work with only women? For
example, you saw the problem of men not wanting women to enter in.” But before I
finished my statement, he corrected me:

No, it’s not the men who didn’t want women to enter in. It’s the women.

They were not coming. . . [Now] they have been really sensitized/educated.

Before when a person would call a meeting, it was difficult for men and

women to sit together in one place. But now it’s all of them. Now, they

all sit together.

Omar’s statements reveal two aspects of how he thinks about gender. First, he does not
see men at fault, but rather women at fault for not getting involved in development
programs. The problem, rather than a biased development project or patriarchal society,
is that women were not educated or sensitized (ha a waye masu kai ba) to know that they
should participate.139 Second, this passage hints at his understanding of what gender is.
This understanding, like many in the Technical Services, is couched in participatory
development thinking, which is the predominant framework through which they plan and

perform their work. Just prior to Omar’s comments above, he explained to me the

process by which participants are selected for UNICEF activities. He said, as have some

 

'39 Other Technical Services employees expressed similar attitudes in other contexts as well. For example,
one man explained to me that rural men understand that girls should go to school, and it is actually the
women who keep girls out of school to help them sell foodstuffs door to door.

207

of his government colleagues, that they never tell aid recipients it is mandatory to include
women. It is up to the community to choose the participants.

Omar: Therefore if the person doesn’t do the work, they don’t come

crying to us since we didn’t choose. Them, they chose. You see?

KBH: Yes, but how does this relate to gender [genre]?

Omar: Oh, it relates to gender since there are men and women in it.

KBH: But sometimes people in the rural towns, won’t they only pick

men? ‘ .

Omar: Well, there are times too when you see a job that’s all women.

KBH: So you are leaving them to choose who they want to?

Omar: Yes, we leave them to choose who they want.

Gender, in his understanding, seems to mean simply that both women and men have a
chance to participate. He was not sympathetic in this conversation to barriers that
prevent women from participating.

Others in the Technical Services also talk about including gender as simply a
dimension of participatory development. Participatory Development was almost always
mentioned as the most important approach used by Technical Services employees who I
interviewed. One Technical Services administrator, crediting Mahatma Gandhi, used the
saying “Whatever you do without me, you do against me” to reinforce the importance of
participatory development efforts. This same person, however, also had the most cynical
view when talking about including gender and women in their work. He said that if
development professionals want to get financial support, they have to tell the men to
include women in the work.

On the other hand, gender is talked about by a few individuals as a matter of
rights. For example, the director of one of the Technical Services units connected

women’s participation in project activities to women’s rights. He explained to me:

It is [now] being explained to people—men first—that women have rights
[‘yanci]. Just as I, a man, have rights, this woman has rights. She is a

208

member of the town, a citizen of the country. Therefore, just as I have the
wisdom to give an answer, just as I have enthusiasm to work, she also has
enthusiasm to work. If one looks, women here in Niger are 52% of the
population]. Is it possible to put all the women out in the bush?1 It’s not
possible. . .It’s necessary in everything that is to be done to ask her
opinion. If something is her right [hakki], give her her right.

Interestingly, this individual had collaborated a few times with CARE PN 51 as well as
with other CARE projects. In fact, one of his trainings in gender was by CARE. As he
explained to me that few girls in the past would stay in school for very long, he adds:
Now with all this, with this getting attention, the CARE PN 51 project,
especially around ‘dan Issa here, they have started to understand that a
woman has a status among people. In town, a woman has respect.
Therefore her work is not pounding and making food and getting
firewood. No, everything that is necessary to develop the town, she is
involved. And her rights are given to her so she too develops.
Indeed even though CARE’s collaboration with the Technical Services is minimal in
comparison to UNICEF ’s, CARE seems to have the greater impact in terms of gender
training. UNICEF, however, has done more to educate people about their rights in
general than they have to educate people about gender issues. One Technical Services
administrator who I asked about whether they were educating UNICEF aid recipients
about their rights explains:
Since UNICEF ’s work was started, this is being done—that kind of
training. Always if a training is to be done, first, a person knows his rights
[‘yanci]. For example, one would say he knows what he must do for his
country and what his country must do for him.
Although this Technical Services administrator uses “‘yanci” to talk about rights, the
context suggests a reciprocal relationship of rights and duties. As already mentioned,

sometimes these terms are used interchangeably in conversation. Nevertheless, UNICEF

 

”0 He is expressing that women can be left out much like people in rural areas or the bush (‘kauye) have
been largely left out of participating in and benefiting from many political or technological developments in
Niger.

209

has made an effort to include information about rights in its trainings, which some aid
recipients have also confirmed to me.

Finally, there are few women who work in the Technical Services, Madarounfa.
Most who do work in primary education or health services. Table 21 lays out the number
of male and female employees in several key government units with whom UNICEF
collaborates, CARE PN 51, and UNICEF-Maradi in 2004.

Table 21: Number of Male and Female Employees in Selected Key Madarounfa
Government Units, CARE PN 51, and UNICEF-Maradi in 2004‘“

 

 

 

 

 

 

Male Employees Female Employees
Government: 4 0
Community Development
Government: Social Development, 0 1
Population, the Promotion of Women,
and the Protection of Children142
Government: 12 2
Agriculture143
CARE PN 51 8 6
UNICEF -Maradi Office 3 2

 

 

 

 

 

When I asked Technical Service employees about the number of women working in their
unit, several spoke of the short duration for women in government positions. One man
who works in the literacy sector of the Technical Services said:

Here in our workers, we—some places there are women—but us here, we

don’t have any women. If you went to Maradi, there are two women in

the [literacy] department. There are two women. All the same, here, you

know, if you get married, you are in your husband’s place. All of them are

living in Niamey. All of them got married.

His colleague fiom Community Development explained:

 

141 I have excluded drivers and administrative assistants from this count. These personnel are sometimes
shared among CARE projects or government units, so the comparison would not be fair.

”2 The one employee in their office just started this position in mid-2004.

”3 One of these women commutes from her home in Maradi by motorcycle each day.

210

Some women, you’ll see, if they get married, they go follow their

husbands. . . .Now if you go somewhere, you’ll find lots of women at

Community Development. Or as you’ve seen here, we do not have them

since that’s how they are. If a woman gets married, she follows her

husband.

In this environment, there are few female employees at all, and those who are there
generally stay for a short duration. This in combination with scant training in gender
issues provides an environment in which patriarchy is seldom recognized or questioned.
It is true, however, that some employees recognize that women have certain rights and
that they should participate in development efforts. This, however, can be and is done
without questioning male headship and bringing up equality.

On top of these issues, as mentioned in Chapter Four, Technical Services
employees are severely under-resourced. They see UNICEF as a much needed source of
resources and personal income. Thus, the cynical comment about including women in
order to get financial resources should not be tossed aside. This, indeed, seems to be an
important reason for including gender or women-oriented pro grams. And for those who
have not had training in these issues, getting money and appeasing donors may be the
only reasons they see for doing such programs.

CARE and UNICEF Volunteers on Gender, Rights, and Development

Like CARE and UNICEF employees, CARE and UNICEF volunteers in rural
towns where these organizations intervene reformulate project ideas and activities. These
volunteers have varying degrees of training and exposure to development discourses in

CARE and UNICEF. Therefore the ways in which they reformulate project ideas and

activities differ among them and is distinct from employee’s reformulations. The data in

211

this section come fi'om interviews with volunteers and my observations in Garin J akka
and Tchikaj i Gaj eré and at regional trainings in which volunteers were involved.
Gender

Translating gender becomes even more problematic in a social milieu where one
cannot resort back to French to express a concept. Few rural residents are fluent in
French in Niger. In Tchikaji Gajeré, some school children in the upper grades of primary
school are frmctional reading and writing in French, but adults are not. In Garin Jakka,
neither children nor adults function in French. When I asked residents of Garin Jakka
and Tchikaji Gaj ere' about gender, I broke it down to find out about issues such as
relationships between men and women (whether this be husbands and wives or other
relationships), access to resources for men and women, CARE and UNICEF project
activities for men and/or women, the content of trainings that volunteers received,
women’s participation in CARE and UNICEF activities, and so on. Clearly, using jinsi
would have been confusing and inappropriate. Table 22 gives the responses I received
fi'om CARE and UNICEF volunteers interviewed in Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gajeré
when I asked what jinsi means.

Table 22: CARE and UNICEF Volunteers’ Definitions of Jinsi

 

CARE Volunteers- Garin Jakka UNICEF Volunteers-Tchikaji Gajeré

 

Men -A color, like red, green, black, -Things that are all one type (e.g., Muslims,
white Hausa people, black people, men, or women)

- A mother tongue or ethnicity like -Different types. For example, Hausa or
Hausa, Fulani, etc. Kanuri people.

- Different language groups or regional
identities (e.g., Katsinawa, Gobirawa)

- For example, Hausa, Zerma, Arab, European

 

Women -Does not understand the term -Does not understand the term

-A man and woman staying/living -Does not understand the term

together; marriage. -Does not understand the term

 

 

 

 

 

212

Arnina, the woman who referred to jinsi as marriage in Table 22, had just
returned from a CARE training in Women’s Leadership. She had also attended numerous
CARE trainings in the past and was, in the opinion of one of the CARE field agents
working around ‘dan Issa, the person in that area who best retained the teachings CARE
gave. She also is the only woman volunteer I interviewed in Garin J akka or Tchikaji
Gajeré who understood the term jinsi in any sense, and clearly her understanding was in
relation to CARE’s teachings. However, understanding gender as marriage is still quite
different from the definitions presented above in CARE staff debates. The men knew of
another definition of jinsi that means a certain type of something—usually a language or
ethnic identity of some kind. One male interviewee explained that jinsi is a term that he
has heard of, but it is not commonly used where they live. It is likely that male mobility
has allowed the men interviewed to understand this term that is not common in these
towns, while women who do not usually travel far or listen to the radio were unfamiliar
with it. In general, women also seemed less familiar with being asked to define terms.
Men easily understood what I was asking them to do when I said, “What doesjinsi
mean?” or “What does ‘yanci mean?” Women were often confused by such questions,
although more so by jinsz' than any other terms I asked about.144

Beyond debates about literal translations for jinsi, the message about
gender/genre that CARE and UNICEF are communicating in towns around ‘dan Issa is
often heard and interpreted in different ways. Residents of Garin J akka and Tchikaji
Gajeré recognize that CARE and UNICEF have a special interest in helping women, as

some of their activities are only for women such as helping women acquire goats, loans

 

”4 Other terms I asked about were: ‘yanci, hakki, gargajiya, zamam‘ (modem or the time of), and jahilci.

