“How you see a country depends on whether you are driving through it or living in it. How you see a country depends on whether or not you can leave it, if you have to.”
- Alexandra Fuller “Scribbling the Cat: Travels with an African Soldier”
Greetings and Salutations! I'm in Ouaga for the second time in two weeks, preparing for my impending departure for a blissfull TWO WEEK vacation in Ghana and Cote d'Ivoire. Yeah, not too shabby. I'll be traveling in luxury on an air conditioned bus during the 18-20 hour trip to Accra. I will also be painting the town with my very good college friend, participating in activities reminiscent of our four years of privileged, indulgent collegiate existence and thoroughly enjoying the company of someone who is neither Burkinabé nor Peace Corps-related. Merry Christmas!
I mentioned that this is my second Ouaga trip (no small feat - 4 hours in a crowded bush taxi!) since the Thanksgiving + dysentery long weekend in Fada. I was here about a week ago to visit the Ghanian Embassy to get visas and to make sure that my amoeba friend had truly departed it's reluctant host, chez moi. Happily, the amoeba was gone, but some unfriendly bacteria remained, so I found myself medicated yet again. Now, however, I can report with confidence (though without OVER-confidence) that I am temporarily in good health ("Dieu merci," as my village friends would say).
So here I am, having just enjoyed some excellent Chinese food, basking in the Ouaga-ness of Ouaga (that is to say, the features and frills of city living). My departure from village, however, was undertaken with a heavy heart for reasons alluded to in the title of this entry that will be explained by the following...
Moral Conundrums
Two days ago I had an afternoon visit from three lycée girls, one of whom I know pretty well because her mom and I are friends and she's related to my friend Sali. I get visits from students a lot because I'm still quite a novelty and provide an interesting distraction on a day when there aren't classes. So, Kou Kou (her nickname) and two of her friends came to chez moi to say hi and look at my pictures from home. As we were sitting under my hangar, they started to laugh hysterically and converse in Zaoré for reasons unbenownst to me. I finally interrupted their giggles anto inquire and they provided me with a lame response about what my across-the-courtyard neighbor was cooking for dinner. I didn't push it but the next day (yesterday), I found out the real reason for their laughter. I made dinner (pasta and my most excellent tomato sauce) for my friends Sali and Josephine and brought it to the marché so that we could eat with Sali while she minded the telecentre. Somehow Kou Kou's visit came up and I mentioned the girls' mysterious laughter and Sali replied that Kou Kou had told her the real reason they had laughed. Apparently they had overheard my neighbor, a French teacher at the lycée, as he conversed with a female student in his house (which is maybe 15 feet from mine). He had been propositioning her aggressively, even after she refused his suggestions several times (what!?!?, yeah, that's what I said).
Let me interject by saying that I had been fairly aware that relationships between male teachers and students (even at the primary school level where girls are no older than 12, 13 or 14) are not uncommon. However, I was convinced, optimistically and quite naively, that things weren't like that in my village, despite the fact that all but one of the lycée professors are men (mostly young, 23-30, and unmarried).
So Sali told me this, at which point my jaw literally dropped, first at my initial shock, rage, disgust, contempt, etc. and then, on a more personal level, because this man is my friend, my neighbor, and was, until yesterday, someone for whom I had a great deal of respect. As I've mentioned in previous blogs, he is university educated (a BIG deal in a country with two universities), Ouaga born and raised, and, thus, more aware of the world than almost any other Burkinabé I've met, as well as being extremely kind and helpful. We've had discussions on an intellectual level unprecedented, for me, with any other Burkinabé, he has come to check when I've screamed because of some giant spider, lizard, or other creature lurking in a corner of my house and has then chased it out or killed it, has given my unflagging encouragement and counsel when I've been discouraged or unsure about work-related issues, and has, in general, been a great neighbor.
