Chrissy in Burkina Faso

On to the next adventure....

2008-10-18T16:14:00.002Z

INDIA!
For the continuing saga of post-Peace Corps life, check out my new blog at: http://chrissyhart.wordpress.com/

Mali: Le Pays Dogon (Dogon Country)

2008-09-17T00:38:00.001Z

During my last month in Burkina, I made a clandestine 3-day trip to Mali with a few PC friends (I’d already used all of my vacation days). The opportunity to see Dogon Country - a unique 100k-long escarpment that runs parallel to Mali’s southern border, whose sheer face is scattered with centuries-old villages nestled amongst the cracks and crevices – was too good to pass up. So I swallowed my moral reservations, informed many friends so that my whereabouts were known and headed north. I’ve held off on publishing this post in the interest of being divested of my volunteer status before confessing but I don’t regret my transgression for a moment – the trip was more than worth it.

Voici, les photos du voyage:

The Long Goodbye

2008-08-31T09:58:00.017Z

The things that hurt, instruct.

Benjamin Franklin

Dear Readers,

This is one of the last few blog entries I’ll publish…until I start my new blog to report on new adventures, that is.

I arrived in Ouagadougou yesterday after saying goodbye to my village for good. The last several weeks have consisted of uncertainties, changes, a plethora of emotional highs and lows and more goodbyes than I care to recount. As my last week in Burkina Faso begins, I’m emotionally drained and have begun to feel acutely the weight of two years of challenges and growth. I’m simultaneously sad to leave, knowing that this is not an experience one can ever revisit or recreate, and elated at the prospect of a solid month of relaxing at home and then moving on to explore new corners of the world and, well, get on with life.

After working the last week of volunteer training, I headed to village for four days in order to ready my house for my replacement and to say my goodbyes in the way I wanted – individually, taking the time to visit with friends and their families, take photos and make my exit quietly. Some friends – mostly civil servants – gave me a hard time for not throwing a party or making more of my departure, but that didn’t appeal to me, being beyond my means and the means of the average villager. Instead, my goodbyes consisted of conversation; rehashing funny moments – cultural faux pas and foibles, insect-induced screams, lingual confusion - from my first months in village, promises to stay in touch and to send photos and thanks…many, many thanks.

The hardest goodbyes were with my female friends – the unique, dynamic women whose daily struggles and accomplishments never cease to amaze me – and my babies; the children in neighboring courtyards and my counterpart’s family, whose constant, unwavering affection and utter inability to judge me the way I’m so often judged as a stranger here, has been one of the absolute sustaining elements of my Peace Corps service.

I’m just beginning to realize how challenging moving on from and processing this experience will be. I’m the last of my group to leave Burkina – a few of us are already home, many others are traveling and will be for some time, but I think none of us yet fully realizes the challenges that reintegration and life after Peace Corps will present. I think my time at home and then out in the world again (traveling in SE Asia), will allow me to reflect on these 27 months, on the big questions that I hoped to pursue in coming to Burkina, on my place in the world, and on how I’ve changed; what I’ve learned about myself and how it will impact the choices I make and the path that lies ahead.

I recently received an e-mail from a good friend who had just finished his PC service in Mongolia. He was writing about his post-service travels; relaxing on a Cambodian beach, beyond content with a hammock, a good iPod playlist and some copies of The Economist. He wrote that he was just beginning to reflect on his service and those “big questions” pertaining to development, the efficacy of Peace Corps, the impact volunteers make, and countless other elements of the experience. He said those answers are slow in coming. Right now, it’s hard to imagine having answers to those questions at all – being able to generalize or summarize anything about two years of a life transplanted…it’s hard even to imagine actually being back in the States in six days. That said, I know that I’m tougher, wiser, and, grace of getting knocked down and picking myself back up time and time again, better than I was 27 months ago.

As many truths as men. Occasionally, I glimpse a truer Truth, hiding in imperfect simulacrums of itself, but as I approach, it bestirs itself & moves deeper into the thorny swamp of dissent.

David Mitchell, Cloud Atlas

Warlord says he played part in Burkina Faso coup

2008-08-30T21:44:00.001Z

International Herald Tribune

The Associated Press Published: August 26, 2008

MONROVIA, Liberia: One of Liberia's most infamous warlords admittedTuesday that he had trained in Libya and helped topple the government of Burkina Faso before overthrowing Liberia's president.

Prince Johnson, a warlord who has reinvented himself and is now a senator in Liberia's U.S.-modeled Congress, had initially refused to appear before the country's Truth and Reconciliation Commission.

His testimony Tuesday before the packed hall was another turning point in Liberia's struggle to make the actors of its brutal 14-year conflict face up to the horrors they inflicted.

Although he is now a senator, Johnson is viewed by many as a warlord-in-a-suit. He is best known for the gruesome torture of Liberia's President Samuel K. Doe, who died in 1990 in Johnson's custody.

Johnson led the assault, taking Doe hostage and then videotaped himself drinking Budweiser beer as he ordered his men to cut off the former president's ears. The videotape was copied and sold on street corners. Johnson's men celebrated by parading Doe's body in a wheelbarrow.

Today in Africa & Middle East

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But since Liberia emerged from war in 2003 and he, along with other warlords, reinvented himself as a senator, Johnson has tried to distance himself from the president's death. On Tuesday he told the truth commission that although it was his forces that captured Doe, others are responsible for his death.

He argued that long before he led the Sept. 9, 1990 overthrow, an interim government had been formed in exile. Its goal was to overthrow Doe, who had become deeply unpopular by favoring members of his ethnic group and allowing government forces to brutally kill his rivals.

"They sat in exile and formed an interim government to replace the Doe government when Doe was still on the throne," Johnson said. "I was only the instrument that they used."

"We all were involved in this Samuel Doe matter," he added. "We all wanted a change."