213

to women in the case of UNICEF, and a women’s credit and savings group in the case of
CARE. Sometimes it is understood that this is done to help women when their husbands
are away from home, or people are simply thankful for the extra support that UNICEF or
CARE provide for the household no matter who receives it. At times, however, men are
puzzled by this explicit help for women. Several men in Garin J akka are of the opinion
that CARE should also help men acquire animals; however, it should be cattle instead of
goats as this is what men tend to own. One of them explained to me that men are the
ones who support their wives; therefore, they also need this kind of help from CARE. By
helping the men, he explained, you are also helping women. In fact, the husbands of
some of the women in Tchikaji Gajeré who received cash loans in 1996 from UNICEF
took the money intended for their wives. Some of these men had still not repaid the
money in 2004.145 I inquired with a number of UNICEF volunteers in Tchikaji Gajeré
about this. In one instance I asked:

KBH: So the men have not paid?

Interviewee: The men, you know, men spend a lot of money. Everything

is on him, everything is on him. There is spending on something for the

home, clothing, and stuff. Here we are in the rainy season, and some years

it comes and there is not much of a harvest. That’s why up until now they

have not fully paid, I think.
The socially accepted role of men as providers as well as women’s obligation to obey
their husbands makes it easy for men to justify capturing project resources that are
intended for women.

Some of the men in Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gajeré were particularly interested

in assistance fiom UNICEF specifically so that they would be able to better keep their

 

”5 A group of 40 women was given 1,500,000 CFA total, divided amongst them. Some of the women were
given six months to pay it back, and others were given one year. With interest, they were to pay back
1,725,000 CFA. As of April 2004, 1,427,700 CFA had been paid back and 297,300 CFA had not.

214

wives at home. For example at the end of an interview when I asked if a UNICEF
volunteer had any questions for me, he said:

As far as UNICEF ’5 work with us here in town, is there some step that we

can take so that we can get more support from you and better convince our

women so they can agree to [seclusion]?

He goes on to explain that the problem in town of acquiring water requires women who
are not secluded to be gone from home for long periods of time waiting in line at the
pump. If they are gone from home, their children can get into things that are dirty while
they are away, he explains. Because of this, a new well would be helpful for those who
do not seclude their wives. According to Islam, however, he says, getting water should
be a man’s responsibility. Women should stay at home to look after the children and the
home. He goes on to explain what else he wants from UNICEF:

Convince [the women] even more because, as I told you, some of them, if

[the men] want to seclude them, some of them don’t want it because they

go around here and there. They think they received a little freedom. But

if she is secluded, she doesn’t go out, and she thinks she is

restricted. . .Help us with our wives. Teach them a trade in the home, or

help us with a sewing machine to give to a woman and teach the woman

how to sew. She is, you see, all this work is in the home.

Indeed, UNICEF’s efforts to empower rural women was seen by this man as a way to
keep them secluded in the home.

In a random sample interview in Garin J akka, a woman in her 70s who farms had
similar thoughts about CARE supporting seclusion. She first explained to me that she
had never been secluded and that when she was young seclusion was not practiced. I
asked her why people today practice seclusion. She replied:

Interviewee: Because of education/sensitizing [wayewar kai].

KBH: Who is sensitizing?

215

Interviewee: This thing, it comes from the project [CARE]. Before the
project too, everyone was secluding. Now too the project has gone out
and caused everyone to. They are going fi'om town to town and giving
advice. They gather and talk with all the men and women and give them
the history of this. You see, even if someone has not yet started, he will
do it. You say you will take a woman and leave her to wander about? It’s
not right. You can forbid her to go to the well, to get firewood, and to do
threshing too. Now the women in our town, you see. . .we [the older
women] are the threshers now. We do the threshing for women. And
that’s it. You can forbid a woman everything and provide her clothing,
soap-- hey if you have the opportunity and the means-- buy everything for
her to maintain the home.

KBH: Then, if I understand, you said that the project is doing the
sensitizing?

Interviewee: Yes, they are causing people to. They are giving people
advice.

Indeed, she was recounting the marabout relais and CCC activities from her own

perspective. CARE was sponsoring these discussions with malamai about women and

Islam, and she understood this to mean that CARE was supporting seclusion of women

through the malamai talking with people about it. Her detailed accounts of other

educational events put on by CARE about HIV/AIDS and other health issues led me 'to

believe she was a careful listener in general to what was said in such meetings. Yet

somehow she got the idea that CARE is advising men to seclude their wives. In Garin

J akka and Tchikaji Gajeré, project aid and seclusion seem to be linked in people’s minds

in terms of bringing prosperity.

Also, men in Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gajeré sometimes had a response similar

to Omar’s regarding blaming women for not participating in project activities or for

certain cultural practices, while omitting a critique of men or patriarchy. For example, I

asked one project volunteer in Garin J akka about relationships between men and women

in town in the context of CARE’s work. He replied:

216

As for us, you see, we have obtained it because women have been

sensitized as to how to live with their husbands. Now, there are not lots of

ignorant women or bits of gossip. That’s because it is known what paths

to follow for reconciliation without veering off somewhere, right? Now

everything has started going correctly between women and men.
Later in the interview, he also blames women for not participating in CARE. “All
women who you see not participating, it’s not because of her husband. It is only if she
does not intend to.” I knew from other sources that there are some men in Garin J akka
who forbid their wives to participate in CARE activities. Most of them also refirse to
participate. However, this informant seemed convinced that problems with women in
terms of participation or gender relations simply required women to change.

Another example of such thinking is fi'om the UNICEF Integrated Community
Development training for rural aid recipients. Participants (a group of about 2/3 men and
1/3 women) were asked to identify sources of the problem early marriage of girls. The

following list was generated by the group:

Parents’ greed

A girl’s bad manners/behavior

Not putting girls in school

The head of household not feeding the family

While in this case, the responsibility and blame is shared by the parents and the girl, it
never falls on the husband or potential husband. In other words, male sexual desire and
dominance over young women in terms of age and gender are not recognized in this

group as sources of or reasons for early marriage of girls.

217

E?

V
...!l
E”

 

Figure 21: UNICEF-sponsored Training on
Integrated Community Development

A few critiques of—or at least recognition of—patriarchy did surface, however, in
my interactions with people in Garin Jakka and Tchikaji Gajeré. In one training, Amina
fiom Garin J akka seemed to continually remind CARE instructors about the social
constraints she has as a young secluded woman.

“Can a woman be a leader?” a CARE employee asked the group of women
trainees.

Amina confidently replied, “If there is a man, he is the leader.”

The CARE employee then asked, “Why has this been designated something for

men?”

218

Amina explained, “Even if she is chosen [as a leader], if she is a young woman

”6 not an older woman, and married, she has to follow her husband. She

(karamin mace),
has to go back home and discuss it.” I knew from talking with Amina and her husband
that after ‘Kungz'ya and some others in Garin Jakka had selected Amina to represent them
at the training her husband had indeed given her permission to attend.

Later in the same training, Amina reminds the group again of a woman’s
constraints. “How does a leader call people together?” a CARE instructor asks.

The group starts listing off answers, “announce it at the savings and loan group, at
the well, a naming ceremony, or on the radio.” Again Amina speaks up and points out
that radios are not very accessible to women.

The fact that a secluded woman like Amina could travel to attend a CARE
training is not common. Men in Tchikaji Gajeré and Garin J akka told me that most men
do not let their secluded wives go to another town for a couple of days to attend a
training. One of them explains:

You keep your wife from farming, going to the well, and getting wood.

You do all of these. Then someone says a car will come and pick her up

to go somewhere. You, who are hiding your wife, there she is, they are

going from town to town with her. And someone says he doesn’t know

where they are taking her to sleep.

Some even keep their wives from attending CARE or UNICEF meetings in their home
town for various reasons. One explanation given by some men in Tchikaji Gajeré is that
their wives do not need to attend because they are not educated (i.e., illiterate). Indeed,

education and literacy are important factors in some cases for project participation. I will

return to this issue further below.

 

'46 Literally karamin mace is a “small woman,” meaning in terms of her social stature.

219

In terms of gender, few people in Tchikaji Gajeré and Garin J akka have had any
formal training by CARE or UNICEF to understand what they mean by it. Instead, some
residents see programs for women and assume transnational aid organizations and
employees have a view similar to theirs of female domesticity, male headship, seclusion,
and prosperity that they are supporting through these programs. Others see views of
CARE and UNICEF on these matters as contradictory to Islam. Their resistance to these
organizations is discussed further below. Nevertheless, patriarchy is seldom critiqued in
this social milieu.