That said, I felt, beyond the obvious disgust at the situation, that I'd been had. After Sali related this news to me, she and Josephine communicated with conviction that this is beyond common and that I could be sure that most of the lycée professors engaged in this type of behavior on a regular basis and that many girls leave school due to unwanted attention, the poor grades they receive for rejecting that attention, or the pregnancies that develope as a result of not rejecting it. Also, Josephine confided that the reason she'd left lycée a year or two previously was just that - consistent, aggressive, unwanted attention from a teacher. I had known that she'd "abandoned", but thought it was for logistical reasons having to do with registration. I can't begin to express how infuriating this was to me, which was obvious to both of them, and everyone around us, as I proceeded to rant in English (always an attention-getter) after hearing this. Josephine is a cool chick, to put it simply, who speaks excellent French, enjoys reading (!), has a remarkable poise and sense of self and, to be totally cliché, has loads of potential. But it's largely for naught since she'll never have a high school diploma thanks to some backwards teacher who literally drove her away from school. Luckily (and I can't believe I'm putting it like this) she has a very sweet and successful fiancé and will be secure and well-provided for.
So yeah, so much for idyllic, simple village life, eh? The flip side is that I am certainly in a position to address this both professionally and personally (though I'm going to stick to the professional for now). I am, after all, a Girls' Education and Empowerment volunteer and this is the sort of sensibilisation that I'm equipped and expected to do, but this stuff was a whole lot easier during training in it's theoretical form, before I had people and a place to attach it to.
***Intermission*** (And now some lighter fare to interrupt my gloomy reporting.)
So on my return from my last Ouaga trip, I biked from the paved road to my neighbor's village, where I spent the night and then continued on to my village the next morning. I was biking along the road to village, basking in the scenery and early-morning pleasantness, when I looked up to see, biking towards me, a very WHITE face (biking FROM my village a.k.a. "the bush," no less!). This white face (a slight, middle-aged woman) drew nearer and we stopped to greet one another. It turned out that she was an Italian visiting the Catholic mission in my village, which she does every two years or so. She inquired into my nationality and, after I told her I was American (you never know what kind of reaction you're going to get, especially from Europeans), she commented on the quality of my French and was obviously embarrased at the more basic state of hers, at which point I commented that "Thank You" and "Good Evening" are about as far as I get in Italian. But, the point here folks, is that my French kicked this European lady's French's butt (woohoo!).
Also, if I may continue this indulgent, embarassingly brazzen but unapologetic moment of self-praise, I had a similar experience with a university student (an English major) on the bus ride from Ouaga on this same journey. He came up to me at the bus station and offered to save me a seat, seeing that I had my bike and other baggage to tend to. At first I though he was a faux type (a sketchy dude), but then I realized he was just being a nice guy. Anyhow, we chatted for a while and he eventually asked me if I was French (hmph!), and was shocked to find out I that I am American. He, too, praised my French and was reluctant to give his English a go (being obviously intimidated by my fierce multi-lingual-ness).
That said, while my French is improving quite a bit, it's still miles away from excellent and my grammar/written proficiency is, well, crap. But, hey, I've got 21 months to work on that.
Oh, and the conversation with Roulin, the English major, evolved into a really interesting discussion on race in which he posed some significant questions concerning the relationship of race and intelligence (citing James Watt, Thomas Edison and other smart white guys). My response was that the genetic difference between people with different colored eyes is significantly more than people with different skin pigment AND that, while there are indeed have been some really smart white guys, one must take into account the ancient empires in Africa (the Mali, Songhai, etc.), those of Central and South America (Incas, Mayans, Aztecs), and the construction of the pyramids and other smart Egyptian stuff, which all occurred WAY before philosophy in Greece, the Industrial Revolutions or other such Western stuff. So there.
Now on to...
Goodbyes
I've talked/written about my friend Sali a lot, as she has been the best source of all sorts of information pertinent to village and the closest thing I have to a confidant in Diabo. She has explained an enormous amount to me, from catty village gossip to elements of religious and family life to ethnic history and traditions. She also corrects my French, teaches me Zaoré, and interprets conversation and comments that I don't understand, after which she provides the appropriate response in Zaoré. We laugh a lot and we talk about serious stuff as well. She's seen me cry, which has almost made her cry (which is not good in Burkina Faso, crying outside the realm of death is generally not ok unless you're under the age of two). What's more is I've explained WHY I cry (because I'm sad or lonely or frustrated or angry and it's an emotional outlet and I feel better afterwards) and she's understood, which is pretty huge.