To overthrow Doe, Johnson said he and the other Liberians-in-exile reached out to Blaise Compaore, the head of Burkina Faso's army and the trusted friend of Burkina Faso's President Thomas Sankara. Compaore helped Johnson and warlord Charles Taylor go to Libya for guerrilla training.

In his testimony, he does not say how or why he helped overthrow Sankara. But in his 2003 autobiography, Johnson explains that when Sankara learned of the planned coup, he refused to let his country be used to destabilize Liberia. So Taylor conspired with Compaore to assassinate the president, Johnson wrote.

The 1987 death of Sankara, who was widely considered one of Africa's hopes, was a blow for the region.

Earlier this year, Johnson adamantly refused to appear before the commission, saying he had already apologized to Doe's family. Doe's family has said that although they accept Johnson's apology, they would like him to show them where the former president's body is buried.

At the hearing, Johnson revealed that Doe was first buried on a beach, and was later exhumed and cremated. "Doe was cremated and thrown in the river," he said. "Let us not open wounds."

Although the country held transparent elections in 2005, Liberia is struggling to knit itself back together. With the exception of Charles Taylor who is now on trial at The Hague for war crimes in neighboring Sierra Leone, none of the actors in Liberia's conflict is currently facing charges.

In an effort to heal the wounds of the past, Liberia's new government created the truth commission, where victims and perpetrators are invited to lay the past bare. Many have criticized the commission as toothless, pointing out that numerous well known warlords have refused to testify and even those that have come forward have been less than remorseful.

Resolution

2008-07-31T11:19:00.003Z

Every exit is an entry somewhere else.

Tom Stoppard

Hello, readers. I’m happy to have something definite to report! Due to the difficulties related in the previous entry and after a great deal of reflection, I have decided against continuing to pursue a third year working with an NGO here in Burkina. I will head back to the U.S. at the beginning of September. In many ways, the outcome is disappointing, but I am happy to have some exciting alternatives for the next year. I’ll be home for a month or so to reacquaint myself with la via américaine and hang out with my family before flying to India in mid-October to meet up with two Peace Corps friends, with whom I’ll travel until the holidays. We don’t have an itinerary beyond a few solid destinations and lots of potential ones. We’ll start in India and work our way east, traveling light and cheap and seeing as much as we can. I’m so excited at the prospect of seeing another region of the world and capitalizing on all the skills I’ve gained during my two years of Peace Corps service in Burkina Faso.

Having traveled a bit during my service (to Ghana, Cote d’Ivoire and Morocco), I appreciate the ways in which I’ve changed as a traveler. Aside from being considerably more flexible, comfortable with uncertainty and discomfort, and travel savvy in general, I’ve also learned to appreciate travel in a new way and to approach my destination and its culture in a responsible and respectful way, perhaps more so than the average traveler. There’s nothing like two years of intense integration in a foreign culture to impress upon you the importance of cultural knowledge and respect for the very fact of being a stranger in a foreign place.

My plans for 2009 are less concrete, a reality that I am remarkably more comfortable than I would have been two years ago. I’m seriously considering teaching English abroad before beginning graduate school in 2010 and have started exploring opportunities. In any event, I’ve achieved one of the main goals that I set out to in coming to Peace Corps: becoming more in-tune with where my skills and passions intersect and identifying a future course of study that will allow me to utilize and develop those skills while pursuing the things that I’m passionate about.

Despite the frustrations of the last few months and the fact of my third year extension falling through, I am so happy for this experience and the ways in which it has changed and shaped me. I’ve seen and learned so much and, while a lot of the ideas and notions I arrived with have been altered, the idealism that remains is that much more solid for having concrete experience as its foundation.

I’ve spent much of the “summer” in Ouahigouya, a city in Burkina’s north where I am currently, helping out with the 3-month training of our newest group of volunteers-to-be. The training continues until the end of August, so I’ll spend three of my six remaining weeks here and the rest of my time saying goodbye to friends and my village. Due to rainy season flooding that resulted in the complete degradation of the 20 kilometer road to my village, I was forced to move most of my thing out already. As a result, I’ll probably only spend a few days of my remaining weeks in village, especially since my colleagues have all left village to spend the summer holidays with their families in other villages and cities and my closest friends from village now live in Ouagadougou (the capital). As I commence my goodbyes, the weight and significance of my twenty-seven months in Burkina have really started to sink in.

“That’s the tragedy of life – as I always say,” said Mrs. Dalloway. “Beginning things and having to end them.”

Virginia Woolf, “The Voyage Out”

Life is short, but the art is long, the opportunity fleeting, the experiment perilous, the judgment difficult.

Hippocrates

Up In The Air

2008-07-10T10:42:00.003Z

The most we can achieve here is to know ourselves unreservedly in our earthly appearance.

Rainer Maria Rilke

Any schoolboy can do experiments in the physics laboratory to test various scientific hypotheses. But man, because he has only one life to live, cannot conduct experiments to test whether to follow his passion (compassion) or not.

Milan Kundera, “The Unbearable Lightness of Being”

Greetings, gentle readers. I had decided that I wouldn’t blog again until I had some definitive news regarding the next year of my life. I don’t really. But that’s news enough, I suppose. The last two months have been busy and fulfilling, but the anxiety I’ve experienced as a result of the next year of my life hanging in limbo has constituted a creeping, underlying stress that has, at times, been a bit unbearable. Ambiguity is inconsistent to my worldview. I work hard to figure things out, to predict, to analyze, to observe and adjust accordingly.

When I applied to extend my Peace Corps service for a third year and was accepted, I thought to myself, “this is a choice I’ve made, this is definitive.” It wasn’t. Peace Corps Burkina requires host organizations with which third year volunteers partner to provide lodging for the volunteer. This can run anywhere from 500 – 1000 USD for the year, a significant amount for any non-profit, especially a local one. Beyond that, a legal agreement must be reached between PC and the organization delineating jurisdiction and responsibility in terms of the volunteer. This has to be approved by PC Washington’s consul before the volunteer can undertake a third year.