Rights

In Garin Jakka and Tchikaji Gajeré, I asked CARE and UNICEF volunteers what
the terms ‘yanci and hakki mean. As noted above, the meaning of these words is similar,
and they are often used interchangeably. However when I asked people to define and
distinguish the two terms, certain continuities emerged in their responses. Table 23
summarizes definitions and examples given to me by the CARE and UNICEF volunteers
I interviewed in Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gaj eré, broken down by town and gender. For
the most part, ‘yanci implies ownership or having the status to be able to act and speak as
one chooses. Two people, however, note a relational aspect to ‘yanci (i.e., husband and
wife, and government and tax payer). Hakki, however, is more consistently understood
to involve relationships and duties in the definitions and examples given. It is often used
in a negative sense such as when something is owed to or taken from someone. Three of
the women chose to define hakki by talking about ‘dauki hakki or ‘daukar hakki—

denying rights or oppressing a person who has no control over the situation. Perhaps

220

their own experience as women being told to be obedient and patient when their hakki is

denied provoked this response.

 

 

 

 

Table 23: CARE and UNICEF Volunteers’ Definitions and Examples of ‘Yanci and
Hakki
CAREFemale CARE Male UNICEF UNICEF Male
Volunteers- Volunteers— Female V Volunteers-
Garin Jakka Garin Jakka Volunteers- : ‘-. ,2; Tchikaji Gajeré
TchikaiiGajeré

‘Yanci -Does not —Permission has -Someonelhas the -Someone who
know. been given for Vyanci toxic; ’ .1 -. .' has his own
-‘Yancin gari something. something or not. house and field,
(town rights): -Something you r-Does not know. and is written as a
everyone knows have the power to -If something town resident
that something say or power over enters into or .2 who pays taxes
is yours, and (i.e., you can sell leaves your life, ' has the ‘yanci to
you are it, give it away, or you have the be a town citizen.
involved with do what you want 'yanci to enter in -Someone speaks
what is with it). It is or leave. their mind and is
happening in yours and you ~Someone has the knowledgeable
town have it. Events“ to enter -Having a certain
— 'Yancin mace into and "leave a status or
cila'n gida task/job. responsibility to
(woman’s rights 7 ' ‘- speak about or do
in the home): If something.
she does what 4 -All that you do
she is supposed . ‘ and get is yours;
to do, so should you can give it
her husband. - 1' - away.

Hakki - ‘Dauki hakkin —Something owed - ‘Dauki hakki - Right to your
mutum (deny a . to someone, like a (deny someone”s home and field,
person’s rights) field or salary. rights) means and the duty to
is a matter for - —It is yours, but you do ~ ‘- ‘ pay government
God to fix. you have not yet something you taxes.

- If something received it. For should not, but -Something is
is your hakki, example, an people cannot do yours, but you do
stop and do it inheritance. anythingabout it. not have it yet.
for God’s sake. -Does not know. . -Something owed
- ' ‘ - ‘Daukzzrhaidd to someone.
means to oppress -Owed to
-It is a child’s someone who is
haldu' that his oppressed, stolen
:par‘entsprovide , from, or falsely
for him. accused.

 

 

 

 

 

 

221

 

During a CARE training on Women’s Leadership, women volunteers from rural
communities around ‘dan Issa listed examples of ‘yanci and nauyi (a duty) that exist in

their communities. The responses given are listed in Figure 22.

 

‘Yanci (fight) Nau ° 11
Teach children in school Provide food and shelter for school
teachers

Women’s inheritance Development work for the town
Women can meet together Pay taxes
Food to eat Get an identity card and papers
Health care

Problems between pastoralists
and farmers*

Grinding mill*

*Indicates that these answers were ojfered by participants, but not acceptable to the CARE
employee facilitators. Nevertheless, they were written on the board for everyone to reflect on.

 

 

 

Figure 22: CARE PN 51 Training Exercise on Rights and Duties '
The CARE facilitators went on to explain that ‘yanci and nauyi have a relationship much
like a man and a woman. One of them asked the group, “Why do you have rights
[‘yanci]? Why is it necessary that the government do this for you?” He went on to
answer the question himself, “You pay taxes. The government has to do these things for
you.” This seemed to make sense to people. Later in the review session at the end of the
training, a participant repeated this example to explain ‘yanci and nauyi. The CARE
employees had chosen to translate right as ‘yanci rather than hakki in this case, although
the meaning they were attaching to it would have perhaps been better expressed with

hakki, based on the definitions and examples given in Table 23.

222

Some volunteers also recall talking about rights in CARE or UNICEF past
trainings. For example, Amina recalled CARE’s teachings about obtaining birth
certificates and other forms of identity,147 not forcing one’s children to marry against
their will, and not marrying girls. One man who had attended several UNICEF trainings
explained to me that he agreed with most of what UNICEF said about rights, but there
were some points with which he disagreed concerning women’s rights. For example, he
said:

One thing that we disagreed with, [UNICEF] said a woman, you can,

when you are a young unmarried woman (buduruwa), when you become a

young woman, you know, you have boyfiiends who you chat with. So

they said that even after you are married, you can, this boyfiiend of yours,

this male fiiend of yours, you can call him over and you act like you did

before, when she was not married. . .We do not agree with this. It is not

possible that in Islam you marry a woman so that she can act like an

unmarried girl and go to some town to date someone.

In these communities, hakkin mata (what is owed to and expected of a women) is well
accepted, while ‘yancin mata (fieedom or emancipation of women), which UNICEF was
expressing in the example above, is an uncomfortable Concept. The idea that a woman
would be emancipated or free to do as she pleases, which implies she does not need a
husband or elder over her, is unacceptable. Not only a woman, but all community
members see themselves as part of the social community and hierarchy, according to age,
kin group, gender identity, education, occupation and wealth. It is important to know
one’s place, and one’s rights and duties within these relationships. Even the example
given about paying taxes and government obligations demonstrates this. An overly

individualistic notion of rights and freedom implies disrespect, isolation, and irreverence

for one’s community and superiors.

 

”7 Getting identity papers was considered a duty in the previous example, but is often also considered a

right.

223

Projects, Literacy, and Power

As already mentioned in Chapter Five, being educated and literate affects one’s
status in Garin Jakka and Tchikaji Gajeré. It also partly determines who some of the
most powerful actors are in CARE and UNICEF programs in these communities. Two
men, Daouda and Ahmadou, who had some training in reading and writing in Hausa prior
to CARE and UNICEF ’5 work in Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gajeré, respectively, were
selected to teach CARE- or UNICEF-sponsored literacy classes in these towns. In Garin
J akka, only a class for men took place. Amina was supposed to be trained to teach the
women, but she was unable to attend the initial training she needed to begin learning how
to read and write. She and I did some literacy lessons in her home for a few weeks in
2004, but she was still learning the alphabet and phonics at that point. In Tchikaji Gajeré,
there was a literacy class for women and one for young, unmarried men that stopped in
2002. The men’s class in Garin Jakka was also no longer taking place as of 2004.

As one of the few literate people in their respective towns, Daouda and Ahmadou
have certain privileges. Both serve as record keepers for loans, vaccinations, and/or other
project related activities. In the case of Tchikaji Gajeré, Ahmadou helps recommend
people to attend UNICEF trainings based on their ability to read and write. UNICEF and
government Technical Services employees prefer that communities select representatives
with some reading and writing abilities to attend the trainings. In the case of Daouda, a
disagreement developed between him and certain CARE PN 51 staff over money
management with Garin Jakka’s CARE cereal bank in 2004. He was serving as the
leader and record keeper in this particular activity. When I left Niger, the issue had not

yet been resolved. Like many, he was waiting to hear if PN 51 would continue or not as

224

it was reaching the end of its funding cycle. This may have caused him to wonder if it
was worth paying back the money.

A fellow resident of Garin J akka shared with me his skepticism about Daouda
ever starting up the literacy program for men again. Daouda stopped teaching because of
an injury to his hand, but had never continued the program again since then. He does not
want anyone to get ahead of him in their literacy skills, his fellow resident commented.
Indeed, literacy is a way to stay ahead and keep a position of power in this community.
In Tchikaji Gajeré, Ahmadou also stopped teaching, although in this case he says that it
was because UNICEF stopped paying him to teach and people in town would not
continue paying his salary.

As mentioned above, illiteracy is sometimes used as an excuse for women not to
participate in CARE or UNICEF activities. When I asked one UNICEF volunteer in
Tchikaji Gaj eré if his wife participated in UNICEF, he said no and went on to explain:

She does not know how to do that work yet. Only when she has

studied/been educated (yi karatu). Definitely, those [participating in

UNICEF], they have gone and some of them have studied. Yes, some of

them have. She is just a young girl (yarinya ‘karama). She has not

started. She has not started studying.

This inforrnant’s emphasis on needing to have some education and literacy for any
participation in project activities is more extreme than most. But certainly many
opportunities for more intensive UNICEF trainings are commonly recognized as being
for people with at least some literacy skills. That said, sometimes Tchikaji Gajeré has
sent illiterate women to trainings, which Technical Services employees have complained

about. The truth is that there are few women in this town with even the most basic

abilities to write down a few words and numbers. Without the literacy program

225

functioning, a cycle of low and poor quality participation is created, and people cannot
move into the more powerfirl positions that people like Daouda and Ahmadou maintain.
Those who are illiterate often see themselves as ignorant and inferior.
Rejecting Development Ideas and Practices

Besides reforrnulating development ideas and practices, a few peOple in Garin
Jakka and Tchikaji Gajeré choose to outright reject CARE and UNICEF interventions. In
these two towns, I have identified three main reasons why people resist or are suspicious
of CARE and UNICEF ’s work—risks versus benefits, religious beliefs, and suspicion of
turawa.
Risks versus Benefits

First, participating in CARE or UNICEF activities requires an investment of time,
energy, and scarce resources. Some people choose not to participate in CARE or
UNICEF because they find investing their time in other activities, such as farming or
trade, is more profitable. As I was interviewing one CARE volunteer in Garin J akka, he
explained to me why some people in town lost interest in CARE activities after a while:

When [CARE] started-coming, it was being said that they are coming to

give out money to people, a loan. So [people in Garin J akka] waited for a

year. They waited a year and a half. They waited for two years. They

saw that nothing was said about it. Then they said, “Oh, these people are

nothing. They just want to waste people’s time. That it! Let’s forget

about them.”
If people do not see a benefit, why should they participate? Certain volunteers or other
community members I knew ran away to hide on occasion when they heard CARE,
UNICEF, or government vehicles approaching town. They did not want to get bogged

down in wasting a lot of time answering questions or having a meeting. Similarly, the

woman in Tchikaji Gaj eré who had been trained by UNICEF to regularly monitor baby

226

weighing in town explained to me why women do not bring their children to her to be
weighed.
KBH: So women do not want to bring their children?