**Rest assured, I do not cry a lot, this was a particularly tough "I ^%#$ing hate Burkina Faso and I want to go home because this business is tough and I'd like some Starbucks or icewater or plumbing right now" moment and, as they all do, it passed.**
As usual, I digress...So Sali's presence au village has helped me immeasaurably and has given me a great outlet to laugh, commiserate, talk about girly stuff, what have you. She has even hung out with, not only me, but also my volunteer neighbors, who think she's the bees knees as well. The thing is, as I think I've conveyed, Sali is a bit unusual au village - she's got her stuff together, has lived in Cote d'Ivoire and for quite some time in Ouaga, has practical sense and knowledge to a degree that is uncommon, and is definitely more driven and motivated than your average Joe in village. Thus, she wants to leave. She's started the process of getting her passport and affairs in order and will probably leave for Equatorial Guinea, where the grass and opportuntities are decidedly greener, after the New Year. Though we plan to meet up between my return from travels and New Year's, when she'll be in Ouaga visiting family, there is a chance that this morning was the last time I'll see her for quite some time.
So while I wish her the best and am confident that we'll stay in touch, I leave you with this: goodbyes are no good. While I like my village very much and have made some great friends, it will most definitely not be the same without her.
Whew! It's laaaate (12:37 am to be precise, and I usually go to bed by 9!) and I've written a lot. I've taken lots of good pics lately and resolve to get them up soon-ish, really. Hope all is well over yonder in the land of Uncle Sam and apple pie and all that good stuff.
'Til next time.
Oh! I almost forgot, today is Burkina Faso's INDEPENDENCE DAY!
"HAPPY 46 Years of INDEPENDENCE, Burkina Faso!"
Beth and I at the Burkina/Ghana border, donning our Peace Corps wear. Our trip to Accra took about 23 hours. We left at 8:30 am, arriving the next day around 7:00 am. Despite the length of the trip, it was more comfortable than many transport experiences I've had in Burkina thanks to air conditioning and relatively comfy seats - luxury takes on a whole new meaning in West Africa!
We arrived at Chez Lea in Accra and were spoiled during our stay with movies, many many episodes of Desperate Housewives, amazing Indian food each night, comfy beds, air conditioning and the excellent hospitality of our hostesses, Lea and Simran.
Lea, Beth and I. Out for a taste of the Accra nightlife.
We took a trip to Bojo Beach, where Beth and I revelled in the sight of the ocean, the first major body of water we'd seen after nearly seven months in dry, landlocked Burkina.
Lea, Simran, and I on the beach.
Me - in the O-C-E-A-N!
The beach.
Aboisso. 
On the road to Sarah's house.
Sarah, her colleague Charlotte, Beth, and I eating Futu, an Ivoirian dish made from manioc and bananas and served with a spicy sauce.
Sarah and Beth with the chef (far right), Sarah's Senegalaise friend, Pap-Jean, and Paul, a Burkinabe literacy teacher.
On Christmas Eve, we travelled to Maffure, a small city about an hour away from Aboisso, where Sarah did some of her training. We enjoyed an amazing dinner of fresh fish and chicken with Kofi, Sarah's tutor. At the end of the meal Kofi told us how much he respected our work in West Africa and, despite our protests that we gain as much if not more than we give, he insisted that we sacrifice quite a lot in coming here, working in small villages, and radically altering our lifestyles. Whether or not I agree with him, it was wonderfully encouraging to hear him express these sentiments and especially poignant of Christmas Eve, when we were all missing family, friends and the festiveness of the holidays at home.
A Christmas visit from the neighbors.
Christmas Dinner.
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