Things don’t happen quickly in Burkina. Despite the fact that Peace Corps is an American institution, it often rivals the inefficiency endemic to Burkina. It is a bureaucracy. At this point, I have a host organization interested in taking me on as a third year volunteer, though nothing is certain. Much remains to be done and agreed upon before things move forward. My site (village) will be replaced with a volunteer from the group currently in training at the end of August. I won’t have a home, I want to GO home…to America (third year volunteers take an obligatory month of home leave). If things progress, I will be in Burkina for another year. If they don’t, I’ll be home in early September, after traveling briefly with PC friends. I’ll enjoy some time at home, take the GRE, then take off again to travel until the holidays...probably through India with another PC friend. After the New Year, I may go teach English somewhere or find something to do Stateside. I hope to start a graduate program in International/Intercultural Communication in 2009 or 2010, depending on circumstances.

I’m enthusiastic for the possibilities that lie ahead. The not-knowing is difficult. I can deal with ambiguity to a point, but, as my high school choir director pointed out when I was a senior, I am a Type A. I like structure, assertion, decision, forward motion. While I’ve certainly grown in this regard during my Peace Corps service (structure? ha! logic? predictability? certainly not!), I will always crave direction, knowledge, control…and all the other qualities and elements of efficiency and productivity that make me so very American.

So this is where life stands. I don’t know where I’ll be in two or three months. But as soon as I do, so will you.

Thanks for reading,

Chrissy

Without realizing it, the individual composes his life according to the law of beauty, even in times of the greatest distress.

Milan Kundera

…the gods do not limit men. Men limit men.

Tom Robbins, “Jitterbug Perfume

Girls' Camps

2008-06-04T11:04:00.003Z

Come, my friends 'tis not too late to seek a newer world. Push off, and sitting well in order smite the sounding furrows; for my purpose holds to sail beyond the sunset, and the baths of all western stars until I die. It may be the gulfs will wash us down. It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles, and see the great Achilles whom we once knew. Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho' we are not now that strength which in old days moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are. One equal temper of heroic hearts; made weak by time and fate, but strong in will; to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

Alfred Lord Tennyson, "Ulysses"

Greetings, dear readers! I have evolved from a frequent and enthusiastic blogger to an absentee one, which perhaps reflects how this ever-changing experience continues to...ever change. It becomes harder to focus a blog entry on just one subject or experience as I am busier than ever with work in village, preparing for the new training group that arrives in June, a visitor from home and, eventually, to go home for a month...and come back for another year! My third year details are not yet concrete and thus will constitute a blog to come.

Before I report on recent goings-on, however, an administrative note:

My address will change until I am settled in my new situation next fall, thus, mail should be sent to the Peace Corps office in Ouagadougou until further notice:

Chrissy Hart, PCV
Corps de la Paix Americain
01 BP 6031 Ouagadougou 01
Burkina Faso
West Africa

Also, since Google is LAME (ok, lame in regard to this particular gripe) and doesn't give loyal users more than a Gig of memory per photo page AND blog, I can no longer post pics on either my Picasa site or this blog. So, I have a new photo page and, upon returning to the BF for year three (yikes!), I will start a new blog, so that my entries will continue to be aesthetically AND intellectually stimulating.

Chrissy's Pics (Picasa Page # 2): http://picasaweb.google.com/chrissydhart

Now on to village news. This entry's topic is the recent smashing success of two girls' camps that occurred in my village, Diabo, and Diapangou, that of my PCV neighbor, Orelia (photos from the camp are posted on my new site, link above). With the aid of funding from PC Burkina's Gender And Development (GAD) program, members of the congregation of the Unitarian Universalist Church of East Aurora and many of Orelia's friends, we organized two three-day camps for female students (13-16 year-olds) in each village focusing on decision-making, confidence-building, thinking about the future, as well as a variety of health topics - female physiology, menstruation, reproduction, methods of birth control, STDs, etc.

We collaborated with our village high schools' administration and faculty, the staff of our local clinics and Action Sociale, a government ministry focused on social welfare, particularly issues pertaining to women and girls. We had a midwife, nurses, the director of my village clinic and the AS facilitators explaining menstruation, fertility, reproduction, birth control and STDs, while Orelia and I facilitated the "Life Skills" elements of the camps. We have a great Peace Corps-developed "Life Skills" manual with lots of culturally appropriate activities dealing with an array of issues facing school-age youth in the developing world. We used a few activities from the book to elaborate upon the importance of all the health information provided during the camps by providing strategies for positive behavior and responsible decision-making.

Overall, the camps surpassed our hopes and expectations. Ou collaborators were stellar - knowledgable, patient, and committed to providing as much information as possible - and the 50 schoolgirls who participated were more engaged than we had imagined possible. We had some really frank, productive dialogues which were enhanced by the presence of the Burkinabè women facilitators who were more capable of responding to questions and concerns regarding relationships and sexual behavior in Burkina.

The camps have been one of the most fulfilling projects of my service and a positive note on which to end my work in village. My service won't end until late July, but I'll be spending time up north for 6 of the 11 weeks of training for our soon-to-arrive newbies and well as travelling a bit with my first visitor from America! It's hard to believe that my time in village is up, I have no doubt that it will be incredibly sad to say goodbye. I am, however, ready and excited for the next phase of my West African adventure.

If it were customary to send little girls to school and to teach them the same subjects as are taught to boys, they would learn just and fully and would understand the subtleties of all arts and sciences. Indeed, maybe they would understand them better...for just as women's bodies are softer than men's, so their understanding is sharper.