Interviewee: Yes. They say that if there is no medicine to be given to
them.

KBH: Because they are sick?

Interviewee: Yes, they are sick. But if they are told that the doctors have

come [from ‘dan Issa] and they should go for weighing, well, let’s go! We

don’t know if our child will be given medicine or not.
In other words, weighing just to track the growth of a baby or young child using only a
UNICEF volunteer is not considered a good use of time by these women. In many cases,
it would simply confirm what a struggling mother already knows—her child is sick and
not eating enough. However if mothers can possibly get some medicine for a sick child
from visiting health professionals, they are more likely to come to a weighing session.

Sometimes too choosing to participate or not is not just about making good use of
time and energy, but also about whether or not to take risks. In particular, some people in
Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gajeré do not want to take loans for fear that they will not be
able to pay them back. Some are afiaid to spend money on recommendations that
projects make. For example, CARE had an educational session in Garin J akka for the
entire town on acquiring proper documentation for voting. When I asked people in Garin
J akka what they thought about it afterwards, the most common response was that they
would like to get proper documentation but do not have any money to spend on fl'rat now.

Using money that is needed for food or other necessities on documents is a risk that they

were not willing to take.

227

 

 

Islam

Second, a few individuals refuse to participate in CARE activities in Garin J akka,
because CARE is not Islamic. The senior malam in this town is very suspicious of
CARE; he refuses to have anything to do with CARE and forbids his wives to participate
as well. I realized this soon after I arrived when I greeted one of his wives at home to
introduce myself and she told me emphatically that they are not involved in CARE and
she could not talk to me! A few other men in town have followed this malam’s lead and
refuse to have anything to do with CARE. One CARE volunteer told me:

There are some who say that it is straying from the path because it’s like

Christians. . .If we start talking with [those who resist CARE], we say to

them, you say this, but we ourselves, if we go and it is time to pray,

[people in CARE] tell us to get up and pray. And fiom among us, we

choose someone to get up and lead the prayer for the people. So you see,

if this is Christianity, it would not be this way. . .The reason why they do

not participate, mostly, he, the malam, says that [CARE] is going to

change their religion.
While the notion that CARE, a secular organization, would want to convert people to
Christianity may seem far fetched on one level, these men may be thinking of values and
lifestyles promoted by CARE that they associate with the Western world and
predominately Christian societies. One such example is the place of women. In another
discussion with a volunteer in Tchikaji Gaj eré, he told me some men there are suspicious
of UNICEF ’s co-ed trainings, thinking that by doing these UNICEF intends to make them
into turawa (Europeans or white people).

One of the young men who chooses not to participate in CARE for religious

reasons nonetheless agreed to an interview as he was part of my random sample. He

explained to me another reason for not participating is that some Muslims believe that

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charging interest on a loan is haram (an unlawful act according to Islam). CARE credit
and savings groups do charge interest.

As a rebuttal to those who are resistant, a CARE volunteer in Garin Jakka
recounted to me how in past generations Hausa people resisted putting their children in
school, while the Zerma were not as resistant. As a result, they have found Zermas
dominating over them in Niger. He sees the same thing potentially happening with
development projects. If Hausa people do not stick together and cooperate, he says, they
may again miss an opportunity and be left behind.

Relationships with T urawa

Finally, some men in Garin Jakka who resist CARE’s work are suspicious of the
intentions of transnational aid organizations with strong links to the Western world. This
kind of suspicion has good reason. People in Niger have been colonized by turawa,
experiencing violence, forced labor, resettlements, and other hardships. In the colonial
era as well as today, Europeans and other foreigners have profited off Afiican labor and
resources, or use Africans for unethical medical testing. What is it that these turawa
want, many Nigeriens wonder? Even though CARE and UNICEF employees and
government collaborators who work in Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gajeré are all Nigerien,
residents of these towns are well aware that financing and ideas for these projects come
from outside of Niger. I had numerous discussion with people in Garin Jakka and
Tchikaji Gajeré who were trying to figure out the motive for CARE, UNICEF, and my
interventions in their communities. In an interview with Ahmadou in Tchikaji Gajeré, he

asked me:

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A: This work that is coming out of your countries, I wonder if it is

coming so that you convince people, you educate/sensitize them? Or do

you have some other goal in the future?

KBH: If you say “you,” who do you mean—UNICEF?

A: Yes, like UNICEF.

KBH: OK

A: People say that there in turawa countries you give up a lot of wealth

and come to give it to black people to help them. And too they are not

your race/ethnic group [‘yan uwanjinsin 48 ku]. So that’s all, I want to

know, this help that you give them, do you want to convince them in the

future to do the kind of work that you do? ...For example, now if there

are some nice cars, they say America or France helped Niger. Or some

medicine, they say that America helped Niger. That’s what I wonder—are

you being compassionate towards us and helping us? Or do you want all

of us to do your kind of work?
After he shared his question I launched into an explanation of the UN system, the many
actors involved in UNICEF ’5 work, and other kinds of aid that come to Niger.
Nonetheless, Ahmadou’s comments reveal several important points about how people in
Garin Jakka and Tchikaji Gajeré see Western countries and people as well as foreign aid.
First, while Ahmadou said he meant “like UNICEF” by “you,” he went on to talk about a
much broader range of topics such as aid from France and the United States as well as
turawa in general. T urawa is a lumped category of people from countries outside of
Africa and the Muslim world. Often people in Garin J akka and Tchikaj i Gaj eré do not
realize the ethnic and racial diversity of places like the United States. Likewise, they do
not realize the diversity of the UN. While well aware of who Kofi Annan is from
listening to the radio, one man I was chatting with in Tchikaji Gaj eré was surprised to

find out that Arman is a black man from Ghana, not a white person. Frequently, people

from non-European countries like Japan or China with fair skin are called turawa. Or as

 

”8 A rare casual use of jinsi in conversation.

230

has been the case with me a few times, white people of European descent have been
mistaken for Japanese or Chinese, especially by youth in Maradi. Thus, turawa becomes
a vague category of “other,” implying people with white or light skin, Europeans, and
sometimes Christians or Jews. So when people suspect UNICEF or CARE of wanting to
turn people into turawa, this can mean a range of possible conceptions of “other.”

Second, Ahmadou seems to recognize the economic implications of capitalism for
Nigeriens. Are wealthy turawa trying to get Ni geriens to participate in their business
ventures or work for them? He seems to be having trouble reconciling known examples
of this past and present with the apparent charity of UNICEF. One reason this may be is
his assumption that turawa (including me) are acting together in some kind of cohesive
way when the fact is that turawa engage in Nigerien affairs for very different reasons and
with very different interests. While I do not mean to deny that being a baturiyam
certainly means something in terms of collective social identity, privilege, and power in
Niger and elsewhere in the world, I simply mean here to recognize the
overgeneralizations and social construction of turawa in informants’ minds.

Obviously, I was constantly lumped into this category, asked to speak for all
turawa or at times suspected of being involved in exploitative activities. At one point
while I was looking at people’s fields in Tchikaji Gajeré to see what amount and type of
land individuals in my sample were farming, some people in town became suspicious that
I would give information on the whereabouts of their property to a large corporation who
would kick them off their land. I assured them I would keep the location of their fields

confidential, but this required them to trust me in a world where these events indeed

 

”9 Singular feminine of turawa.

231

150 Also although I often explained that I was not hired by nor a person of

happen.
administrative stature in UNICEF and CARE but only a student who was collaborating
with them to give them helpful data, people in Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gajeré primarily
thought of me as part of these organizations. They also assumed that being a Baturiya, I
must have some influence in CARE and UNICEF. The fact that I lived with them in
town, however, was distinct and unique.‘5 1

The resistance to polio vaccinations that Niger was experiencing in early 2004 in
the Maradi Région was also rooted in suspicions of turawa. The idea that polio
vaccinations are part of a ploy by the West to sterilize Africans and infect them with
HIV /AIDS trickled up into Niger following the new surge of resistance in Nigeria in
2003. While this may sound odd to those unfamiliar with the area, suspicion of Western
drugs is understandable in Nigeria, where people have been unethically used in
pharmaceutical company clinical trials such as Pfizer’s 1996 Trovan experiments in
Kano, which led to 30 Nigerian families suing Pfizer in 2001 (Kelleher 2004). Why
would UNICEF be any different than these other turawa? Furthermore, people in
northern Nigeria and southern Niger are keenly aware that Western governments and
organizations are promoting population control, an idea most are not receptive to and
some are deeply suspicious of as an attempt by the West to limit the power of Afiican

nations. Thus, what seems to some to be altruistic intentions to save children’s lives

through vaccinations has been met with grave suspicions by others. In Garin Jakka and

 

15° I gave informants the required contact information for the MSU IRB office should they have any reason
to file a complaint about the ethics of the study; however, how many of them could afford the phone call or
find someone to communicate their complaint in English? And how would MSU respond to them? Overall,
they were not familiar with this kind of legal action and basically had to choose to trust me or not trust me
with information about their lives.

'5' Peace Corps workers in neighboring towns had done this before, but it is not typical of CARE and
UNICEF employees.