La Cité des Dames [The City of Women] (1404)

by Christine de Pisan

Absent Without Leave

2008-05-01T09:31:00.000Z

I have been remiss. I've had lots of exciting things to write about - interesting travels, work in village, future plans - but as the pace of life only continues to increase here (with the odd reprieve of a sweltry, lazy village day), I find it hard to sit down and blog when I have the opportunity. Thus, a quick recap of the past few months and the invitation to check out my goings-on via photos (the medium that I have managed to spend some time making public!).

Highlights include:

- 8 Mars: International Women's Day which we celebrated in village with a host of activities including a parade, speeches, an exposé on the feminization of HIV/AIDS (the theme of this year's IWD), soccer games, a relay race, a bike race and a soirée with dancing.

- an Easter trip to Arly National Park, in a somewhat remote corner of Burkina's southeast. Our group biked around the park (on some VERY rough trails) and saw an array of creatures: elephants, buffalo, koba, bush deer, warthogs, baboons, hippos, some neat birds, etc.

- a late March trip to Burkina's southwestern region for the Semaine Nationale de la Culture (Nat'l Week of Culture) which consisted of some amazing dance and musical performances from groups all over the country, including several from the eastern region and villages near mine.

- in early April, our group's Close of Service conference, where we processed some of our Peace Corps experiences, talked about leaving BF and life after Peace Corps, discussed career exploration - resume writing and informational sessions with local development workers and foreign service officers, and, finally, had a pretty sweet party celebrating our two years and the atypical fact that almost of all of our group actually made it to COS (Burkina has one of the highest "early termination" rates of Peace Corps countries). Our group's official COS date is in late August, though many volunteers will leave in June or July.

I have photo albums documenting all of the aforementioned on my Picasa page so please check 'em out if you're so inclined:

http://picasaweb.google.com/hart.christine

I hope that my next entry will include some exciting and definite news about my plans post-August, but I don't want to report anything before my plans are concrete (so mysterious! ok, not really, I just don't want to be presumptuous). I'll say this: my eagerness to return to "la vie americaine" may have been premature.

…at my worst, I have been a cacophony, a mass of human noises that did not add up to the symphony of an integrated self. At my best, however, the world sang out to me, and through me, like ringing crystal.

Salman Rushdie, The Ground Beneath Her Feet

Int'l Conference of the Society for Women and AIDS in Africa

2008-02-08T10:10:00.000Z

In 2007, 1.6 million African adults and children died of AIDS, 1.7 million African adults and children were newly infected with HIV, and a total of 22.5 million Africans were reported as living with HIV.

12 million African children have been orphaned by AIDS since 1981.

Source: UNAIDS

Hello! As a member of PC Burkina's HIV/AIDS Task Force, I had the opportunity to participate in the 11th Int'l Conference of the Society For Women and AIDS in Africa/Association des Femmes Africaines Face Au Sida from February 4th to the 7th. Below is an article I wrote on the conference for the Zakramba, PC Burkina's monthly volunteer newsletter. It was a great experience and an informative and generally encouraging look into development both at and beyond the grassroots level. The conference consisted of SWAA/AFAFSI delegations from countries across the continent and representatives from a host of int'l organizations and NGOs.

News from the A-Team:

11th International Conference of the Society for Women and AIDS in Africa

by ATF member Chrissy Hart, GEE

February saw the descent of a particularly impressive and mobilized group of individuals upon Ouagadougou. The 11th International Conference of the Society for Women and AIDS in Africa convened on February 4th and consisted of a variety of lectures and round table discussions on themes including: epidemiology, prevention and public health, clinical care, gender and HIV/AIDS, stigmatization and discrimination facing people living with HIV, economic and socio-cultural issues, as well as politics, ethnicity and human rights. Conference participants included an array of stakeholders: SWAA delegations from countries spanning the continent, health care professionals, NGO workers, government representatives, United Nations and World Health Organization officials, and us, Peace Corps Burkina’s AIDS Task Force. The conference was sponsored by UNAIDS, Unicef, and PAMAC (Programme d’Appui au Monde Associatif & Communitaire de Lutte Contre le VIH/SIDA) and the theme was “HIV/AIDS, Gender, and Human Rights: It is time to act.”

The Society for Woman and AIDS in Africa was born when several key African women leaders predicted that HIV/AIDS would most severely impact African women and children at the 1998 4th International AIDS Conference in Stockholm, Sweden. Today, SWAA consists of a network of 41 country offices and is the only pan-African HIV/AIDS organization working with and for women and their families based on locally determined needs and priorities. SWAA’s mission is to advocate on behalf of women, children and families in the fight against HIV/AIDS and to mobilize communities by strengthening capacity to prevent, control, and mitigate the impact of the epidemic. The international organization envisions a world free of HIV/AIDS where African women and children are empowered to claim equal rights, access to health care, education, and economic and socio-cultural opportunities.

Dr. Claude Millogo, PC Burkina’s Health APCD, is the President of SWAA Burkina and was one of the principal coordinators of this year’s international conference. The quality and professionalism of this year’s conference certainly made an impression on participants based on numerous comments made during the closing ceremonies, much to Dr. Claude’s credit. Members of the AIDS Task Force assisted in an organizational capacity and with translation for Anglophone participants and were able to attend a number of lectures and round table discussions.

Highlights of the conference included a lecture on various efforts toward universal access to HIV/AIDS prevention, care and treatment, a round table discussion on working with HIV+ youth and another on methods of prevention such as the female condom, microbicides, and male circumcision. Robbie Nelson (RPCV-Tanzania), a representative of The Female Health Company – the sole manufacturer of the female condom - presented on the development of the first and second generation female condoms and fielded a host of questions pertaining to marketing, use and accessibility. Another interesting presentation was put on by The Condom Project, a U.S.-based non-profit organization sponsored by the United Nations and Mtv. The presentation included a video documenting the successes and failures of promotion and training on use of the female condom among sex workers in Ethiopia. Perhaps most engaging was a presentation by a member of SWAA Ghana on the comprehensive educational campaign that they’ve undertaken to create awareness of and promote the female condom throughout the country. The scope and success of their efforts, from trainings of trainers to a multi-media advertising campaign, was truly impressive. Finally, another exciting aspect of the conference was a reception for participants hosted by Chantal Campaore, the first lady, at the Presidential palace. Attendees enjoyed cocktails and hors d’oeuvres, good music and even got down and danced with Madame La Presidente.

The conference was a unique and illuminating experience for members of the ATF. We helped out a little and had the opportunity to learn and experience a lot. It was encouraging and inspiring to be exposed to such a dynamic group of men and women focused on change and progress in Africa, engaged in candid and frank discussions about reality and how to move forward from the status quo. I wish that every volunteer had the opportunity to participate in something like the SWAA conference and observe a pan-African effort that, though it faces significant obstacles, is making a real impact.

The AIDS Task Force would like to thank Dr. Claude for the opportunity to help with and participate in the 11^th International SWAA Conference and to congratulate her for all of her efforts and contributions as SWAA president. Targeting the HIV/AIDS epidemic is one of the most daunting undertakings one can imagine, but committed, mobilized individuals like Dr. Claude and the conference participants engender hope as progress continues.

Morocco

2008-01-09T18:17:00.000Z

First things first. I’m posting two blogs at once so please check out the previous one about my trip home if you haven’t done so already. Also, I’ve changed my procrastinating ways and finally uploaded lots of current pictures on my new Picasa photo-sharing page (they‘re downloadable, for those who make an appearance), so see the sidebar/below for the link and check ‘em out.

http://picasaweb.google.com/Hart.Christine

As I mentioned in my previous blog, fellow volunteer Joel and I made a stopover au Maroc on our way back to the land of sand. We arrived in Casablanca and hopped a train (a train! one that came on time! seriously!) to Fès, one of Morocco’s imperial cities and the hub of Moroccan culture and art (the city was founded by Romans in the 8th century B.C.). After a scenic 5 hour train ride through the Moroccan countryside, we disembarked and took a cab to Fès El-Bali, the medina or old city. Most Moroccan cities have a medina which is the ancient (and typically still current) city-center, made up of a maze-like network of stone streets and alleyways, medeival in feeling but quite modern in function.

We stayed at a modest but centrally-located hotel that a friend had recommended, enjoying the incredible views of the medina from the rooftop terrace. Though it was much colder than we expected (they actually have cold in North Africa), we bundled up and spent two days drinking Moroccan coffee, sampling tagine and other local fare, and trekking through the medina, getting lost and more lost, but always able to recover our orientation thanks to Joel’s actual geographical sensibilities and my bizarre, slightly inconsistent directional sixth sense. We saw Fès’s famous tanneries, the origin of some of the world’s most reputed leather goods, toured a few carpet shops, admired many of the 350 mosques that lie inside the medina, drank delicious mint tea, and chatted up several friendly shop owners, all impressively good-humored and persistent. I did end up buying some gorgeous Fès needlework and a pretty Berber bracelet, but was able to restrain myself for the most part.

The trip was a great transition on our way back to Burkina and la vie africaine. It was neat to see a small slice of North Africa and appreciate some of the cultural variation (not always so obvious here), that makes Africa such a rich and interesting continent. Morocco certainly whet my appetite for my post-service Africa exploration, I can't wait to see more of the continent!

What would happen if one woman told the truth about her life?

The World would split open.

Muriel Rukeyser

Christmas Cookies and Culture Shock

2008-01-09T14:25:00.000Z

Bonne Année 2008!

I’m back in Burkina after a whirlwind trip home that involved several cities, holidays, a wedding, and much-needed quality time with friends and family. America was great but it’s good to be back here with a new appreciation for the 7 months I have left in Burkina.

I left Burkina in mid-December with several other homeward bound volunteers. After a layover in Casablanca and a day of travel, we arrived at JFK. My initial reaction? First, amazement at the diversity of the people I saw - nationality, skin color (an array beyond black and white, that is), style of dress, etc. Second, the enormity of, well, everything; the buildings, the parking lots, the roads, the crowds of people, the selection of items at the airport shops…it was at once slightly overwhelming and wonderfully familiar to be plunked down in the land of consumerism and comfort.

I grabbed dinner with a volunteer I’d traveled with and a Peace Corps friend who came to meet us at the airport, enjoyed my first beer aux Etats-Unis, and embarked on my final flight to Buffalo, eager to see my parents and sleep in my own, miraculously cloud-like (ok, what I’d imagine a cloud would be like) bed.

Home was good - lots of parental TLC, updating my iPod, Mom’s cooking, catching up with high school friends, snow, Christmas at home, seeing family, going to church. It was all easier and more familiar than I thought it would be…until I went shopping the day after Christmas (imagine a foreboding musical interlude here). I was scheduled to continue my journey to Annapolis for a wedding three days after Christmas so, armed with gift cards and a serious shopping list of items to bring back to Burkina (a garlic press, trail mix, shampoo not of European origin, etc.), I set out for the chaotic monstrosity that is a suburban strip mall the day after Christmas. The Subaru seemed to drive itself to Target and Borders (old habits die hard, apparently) and I suddenly found myself standing in front of the biggest building I’d seen in a year and a half (ok, not really, but it seemed that way). Target. Everything under the sun…and more. My memory starts to fail me here. I recall a feeling like horizontal vertigo, if that makes any sense, and experiencing a sort of out-of-body, I’m-here-but-not-really-here daze as I wandered through the aisles, seeking kitchen utensils and nylons. The long and short of it - it was a confusing and somewhat frightening experience, though I did emerge with a garlic press, nylons, trail mix and even managed to continue on to Borders for my East Africa guidebook and issues of The Nation and The Economist (yes! print media! IN ENGLISH!). Needless to say, I didn’t attempt the grocery store. That clearly would have been a disaster.