232

Tchikaji Gaj eré, however, I was told by residents that they did not have any people
resistant to polio vaccines in their towns.
Class and Participatogy Development

CARE and UNICEF employees as well as civil servants in the Technical Services
all integrate participatory development in their work. They seem to work under the
assumption that the participatory approach they use should involve aid recipients to the
extent that they take ownership of programs and understand the benefits for their
community. However, as already mentioned, development professionals do not always
acknowledge social hierarchies and other power relationships that allow people to act
more in their own interest rather than that of the community or prevent certain people
from participating. Furthermore, there is little reflection on the part of development
professionals about how class relations between themselves and aid recipients influence
participatory efforts.

While discussing how UNICEF works with communities, a UNICEF
administrator said to me:

[The populations] themselves must understand the outcomes that they

want—not the government’s outcomes, not UNICEF ’s outcomes, their

own outcomes. . .It is all a long process, especially since from the

beginning, they are well-informed on how the program will be built and

put into place. They are truly the actors and beneficiaries of the activities.

Yes, they are the actors, and they are the beneficiaries.
In her comments, she, like many development professionals, tries to take herself out of
the picture. Yet who is truly benefiting most from UNICEF? Who is paid well and has a
prestigious job at UNICEF? By focusing the gaze on aid recipients, she ignores this. She

tries to make it sound like it is the aid recipient community who decides what to do and

how, and then does it. Very rarely is this the case, though. CARE and UNICEF

233

programs and activities are usually planned at higher levels, and aid recipients are asked
to participate. For those who do choose to participate, why?

At the same time, many UNICEF and government collaborators maintain a
distance from rural communities, a sort of class divide. A number of them speak
negatively about rural people, who they consider ignorant (iahilai), sneaky, and lazy.
When they do visit a rural town, it is usually brief, whipping in and out in their car or on
their motorcycle. There are certainly exceptions to this, especially among the Technical
Services, where I found a handful of individuals who are knowledgeable and respectful to
rural people. Nonetheless, such negative and condescending attitudes are quite common.
For those who embrace this class divide, their stereotypes of rural farmers become a
place to lay the blame for poverty and unsuccessfirl aid programs, especially in the
context of participatory programs that aid recipients are supposed to take ownership of.

Similarly, CARE also sees initiative and ownership of programs among aid
recipients as key to their work. Because the same CARE employees who have close
contact with rural communities are also involved in programming and intensive training,
there is a better understanding of the causes of poverty and more sympathy towards rural
people overall. Although there are occasions when CARE employees fall back on
negative stereotypes of rural people being ignorant, there is also evidence of some
reflection on class relations. A CARE administrator explained to me, “We are
partners/allies [abokan hulda] with the people in rural towns, not masters and slaves.”
However, seeing middle class professionals as partners with poor, struggling families
seems to be a superficial gloss to a deep class divide. People in Garin Jakka and Tchikaji

Gaj eré have a different perception of development professionals.

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Residents of Tchikaji Gaj ere' and Garin J akka tend to see their relationships with
CARE and UNICEF in terms of various hierarchical relationships that they are familiar
with—for example, government/citizens, sarauta/talakawa and Alhazai/barori. Like
people of higher social status and authority such as the government, sarauta, and Alhazai,
CARE and UNICEF workers have considerably more resources at their disposal than
most talakawa. And, as discussed in Chapter Five, those of a higher social and economic
standing are expected to use some of their resources for the benefit of those of lower
socioeconomic rank. In return, lower ranking people are usually obedient and respectful
to those above them. These kinds of hierarchical and reciprocal relationships carry over
into project work and play out in interesting ways in Garin Jakka and Tchikaji Gaj eré.

The notion of altruistic development interventions with the goals of empowerment
and self-sufficiency, which are key to how UNICEF and CARE see themselves today, is
not well understood in Tchikaji Gaj eré or Garin Jakka. Instead, many tend to see CARE
and UNICEF as institutions looking for workers in order to make their projects successful
for reasons of self interest. And these talakawa are willing to work for them, if there is
some benefit they will get out of it. They expect some kind of salary, compensation, or
considerable access to project resources for taking the time to participate in project
activities and trainings. After all, middle class CARE and UNICEF project staff are
clearly compensated in this way and can live a comfortable middle class lifestyle. In fact,
working for a transnational aid organization is a highly desirable job in Niger. When
asked what kinds of improvements he would suggest for CARE, a volunteer in Garin
J akka replied:

Interviewee: Yes, I definately have an opinion on this. That is, all of the
problems that they have regarding CARE’s work, regarding the rural

235

towns, certainly the representatives152 that are taken to go and work with
them, well, they do not do much for them. This is the thing, [CARE] kind
of insults the people who they take because if one goes with them they do

not get anything.
KBH: Like money?

Interviewee: Like money, yes. Say you leave your home here, and there
they are—look here—my three wives, OK? Say [CARE] picks me up and
goes with me [to a training]. Each morning, they give me 1000 CFA.
Each morning, I don’t do much partying. Goodness, it is not even enough
for one day if I am not in my own home. Each day, I eat in the morning, I
eat at noon, and I eat at night—one thousand CF A. I stay for a week, and
at the end of it, I come back home with only 1000 or 1500 CFA. When I
arrive, I find I have to pay for the water, me. Then I have to pay for
firewood that was taken, and I pay for food for the family. When I arrive,
I find that 3000 CFA has been borrowed. So then I go into the grainery
and thresh some of my millet to sell. I put that 1500 CF A together with
the 1500 CFA that I brought in order to pay the loan. Then too, people
here in town, if [CARE] has picked you up and gone with you, then they
keep on saying that they gave you lots of money there...Definately some
step needs to be taken for the representatives that are picked up. Make an
effort so that they too are made employees. Can’t one say that people in
the rural towns are, if they are also made employees, they too are doing
work? They are not just working in town, but they are also working for
the project because the project cannot work unless it is together with these
representatives.

The idea that CARE’s project is building capacity, educating, and encouraging self?

sufficiency is not the message that this volunteer seems to be getting. He, like most

people in the world, is concerned about earning a decent salary for life’s daily needs. He
spends his time piecing together farming with odd jobs at and away from home in order
to do this. Is the time spent with CARE truly worth it if they are not paying him or even

giving him enough per diem money to compensate for his lost labor at home for a week?

In other words if they expect him to work for them, he expects to be paid decently.

In addition, community members in Garin Jakka and Tchikaji Gajeré express

frustration over why UNICEF and CARE do not just come out and tell them what work

 

‘52 What I am calling “volunteers.”

236

they want done, rather than go through the exercise of numerous questionnaires and
community meetings to talk about their town. At the end of an interview, one CARE
volunteer in Garin J akka asked me:

Why is it that, for example, you or project employees, if they come, they

do not just come out openly and say this is the work that I am going to do?

Instead they come and keep talking with you and talking with you. But

you don’t say here is the work that brought us, that which we are going to

do. Such and such work we are going to do here in town.

When I went on to explain the importance of understanding the needs of the community
and getting people’s input before beginning an activity, he remarked, “That takes a lot of
time before you start anything!” In other words, he seems to be suggesting that instead of
this participatory approach, can’t those in charge simply tell people what activity CARE
(or I) is going to do? Also invoking a top-down approach, another volunteer in Tchikaji
Gajeré explained UNICEF’s goal in their town to me. He said, “What they want for us
and for them, oh, our work, if they give us something to do, we then do the work. Things
move forward with all of us. Everyone is happy.” Such comments suggest that the idea
of participatory development with the goals of empowerment and self-sufficiency are
often overshadowed by familiar hierarchical class relations and a legacy of top-down
governance and development.

A second critique that these aid recipients may be making is that the link between
the questionnaires or meetings and the activities CARE and UNICEF do are not so clear.
For example, I had people in Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gajeré express numerous requests
for help (what some development workers in Niger cynically call “the shopping list”

approach to development) in the course of my interviews and conversations. I also

collected reams of data on their household economies. Although I shared much of this

237

information with CARE and UNICEF as well as each town respectively, people in Garin
Jakka and Tchikaji Gajeré are probably left wondering how this information directly
relates to the activities offered by CARE or UNICEF in their particular town. After
several days sitting in a UNICEF training that I attended, a man from a rural town near
Madarounfa stood up and complained that UNICEF says that it will help with all kinds of

153. “You, who are

things, but so far all they have seen is twenty goats for women
imposing on us this responsibility, we need to be happy about this work!” he exclaimed.

In other words in his opinion, UNICEF was requiring all kinds of things of them, but not
holding up its end of the relationship by providing adequate resources. UNICEF has nice
vehicles (Figure 23), wealthy employees, and the power to bring all of these leaders from

around Madarounfa together for a week. He then expected them to do something more

for him!

 

Figure 23: A UNICEF Vehicle, Considerably Nicer than the

Average Car' in Niger

 

”3 This was probably an exaggeration to make a point. Most communities where UNICEF has been
intervening get more aid than just goats.

238

When viewed fiom below—the point of view of aid recipients—class relations
become key to understanding development in rural Niger. Because aid recipients rarely
have the power to speak in development circles, however, which usually requires
knowledge of a European language and Western-style education, this perspective is rarely
included in development discourses. I argue that the notion of participatory development
is never really actualized when p0wer relationships and hierarchies are left unexamined
and unchanged. This is the case for gender relations just as it is in class relations.
Conclusion

Ideas, institutions, and social hierarchies are in a state of constant reformulation
and negotiation. However, these reformulations and negotiations take very different
forms depending on who is involved, even among people in the same country or people
affiliated with the same institution. In the case of CARE and UNICEF, we have
examined in this chapter how employees, volunteers, and government collaborators
reformulate and negotiate gender and human rights-oriented development programs in
different ways. We have also seen these groups of people broken down even further to
see differences between and among them in certain regards. In so doing, several themes
have emerged in this chapter.