The shopping episode was followed by fervent packing, a manicure and pedicure (manicure # 2 of my life, pedicure # 1 - enjoyable, to say the least, though I apologized profusely for the state of my feet), dinner with summer camp friends (hello, nostalgia!) followed by an actual camp reunion (hello, former campers who are now in COLLEGE!). The 28th, I was off to Annapolis to see one of my best friends get married. Whew.

The wedding was…awesome. Love, the union of two souls, good friends, good food, dancing, hitting the streets (bars) of Annapolis after the reception - who could ask for more? Despite the wedding chaos, I got to catch up with two of my oldest friends (the bride and bridesmaid), who are both frighteningly adult but comfortingly still very much the girls I started going to camp with in the 6th grade. I gave one of the readings during the service and managed (I think) to speak clearly and slowly and to avoid tripping on the way to or from the podium. Good stuff.

Next, I continued up to Manhattan (the Jersey Turnpike - so familiar in its monotony and occassional stench) to visit college friends and celebrate New Year’s Eve. I enjoyed the excellent hospitality of friends and even a surprise visit from a friend all the way from Chicago. It was so good to fall into old routines, to fill my friends in on some of my Burkina experiences, share photos, and catch up on all the new elements of their lives. Though I definitely felt some disconnect (lack of cultural context, having no clue about movies, new technologies - holy crap, the cell phones! etc.), it was so good to actually be in the presence of the people I’ve been missing for 18 months.

The thing that struck me most about being home, beyond the contrast in quotidian existence - the ease and convenience and richness of American life , was how much more significant the things that are changing in everyone’s lives seem to be. While conversations with high school and college friends revolved around gossip relating to our fellow alums, the news was engagements, marriages, babies, law school acceptances, new jobs, moves to new cities…in other words, the non-trivial, significant, meaningful stuff of life - the lives of twenty-four and twenty-five year olds…adults. And while my life currently exists outside that realm in so many ways, it won’t for long.

After five days in the Big Apple, which included lots of excellent meals (sushi! Mexican! pizza!), and movies, television, the Met, the New York-ness of New York, I headed out to Brooklyn to meet up with Joel, another volunteer, with whom I continued on the Morocco for three days before heading back to the BF (that’ll be another blog altogether). After a brief subway experience and a ride to the airport with a Peace Corps friend, we were off. Back to Africa.

Traveling makes one modest – you see what a tiny place you occupy in the world.

Gustave Flaubert

Homeward Bound

2007-12-17T08:13:00.000Z

The highest function of love is that it makes the loved one a unique and irreplaceable being.

Tom Robbins, "Jitterbug Perfume"

Greetings and pre-holiday salutations!

It's December 17th and in T-37 hours I'll be HOME! Barring any snow-related delays, in a day and a half my feet will be firmly planted on Western New York....snow. After 18 months in Burkina Faso, I am so-beyond-ready-its-beyond-words-to-explain to be home, amongst my family and friends.

"What!? You're LEAVING?"

For the past year and a half, I've collected a lot of names. In village I'm Christine, Christini, Christina, Miss, Madamoiselle, NASARA! ("white person", screamed repeatedly by small children), la blanche, "fo" (you), but for three weeks, I'm going to be Chrissy. I have images of snow covered trees and drinking eggnog in front of the Christmas tree dancing in my head that are so wonderful, if I thought hard enough I could cry (les larmes de joie, bien sur). OK, I actually DID cry when I was in the bush taxi on my way to Ouaga two days ago.

"But you're coming back, right?"

It's impossible to comprehend being so far away from home for so long unless you've done it. And if you've done it, you know exactly what I mean. I'm glad that I'll probably never go this long without seeing family and friends again. It's certainly caused me to reach deep down into the depths of my strength and fortitude, and has no doubt made me a lot more self-assured, confident, and, well, tough. But, in a nutshell, it's been hard as hell. When I get back to Burkina, I'll have less than 7 months of service left, which will no doubt fly by. It was such a great feeling to leave village, America-bound, but a tad bit bittersweet knowing that soon enough I'll be leaving for good. Literally ever person I came across during my last few days in village told me "il faut saluer les parents et la famille" (to greet my parents and family) or "donnez nos salutations aux gens de l'Amerique" (say hello to the people in America). This experience continues to consist of such an array of ups and downs, despite the fact that I've come so far from the wide-eyed trainee who stepped off the plane into the humid Sahelian night a year and a half ago. I think part of me will stay in Burkina forever. This place is bewitching, simultaneously awful and heartbreakingly beautiful.

My father said that the natural world gave us explanations to compensate for the meanings we could not grasp. The slant of the cold sunlight on a winter pine, the music of water, an oar cutting the lake and the flight of birds, the mountains' nobility, the silence of the silence. We are given life but must accept that it is unattainable and rejoice in what can be held in the eye, the memory, the mind.

Salman Rushdie, "Shalimar the Clown"

Burkina and Millenium Challenge in the New York Times

2007-12-09T10:06:00.000Z

U.S. Agency’s Slow Pace Endangers Foreign Aid

By CELIA W. DUGGER

Published: December 7, 2007

The Millennium Challenge Corporation, a federal agency set up almost four years ago to reinvent foreign aid, has taken far longer to help poor, well-governed countries than its supporters expected or its critics say is reasonable.

The agency, a rare Bush administration proposal to be enacted with bipartisan support, has spent only $155 million of the $4.8 billion it has approved for ambitious projects in 15 countries in Africa, Central America and other regions.

And the agency’s slow pace is making it politically vulnerable at budget crunch time. Both the House and the Senate have slashed the Bush administration’s 2008 budget request for the agency, but the Senate has gone a step further, pushing for a change that African leaders say threatens the essence of the agency’s novel approach.

Eyeing the unspent billions, the Senate has proposed that Congress provide no more than half the money up front for future five-year projects, which typically come with a price tag of $250 million to $700 million. Such projects are now fully financed at the start to make sure countries have the wherewithal to finish what they start.

Senator Patrick J. Leahy, the Vermont Democrat who heads the Senate appropriations subcommittee on foreign aid, said that Congress could be counted on to come up with the rest of the money if the countries fulfilled their end of the bargain. But, he asked, where else should Congress look for savings in its foreign aid budget?

“Do we cut maternal health?” he asked. “AIDS? Malaria? Do we cut refugees? The only thing that’s got a blank check is the war in Iraq.”

Agency officials and the African leaders they assist said in recent interviews that the change would be a big step backward. American foreign aid often takes the form of modest, short-term projects that are planned in Washington and carried out by American contractors and charities. But under the agency’s approach, poor countries with sound economic policies and strong track records of helping their people are chosen to conceive and carry out big undertakings themselves.

The Millennium Challenge Corporation’s budget now makes up less than 10 percent of the United States foreign aid budget.

By changing how its projects are financed, “then M.C.C. becomes like the World Bank and all the other countries using overseas development aid in stop and go fashion,” said John A. Kufuor, the president of Ghana, who heads the African Union. “The aid is spread so thin that at the end of the day the necessary difference is not made.”

The Millennium Challenge Corporation’s chief problem has been its sluggish record in getting projects beyond the planning stage to the point where contractors can actually build the roads, irrigation canals, power plants and clean water systems that poor countries say they need.

Sheila Herrling, who follows the agency at the Center for Global Development, a nonprofit research group in Washington, says there are understandable reasons projects take time and suggests that the agency’s current five-year timeline for each one may be too short.

Poor countries, even relatively well-run ones, are not used to planning such complex developments and have needed more time than expected to get them off the ground, she said.

Also, the infrastructure projects poor countries need are prone to corruption, and putting stringent accountability systems in place has consumed more time than expected.

Development analysts have praised the agency for giving poor countries an incentive to make significant reforms to qualify for its big contracts, including improving education for girls, making it easier for individuals to operate on-the-books businesses.

But the agency itself must also shoulder some of the blame for the slow progress, Ms. Herrling said. Its decision-making has been too focused on putting together the projects, rather than on carrying them out.

“It shouldn’t have taken so long,” she said. “The agency needs to figure it out this year. They are part of the problem.”

John J. Danilovich, the businessman and former ambassador who has led the agency for two years, recently reorganized it to concentrate on results with what he called “laser focus.”

“We need to do better and we will do better,” he said in an interview.

Mr. Danilovich, a Bush appointee, has convinced Representative Nita Lowey, the New York Democrat who heads the House appropriations subcommittee that oversees foreign aid, that he is serious. Mrs. Lowey said in an interview that the agency was still unproven. And she was disappointed on a visit to Ghana this year to find that its $547 million compact to develop a modern agricultural economy still was not very far along. But on the need for progress, she said, “I do believe that Danilovich gets it.”

One of many schools in Burkina Faso that had been paid for by a $13 million grant by the Millennium Challenge Corporation.

The future of the Millennium Challenge Corporation is one of the many issues caught in the budgetary stalemate between the administration and Congress.

The administration asked for $3 billion for the agency. In their foreign aid appropriations bills, the House provided $1.8 billion, the Senate $1.2 billion. Mrs. Lowey said she strongly opposed the Senate’s proposal to provide no more than half the financing up front, an idea originally suggested by Senator Richard G. Lugar, Republican of Indiana. The House and Senate are expected to settle the issue by next week.

If the agency gets the lesser Senate amount, under the current rules requiring the money up front, Burkina Faso, a West African country that has spent more than two years qualifying for and drafting its $560 million to $620 million plan, will get nothing, agency officials said. Tanzania and Namibia are ahead of it in line.

Burkina Faso’s prime minister, Tertius Zongo, said his country would be deeply disappointed if the money was not available.

“We have done our part,” he said. “This is a partnership.”

Burkina Faso has gone to great lengths to meet the agency’s good governance standards. The agency gave it a $13 million grant to improve girls’ education, which the country used to build, among other things, schools with day care centers so school-age girls do not have to stay home to look after their younger siblings.

Identified by the International Finance Corporation as one of the most difficult places in the world to do business, Burkina Faso has also halved the number of days it takes to start a business, and reduced by a third the cost of registering property.

In small, poor countries like Burkina Faso, every burp and hiccup of an aid agency like the Millennium Challenge Corporation is news — and often front page news. David Weld, the agency’s country director for Burkina Faso, said he did not know how he could face people there if Congress did not come through with enough money to help them.

“What type of message does that send to Burkina Faso, a country that has spent a huge amount of political capital and money on this process?” he asked. “What does that tell the Togos, the Nigers that want to become eligible? It tells them: Do everything like Burkina Faso, make all these reforms, spend millions of your own money, and then maybe at the end we might be able to sign a compact with you — or maybe not.”

(Posting this surely violates some copyright regulation, please don't report me to the FCC!)

Africans, less esteemed than ever, seemed to me the most lied-to people on earth - manipulated by their governments, burned by foreign experts, befooled by charities, and cheated at every turn.

Paul Theroux, "Dark Star Safari"

World AIDS Day

2007-12-07T12:31:00.000Z

Large-leaved and many-footed shadowing,
What god rules over Africa, what shape,
What avuncular cloud-man beamier than spears?

Wallace Stevens, "The Greenest Continent"

Greetings!

Thought I'd post a few pictures of our December 1st World AIDS Day event which I organized in conjunction with Diabo's lycée (high school). We started the day off with a foot race followed by a sensibilisation (educational lecture) on HIV/AIDS facilitated by two representatives from Action Sociale, a Burkinabé organization that targets a myriad of social issues and, finally, a soccer match at the lycée between teams of 1st cycle (Sixieme - Troisieme) and 2nd cycle (Second and Premier) students, with a few teachers playing on either team.