CARE and UNICEF employees both have to negotiate with patriarchy in their
work to gain credibility and address gender and rights issues. In this regard, CARE,
being largely concerned with cultural sensitivity and knowledge from aid recipient
communities, often focuses on discussions about Islam that seek common ground with
CARE’s goals to improve gender relations and human rights. UNICEF has a different

emphasis in its negotiations with patriarchy, seeking strategic alliances with influential

239

parties in order to promote UNICEF’s agenda concerning gender and human rights. This
plays out largely through work with “traditional chiefs.” Thus, CARE finds itself deep in
debates about terms such as “équité” and “égalité” as it seeks to talk about gender issues
in a culturally sensitive way. UNICEF, being more disconnected from debates with aid
recipient communities and malamai, can at an administrative level maintain a position
closely aligned with the CEDAW, CRC, and other UN conventions and declarations.
However, people in both organizations find themselves in situations where they have to
guard their personal beliefs in order to gain credibility and entrée into many groups.

In addition to équité and égalité, other negotiations and reformulations also play
out in CARE and UNICEF. Al ’adu (traditions/customs) are invoked strategically to
promote CARE and UNICEF’s agendas. Sometimes a1 ’adu are viewed as negative,
static, and oppressive. Other times they can be dynamic and building blocks for positive
social change. Islam, on the other hand, tends to be viewed by UNICEF and CARE
employees as unchanging. True Islam is seen as something good that is out there to be
discovered. Using Islam to critique a1 ’adu has proved to be an effective strategy.
However, Islam is more difficult to critique, especially for practicing Muslims. Some
UNICEF employees, though, find more room to critique certain practices associated with
lslarn such as wife seclusion than CARE employees do, again, most likely due to their
distance from aid recipients and from in-depth discussions on Islam and gender.

CARE employees also see gender in an active and dynamic sense. It is often
defined as something that can change, in contrast with sex which cannot. While I argue
these definitions are overly simplistic, CARE employees’ views of gender and

traditions/customs that recognize social change give CARE employees essential tools for

240

thinking about improving the lives of women and the poor. By contrast, UNICEF makes
less of an effort to train all of its employees and government partners on gender issues or
gender approaches to development. UNICEF employees in Maradi were unable to talk at
length about these subjects, and those Technical Services workers I interviewed in
Madarounfa who spoke about gender tended to see it largely as a dimension of
participatory development. A few, however, do invoke a human rights framework when
talking about gender. Having few female employees in the Technical Services also
makes it harder to bring to light issues that women face in program planning. In addition
for those women who do get positions in the Technical Services, patrilocal practices
make it hard for them to remain in a position for very long. Thus, we see how gender is
translated quite differently in CARE, UNICEF, and the government.

People in rural aid recipient communities such as Garin Jakka and Tchikaji
Gajeré—considerably more distant fi'om the professional development world, French or
English development concepts, and formal education—have their own ways of
reformulating development interventions. Indeed, sometimes they even choose to reject
CARE and UNICEF ’3 work. CARE and UNICEF interventions are sometimes
understood as validating social norms in Garin Jakka and Tchikaji Gajeré such as female
domesticity, male headship, and a hierarchical and reciprocal view of gender
relationships and rights. Indeed it seems at times that CARE and UNICEF may be doing
so, such as when CARE talks about rights and duties as a reciprocal relationship or when
UNICEF decides to give loans to women for trade in the home but not advocate for land
rights so that more women can have access to more profitable agricultural resources.

Very few aid recipients have participated in trainings on gender or human rights to know

241

what CARE and UNICEF programs are about, although many have benefited from
CARE or UNICEF resources through participating in various activities. Therefore,
people draw their own conclusions about CARE and UNICEF’s work as best they can.

There are, however, those who are suspicious of CARE and UNICEF, believing
that these organizations do not embrace the same values that Muslims should. For
example, UNICEF’s ideas about women’s ‘yanci are too extreme for some in Tchikaji
Gajeré, who perceive that UNICEF is trying to make them into turawa or change their
religion. Others in Garin J akka perceive that CARE encourages practices that are
considered haram, such as charging interest on loans. Some are suspicious of what
turawa want fi'om them, knowing the ways that some turawa try to exploit, convert, or
impose themselves on Africans. Is this aid really just a gift, or are there strings attached?
Besides these reasons, some people simply find that CARE or UNICEF require too many
risks or do not bring enough benefits to choose to cooperate with them. Life in the Sahel
is indeed fragile and people who are struggling to put food in their mouths are careful
about how they spend their time and resources.

Finally, these two groups—employed development professionals and rural
volunteers—are both affiliated with either CARE or UNICEF, but at different levels and
with different benefits. Middle class professionals enjoy a salary and access to vehicles
(although CARE and UNICEF have much nicer and many more vehicles than the
Technical Services). They see the work they are doing as helping the poor to help
themselves. Besides that, it is a job, a career for them. CARE and UNICEF volunteers
are expected to participate for the good of their community. However, some seem to be

motivated to work with CARE or UNICEF by potential rewards. Volunteers hope to reap

242

some of the benefits of these wealthy transnational aid organizations through loans, gifts,
or salaried employment. They are less interested in meetings, planning, and research, but
rather would like to be told what to do and expect some reward for their obedience and
cooperation. UNICEF and CARE employees are often conceived of in familiar
hierarchical relationships such as with sarauta, Alhazai, or the government. Thus
viewing development from aid recipient points of view, one sees the importance of class
in project interventions.

Gender and right are reformulated, translated, and/or rejected in multiple ways by
actors at different levels and layers of CARE and UNICEF’s development interventions.
The examples given in this chapter highlight the process by which reformulation and
negotiation occur in translation. In these examples, the meanings of gender, rights, and
CARE and UNICEF’s interventions have been transformed or “indigenized” by
Ni geriens. And in this process, accommodation of patriarchy rather than a radical
challenge to patriarchy has occurred.

By looking at not only translators who are the sorts of middle persons or
intermediaries Merry (2006a) and Booth (2004) focus on but also giving equal attention
to aid recipients and those who resist aid, the dichotomy of the global and the local again
seems inadequate. Residents of aid recipient towns also translate ideas and practices
from transnational organizations. Actors in aid recipient towns and actors who are
development professionals all draw on the transnational, national, regional, and personal
in their translations and reformulations. And they translate in a variety of ways,
depending on a number of factors, including most prominently organizational structure

and culture, religious beliefs, gender, education, and class.

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PART III

CONCLUSION

244

Chapter Seven
Actors, Power, and Histories in Translating Gender and Rights

In this dissertation, we have heard multiple voices translating gender, rights, and
development interventions in various levels of CARE and UNICEF. These voices are
speaking from different positions and negotiating in different ways with complex,
multilayered power configurations regarding gender and rights-based development
programs in Niger. Actors in this study continually negotiate and reformulate ideas and
practices within these webs of power. This study contextualizes these actors in
structures, power configurations, and histories of transnational aid institutions, the state,
rural towns, and households that limit and influence their agency to act.

Revisiting an Actor-Oriented Approach

An actor-oriented approach examines struggles over knowledge and power among
many actors in negotiation with one another (Arce and Long 2000, Long 1992a, 1992b).
In this study, I have illustrated some of the ways in which this plays out in CARE and
UNICEF interventions. Donors, employees, government collaborators, prominent
national and regional “traditional” and religious leaders, volunteers, aid recipients, and
resistant residents in aid recipient towns all act with different interests and from different
social positionings with regard to CARE and UNICEF’s gender and right-based work.
Furthermore, differences in gender, class, age, and education are apparent in terms of
actors’ engagements in economic activities, politics, religion, and CARE and UNICEF’s
interventions. And a single actor finds him/herself exerting power in certain ways while
being subject in other ways. For example, individuals with literacy skills (who are
disproportionately men) in Garin Jakka and Tchikaji Gajeré enjoy their positions of

privilege and better access to project knowledge and resources than most others in their

245

towns. At the same time, they are struggling to piece together a livelihood in a fiagile
ecological environment as are their neighbors. They also feel socially obligated to their
superiors—project employees, civil servants, sarauta, Alhazai, elders, and senior wives
and men in the case of women—in a strongly hierarchical society. In other scenarios,
CARE and UNICEF employees or government collaborators carefully negotiate and
translate between various discourses on gender and rights in Niger. Most endorse Islam
and alad ’u when it supports their message, but only selectively critique patriarchy so as
not to alienate strategic political partners, colleagues, or aid recipients, and as they
negotiate their own subj ectivities as Nigerien Muslims working for gender and rights-
based development programs. In such negotiations, these actors often find ways to talk
about rights and women’s empowerment without necessarily embracing equality or
autonomy.

In this way, an actor-oriented approach allows us to ask to what extent do rights-
based and gender policies and programs of CARE and UNICEF endorse or challenge
social hierarchies (Nyamu-Musembi 2005). Indeed there is evidence of both in this
study. In the process of reformulation and translation, ideas about rights, gender, and
development take on new meaning, sometimes in ways that were not the intention of
those translating. For example CARE’s collaboration with Muslim leaders in the Maradi
Région, an attempt to make their work culturally sensitive, is perceived by one woman in
Garin Jakka to be CARE supporting wife seclusion. UNICEF ’3 loans to support
women’s small businesses in the home are perceived by a male volunteer in Tchikaji
Gajeré to also be a potential source of support for wife seclusion. Indeed, critiques of

gender relations, wife seclusion, or Islam that embrace equality and autonomy are hard to

246

find in Niger, even among some working for CARE and UNICEF. More frequently an
understanding of gender relations and rights in terms of reciprocal rights and duties
within a familiar hierarchical framework is invoked. However, patriarchy is being
challenged in small ways. For example, women are becoming more widely recognized as
important political leaders through the Quota Law and CARE’s trainings in Women’s
Leadership. And schools receiving UNICEF support require equal participation of girls
and boys.
Revisiting the Local and the Global

Through ethnographically examining a range of actors and connections associated
with transnational organizations, this study problematizes a global-local framework. In
particular, this research emphasizes how actors—development professionals, volunteers,
aid recipients, and resisters of aid—are picking up and using fragments of transnational
flows, and resisting and reinterpreting them. By contrast, categories of local and global
can gloss over and homogenize the rich diversity of these various actors’ perspectives,
actions, and engagements with a wide variety of discourses. For example, we have seen
UNICEF employees grapple with reconciling UN mandates and conventions in a context
of strong popular resistance to equal rights for women in family matters. Yet attributing
this resistance to so-called “local” traditions is somewhat misleading as colonial legal
legacies, transnational religious movements, and pre-colonial divisions of labor in
Hausaland all play a role. On the other hand, we have seen through the examples of
CARE and UNICEF how so-called “global” development institutions and discourses are
situated in particular histories, organizational structures and cultures, and networks of

donors.

247

Structural Spaces for Maintaining Patriarchy

Actors at various levels of CARE and UNICEF interventions have helped us see
processes by which translation and reformulation occur. Ni geriens affiliated with CARE
and UNICEF navigate between powerful religious, traditional, and national legacies of
patriarchy and hierarchy, and ideas about women’ s empowerment and human rights
promoted by CARE and UNICEF as institutions. In so doing, they resist and inhabit
social norms in complex ways as they negotiate between different discourses. To better
understand the negotiations these actors partake in, we must contextualize them in
prorrrinent structures and social forces.

Law and the State

Merry rightly argues that in order for actors to see themselves as rights-bearing
citizens, institutions in their society must take rights seriously and the state must
prosecute offenders and protect individual rights (2006a: 179-21 7). In the case of Niger
where the legal system provides spaces to ignore equal rights of individuals, it is no
wonder that few people see themselves as bearers of human rights of the sort laid out in
the CEDAW or CRC. Family matters continue to be dealt with largely through
customary or informal legal channels, which treat men and women unequally.
Furthermore, reservations to the CEDAW and strong popular resistance to a unified
Family Code in Niger have resulted in the state allowing gender inequalities in the law to
remain.

The failure of the Nigerien state to implement measures to ensure equal and
individual rights is reflected in the way that Ni geriens in my study tend to understand

gender and human rights in terms that often accommodate patriarchy or other social

248

hierarchies rather than challenge them—for example, équité rather than égalité, and hakki
rather than ‘yanci. Equité implies a sense of justice and fairness without any guarantee of
equality. ‘Yanci contains the concept of individual fieedom and ownership whereas

hakki is relational, hierarchical, and owed to someone. ‘Yanci better corresponds with the
CEDAW and CRC. However, this concept of citizens’ rights in Nigerien law and society
is not widely recognized. In general, Ni geriens seem to be more familiar and comfortable
with hakki, and the idea of ‘yancin mata is not well accepted in Niger. CARE’s PN 51
has had relative success advocating for women’s inheritance rights (especially land)
because there is a basis for it in Nigerien Islamic practice and customary law. Inheritance
in Niger is best conceived of, however, as hakki. In some sense, this is indeed an
encouraging development for women as well as for junior males, who historically did not
own land in the Maradi Région. Nevertheless, women today in Garin J akka and Tchikaji
Gajeré (and likely elsewhere in the Maradi Région) inherit smaller portions, later in life,
and less consistently than men. Furthermore in the Maradi Région, women who do own
land and are secluded are presented with the challenge of controlling and managing this
resource by proxy. And men and women in my study very rarely knew that their rights to
inheritance are guaranteed by state law as well.

Working towards equal inheritance in state law, however, remains a critical
challenge for women’s rights activists in Niger. Finding a basis for talking about and
convincing the public of ‘yancin mata in addition to hakkin mata is key to realizing
gender equality in inheritance, marriage, divorce, reproduction, education, and other
matters. The tough stance that UNICEF has taken at times to talk about ‘yancin mata in

Niger plays an important role in this.

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Translating Rights in Transnational Aid Organizations

As noted in Chapter One, Merry’s study of the CEDAW and translating women’s
rights focuses on international law, transnational activists, and governments (2006a). By
contrast, my research examines translation of gender and rights in transnational
development interventions. What are the consequences of choosing to focus on certain
actors and structures over others in a study of translation of gender and rights? First by
choosing transnational development institutions as the focus of my study, systems of
accountability are different from those of national and international legal orders.
Development institutions such as CARE and UNICEF seek to directly please a wide
array of donors. These donors are in the private sector in addition to governments and
IGOs. Second, there is more leeway to define gender issues and human rights in a variety
of ways in development institutions than in international law. For example, organizations
such as CARE are not bound to documents such as the CEDAW or the Universal
Declaration of Human Rights, leaving them free to draw on other conceptions of rights in
Islam and elsewhere. Third, my research is in a West African, majority Muslim context.
Certainly the social norms, values, and types of social movements in Niger differ
considerably from the places in Merry’s study (Fiji, China, India, Hong Kong, and
Hawai’i). Thus, different constructions of patriarchy are contended with in Niger.
Finally, the inclusion in my research of aid recipients and those who resist aid fiom
CARE and UNICEF widens the range of translators being studied and the potential for
reformulations of gender and rights in CARE and UNICEF interventions. These
differences in terms of actors and structures being studied are key when comparing the

different conclusions about translation and vernacularization that Merry and I have

250

argued. Unlike Merry, I found that in the process of translating women’s rights a radical
challenge to patriarchy was often not maintained, nor were notions of autonomy,
equality, or choice.
Education

Educational structures also have a bearing on accommodating or challenging
patriarchy in Niger. Clearly the status of a person in Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gajeré is
linked to their level of education, whether it is Koranic, medersa, Hausa, or French-style
education. As mentioned in Chapter Five, people in these towns acknowledge that a man
or woman who is educated has the authority to speak in his/her community. Also in
project interventions, literacy has become a gateway to manipulate or influence project
activities, or get further training. In general, education and literacy open doors to
positions of leadership and authority. This is especially important in the new governing
structures under decentralization and increasing emphasis on municipal level
responsibility for solving problems. Literate communities and individuals are at an .
advantage in terms of accessing project or government resources, understanding formal
governing structures, and being exposed to new ideas. People in rural areas commonly
refer to themselves as jahalai (ignorant) not because they are not intelligent, but because
they do not have access to knowledge (largely through literacy) that will help them
penetrate powerfirl institutions, access economic resources, and speak with authority on
religion. UNICEF ’3 strong emphasis on education—especially girls’ education—is
indeed right on track in this matter. CARE-Niger has a growing interest in education as
well. Girls’ education is critically linked to deterring early marriage of girls and using

girls’ labor to assist secluded women in selling foodstuffs. However, state schools are

251

struggling and few in number. It is equally important that Muslim girls and women have
the opportunity to learn about their religion in quality and safe schools so as to make
choices about their lifestyles, including whether or not to practice seclusion. More
research and resources from the state and international community on education and
empowerment of women and other vulnerable groups in Niger are crucial.

Poverty, Privatization, and New Strategies for Prosperity

A partial analysis of the data I collected on CARE and UNICEF in Niger could be
used to support privatization of the state and development services on the basis of CARE-
Niger’s successes in gender mainstreaming and cultural sensitivity, using a largely
private model of providing services. Yet how sustainable is this model when CARE does
not see itself as permanent in Niger? And how adequate is it when critical rights and
needs of Nigeriens are not being met?

Both CARE and UNICEF are in fact responding to a struggling state and
economy in Niger. The larger issues are Niger’s external debt, diminishment of state
services due to government downsizing, and few valuable economic resources or fair
opportunities for trade in the world market. Absolutely essential services to achieving
well-being and equality in Niger such as education and health are not adequately
provided by the government (or even the non-governmental sector) to meet the needs of
the population. Because UNICEF has chosen to collaborate with the Nigerien state to
provide services, these larger problems of the state appear more prominently in their
work. However, continuing to move towards privatization of government and
development services is not a solution to Niger’s poverty. While the Bretton Woods

Institutions should be applauded for beginning to relieve debt in HIPCs, they must also

252

realize and take further responsibility for the failure of their policies that encourage
privatization in developing nations around the world. Nigeriens need to be given
autonomy in their new democracy to set their own policies and engage more fairly in
international trade. In this way, international financial and development institutions must
realize that political and civil rights need to be joined with economic, social, and cultural
rights as many of them promote rights-based development and democratization in
deve10ping countries.

Amidst the increasing poverty that SAPS have brought in Niger, not only
transnational aid institutions but also individual Ni geriens have developed new strategies
to cope with this situation. First, gender roles have shifted. An approach that links the
ideological and material has helped us see how this is taking place. As Niger has sunken
more deeply into poverty, many Ni geriens have felt they have been failed by the West
and by their own leaders. And new strategies for development are being sought
throughout the country that link piety and prosperity. In Madarounfa Département,
people battle drought, poor soil, land scarcity, and poor health with little or no aid to
subsidize their hardships. Men have increasingly relied on labor migration for income,
bringing home new ideas about wife seclusion, male provision, and prosperity. Through
pious living (including men providing and women being in the home), they hope to be
blessed by God. Women acquiesce to new gender roles as both a rest fiom their
demanding work burden historically and in hopes of also finding blessings and lahiya for
themselves and their children in a precarious environment. For some, seclusion seems to
be an attractive option compared to other alternatives. These new strategies in the

aftermath of structural adjustment offer new dimensions to debates on SAPS and gender.

253

Much of this literature focuses on women’s increased work burden as a result of SAPS.
However in Madarounfa Département, quite the opposite is occurring. Residents of
Garin Jakka and Tchikaji Gajeré seek material blessings fiom God and attempt to achieve
a certain class status through pious living. Certainly matters of faith and religiosity are
deeply intertwined with strategies for material prosperity and changing gender roles.
And quite a different vision of development and lahiya is created compared to visions at
higher levels of UNICEF and CARE.

Second, CARE and UNICEF are potential sources of wealth for Nigeriens,
although not always in the ways that people at higher levels of these institutions intend.
For employees, CARE and UNICEF provide them with prestigious and coveted jobs with
decent salaries and benefits in a country where these are few and far between. Residents
of Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gaj eré seek rewards for obedience to development
professionals (their social superiors) and do not always use project resources as they are
intended. Household and community members with more power and stature sometimes
manipulate programs that target vulnerable persons for their own gain and to maintain
existing social hierarchies. In this way, individuals strategically seek to tap into much
needed resources of transnational development organizations amidst poverty. These
materials and class matters often take precedence over discussions of gender and rights
issues or participatory development approaches in aid recipient communities.

Histories of Gender, Rights, and Development

Familiar histories and stories about development are often told by academics,

policy makers, and development professionals over and over. These may include

monolithic or “global” narratives of the entrée of prominent development policies (e.g.,

254

structural adjustment, women/ gender, human rights, environment, sustainability,
neoliberalism); significance of world conferences, conventions, and declarations; and the
role of transnational development institutions. And while understanding prominent
discourses, events, documents, and structures is critical to development studies, these are
privileged in many narratives—whether they be stories told from a neo-Marxist,
Modernist, or post-structuralist perspective—over actors. Furthermore, things that are in
reality quite different are sometimes essentialized as a monolithic entity rather than
broken down and examined intricately. For example in this study, CARE and UNICEF,
two transnational aid organizations in Niger, were found to have quite different
organizational structures and cultures. Furthermore, various levels of and individuals in
these organizations have different interpretations of policies and programs. And outside
of these institutions, significant discussions and debates about gender, rights, and well-
being (lahiya) take place. An actor-oriented approach leads us to look for these different
histories and stories about gender, rights, and development.
Stories of Transnational Aid Organizations

Transnational aid in this study takes different forms even when two organizations
are implementing gender mainstreaming, ri ts-based development, and similar kinds of
activities within the same country and département. This is due largely to actors
operating in distinct organizational structures and cultures. Organizational structures of
CARE and UNICEF in Niger contrast in terms of the degree to which CARE has
privatized its services and UNICEF has continued collaboration with a down-sized state.
Following these structural differences, gender, rights, and development have been

reformulated in different ways in CARE and UNICEF’S contrasting organizational

255

cultures in Niger. CARE-Niger highly values cultural sensitivity, multiple knowledge
sources, and service; and its employees act as middle persons between aid recipient and
transnational development discourses. For example, CARE-Niger’s PN 51 employees
negotiate with patriarchy and Islam to achieve project goals of equity and security for aid
recipients. They carefully chose terminology that does not directly contradict male
headship or Islam in the contexts where they are working. UNICEF-Niger successfully
lobbies for new pro-children and women legislation according to its mandate, although it
tends to view knowledge in more singular terms and has less discussion and training on
gender and rights than CARE-Niger. UNICEF -Niger employees also find themselves
negotiating with patriarchy in their formal partnership with “traditional” authorities and
less formal ties to Muslim leaders. However, UNICEF is strongly wedded to
conventions, declarations, and bodies of the UN as its primary obligations. Its employees
tend to stay closely allied to these and relatively disengaged from aid recipient
communities, although government collaborators are just the contrary. They carry out
most of the field work for UNICEF-Niger with little if any training in gender or women’s
rights, primarily invoking what they view as a participatory approach to development.
However, their approach usually does not take account of structural and cultural barriers
for women’s participation. And even among development professionals in the same
organization, one sees a range of views. For example in UNICEF, some are adamant
about advocating for women’s equal rights while others do not think that UNICEF

integrates gender issues into their programs.

256

Stories from Volunteers and Aid Recipients

Beyond these salaried employees, others are affiliated with CARE- and UNICEF -
Niger as volunteer leaders and aid recipients. This research proj ect has looked closely at
one rural aid recipient town where each organization intervenes—Garin J akka and
Tchikaji Gaj eré, respectively. Both towns have seen dramatic changes in gender roles
over the past three decades as wife seclusion has become the norm, new Islamic
theologies are being adopted, women are largely disappearing from agriculture, land has
become scarce, food security is tenuous, and livelihoods have diversified. Although
women and junior males now more commonly inherit land than in the past, women’s
access to agricultural resources is stifled by land shortage and new theologies of wife
seclusion and male provision. Indeed, material and ideological factors around changes in
gender roles in this context are intimately intertwined. Drought and little or poor land
drives male labor migration, which in turn frequently exposes men to ideas linked to
Islam about male provision and wife seclusion as paths to prosperity and well-being.

Poverty in this region also beckons transnational aid organizations to intervene
with their own ideas about gender, rights, and development. Social hierarchies and
power relationships constructed around gender, class, age, religion, education, and kin
group affect how project interventions play out. Those of higher rank often manipulate
project activities meant to help the most vulnerable community members for their
personal gain. Also various actors in Garin J akka and Tchikaji Gaj eré reformulate and
translate concepts related to gender, rights, and development in many ways. With little if
any training in gender, rights, or other development concepts that define CARE and

UNICEF ’5 work, they often assume that project interventions are reinforcing gender roles

257

that they uphold, including wife seclusion and female domesticity, male provision and
headship, and a hierarchical and reciprocal view of gender relations and rights. Some,
however, do not make this assumption and see CARE and UNICEF ’3 work as
contradictory to proper Muslim practices around gender, rights, and management of
economic resources. Others are simply suspicious of why transnational aid organizations
and turawa would want to help them. Is there an ulterior motive? Will they be exploited
by turawa as many Ni geriens have been? Still others choose not to participate in CARE
and UNICEF interventions as it is not considered a good use of time and resources in an
economically fragile environment.
Stories of Class, Race, and Nation in Development

As I have suggested above, transnational financial institutions as well as
development organizations and governments all play a pivotal role in setting policy,
planning programs, and distributing resources in developing nations. Furthermore, those
working for development organizations tend to see their work as charity, service, help,
and education for the poor; those working for the government tend to see themselves as
public servants meeting a population’s basic needs and protecting their interests. Thus in
transnational development institutions, the gaze is often on the poor and those who are
“developing.” This is the public face of development in many places. Yet when the gaze
is turned back on development institutions and professionals by listening to voices from
aid recipients, class, race, and nation become core components of these institutions’ and
governments’ identities. Aid recipients tend to view their relationships with salaried,
middle class professionals in familiar terms reminiscent of sarauta-talakawa, Alhazai-

barori, or government-citizen relations. Those participating as volunteers for CARE- and

258

UNICEF-Niger expect to be rewarded by wealthy transnational aid organizations for their
work for and obedience to them. In this context, participatory development,
sustainability, and self-sufficiency are difficult concepts to convey as actual practices
reinforce rather than challenge social norms.

Although in my study race/ethnic relations or nationality were not prominent
markers of difference between Nigerien aid workers and residents of Garin Jakka and
Tchikaji Gajeré, in other settings of Niger these could be significant. Certainly in my
work as a white, American anthropologist in these communities, race and nation were
prominent. For those working at higher levels of transnational aid organizations or
government aid agencies, their positioning in terms of class, race, and nation is highly
visible when viewed from below. They hold positions of power due to their socio-
economic class, race, and/or nationality, and this affects how they are perceived by aid
recipients. Just as many institutions and governments have come to reflect on gender
relations internally as well as in the aid they provide, these other markers of difference
need equal reflection.

Histories of Women ’s Leadership in the Maradi Région

As mentioned in Chapter Five, women leaders play a prominent role in the history
of Hausaland, a cultural resource barely tapped by those doing gender and development
in Niger. Women have served in particular as Iya/Inna, powerful politico-religious
arbitrator, in Hausa kingdoms. Jekadiya and Magajiya are other important women’s
roles, and women were (and continue to be in some parts of Niger) active participants in
bori religion. This history is a rich resource for talking about women’s leadership today.

However in the face of Islamic theologies that are critical of al ’adu and bori, some

259

people critique this history as a time of jahilci. Nevertheless, many Nigeriens still
practice bori and maintain close ties to royalty. For them, telling or retelling this rich
history of women leaders could provide a basis for better acceptance of women in
political and religious leadership positions today.

Also within the history of Islam in Hausaland, great women leaders and scholars
have emerged. These include Nana Asma’u and others mentioned in Chapter Five.
Chronicling more lives of Nigerien Muslim women scholars and leaders and telling their
stories would be an invaluable resource for women’s education and leadership in Niger.
Sharing stories of Muslim women leaders outside of Niger too would demonstrate the
many positions Muslim women can hold in society and the fact that not all Muslims
practice wife seclusion.

Actors and Histories

These stories and histories of gender, rights, and development in Niger and more
specifically in the Maradi Région are not a part of the canon of WID/W AD/GAD/W ED,
gender mainstreaming, rights-based approaches, or UN agendas, although these
sometimes enter into Nigerien stories in translated forms. Histories of development told
in the West generally do not stretch across wide enough nor back far enough to see their
relationship to other Western or transnational interventions in the developing world today
nor as intimately intertwined with colonialism. Nigeriens have their own histories of
gender, rights, and lahiya (well-being), which are rooted in Islam as well as non- and pre-
Islamic traditions. These histories converge and diverge with the standard Western canon
and history of development, gender, and rights. Ni geriens tend to see their relationships

with turawa and transnational aid organizations in a historical and more holistic

260

 

perspective, though. It is a focus on these Nigerien actors that has allowed me to tell
about the richness of language and complexity of power relations around gender, rights,

and development, while still taking into account structural factors in Nigeriens’ everyday

lives.

261

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