The organization of the day's events was a lengthy process but it all went off without many problems, much to my relief. The only letdown of the day was when the mayor of Diabo stopped in halfway through the sensibilisattion, interrupting the speakers to utter a few platitudes, thereby giving a number of students the opportunity to duck out, much to my chagrin. The interruption was so indicative of the excessive and often blind reverance of people in positions of power that pervades Burkinabé society, quite contrary to my democratic sensibilities. The mayor didn't even speak himself but had one of his assistants make a short, dull speech. One of the most significant lessons I've learned here is to be moderate in my expectations so despite the exodus of students, I was still happy that everything went fairly smoothly.

A few pictures of the days events...

Students lined up for the footrace.

And they're off!

On the road...

Messrs. Lompo, Pacmagda and Coulibaly (administrator and teachers)

HIV/AIDS sensibilisation at the Maison des Jeunes
(we had about 400 students in attendance!)

Monsieur Birba, one of the facilitators
(using a megaphone as a microphone)

L'Equipe Rouge

L'Equipe Blanc

Action shot

Medical and teaching skills were not lacking in Africa, even in distressed countries...but the will to use them was often nonexistent. The question was, should outsiders go on doing jobs and taking risks that Africans refused?

Paul Theroux, "Dark Star Safari"

Turkey Day in the Sindou Peaks

2007-11-23T16:31:00.000Z

A Belated Happy Thanksgiving!

I hope you all revelled in turkey, mashed potatoes, cranberries and other Thanksgiving delicacies and gave appropriate thanks for all of life's gifts and abundances (especially mashed potatoes).

I headed down to the southwest of Burkina Faso - practically a different country being greener and topographically more diverse than other regions (it's a big deal to see a hill in Burkina). After a 14 hour bus ride from Fada, I arrived in Banfora, a city in the very sw corner of BF popular with tourists for its waterfalls and proximity to the Sindou peaks, where I spent the night before heading to the peaks with a big group of volunteers. Some of the SW volunteers had organized an excellent TDay dinner complete with turkey, mashed potatoes, salad and even stuffing, courtesy of a care package. After traversing a bumpy and slightly perilous 67km route (which took about two hours), we disembarked and trekked up to a plateau amidst the peaks where we made camp (set our stuff down) before heading off to climb around the peaks and check out the amazing vistas of the surrounding bush afforded from such heights. We were sooned joined by another group of volunteers and commenced to make merry, give thanks in turn, and enjoy our excellent meal to the percussive stylings of a balafon group (W. African xylophone) under a nearly full moon. We were joined by lots of locals from the nearby village of Sindou who literally danced circles around us. Personally, I exercised muscles that have been long out of use and felt it keenly for the next few days. All in all, it was a unique and enjoyable Thanksgiving celebration in the company of good friends.

After our adventures in Sindou, I stuck around Banfora for a few days with my good friend and travel buddy, Beth. We recovered from the two hours of sleep we'd gotten in the peaks, then explored Banfora a bit before heading 15k outside the city to check out the falls the evening before our departure. We got a ride with a Burkinabé friend who works for Celtel, a cellular service provider, in his spiffy red and yellow Celtel pickup. We had originally planned to bike but were still sore after all that dancing on Thanksgiving so we opted for the vehicular mode of transport. Banfora falls are not particularly grand relative to other more noteworthy falls (Niagara, Victoria and the like) but were a site for sore eyes habituated to the flat savannah of the east.

A few pictures of the peaks, falls and our Thanksgiving fête...

Welcome to the Sindou Peaks!

Peak-turesque

(I am so my father's daughter)

Trekking.

Hiking up to the plateau.

View from the plateau.

Beth and I.

Checking out the views.

View toward the north.

Heather, at an excellent vantage point.

View of the bush beyond the peaks.

A peak and nearly full moon.

Post-meal repose.

Balafons.

(Yes, they're ALL smoking...gives new meaning to multi-tasking.)

Banfora Falls.

Rapidly moving water = really exciting.

View from the top of the falls.

Me, contemplating profound existential things next to the falls.

Scorpions, Thieves and Harvest Time

2007-10-21T14:29:00.000Z

…generations of black Africans dreamed and made love…spirits roamed the bush paths, rain soaked the earth in the wet season, and the sun boiled it all away in the dry season, trees fell in the forests…and if any white men saw these things, they left no papers with black marks describing them. There are no books about what happened before white men came to trade slaves. The great deeds and tragedies of the African ancestors were told by the old ones with dimming memories who performed stories by firelight…

Richard Dooling “White Man’s Grave”

Greetings from the land of sun and sand. Today finds me…hot, sitting in an internet café in Fada, contemplating the beauty of a glass of ice water (freezers are miraculous!) and my inability to procure one at this moment. I’ll be in the United States in two months and, despite the fact of winter, I plan on consuming copious glasses of ice water, just because I can.

The school year is officially in swing (it started at the beginning of October, but things are typically slow in commencing) and my village is once again animated and lively. The atmosphere is markedly changed as the village is again populated with people who spent the rainy season in the fields, the civil servants who are back from their “vacations,” and the junior high and high school students who come from surrounding villages to live in mine during the school year. Work is a bit slow in starting, but things look positive and potentially profitable, especially relative to Year 1 of my Peace Corps stint. I’ve already met several times with my primary school’s Parents’ Association (APE) and will be conducting a training session in the coming week for the officers of all 29 Parents’ Associations in my department. I’m running it in conjunction with the regional representative for the Ministre de La Promotion d'Education des Filles (which concerns itself with the education of girls) as well our department’s Primary Education Inspector (dept.-wide primary ed. administrator). Our goal is to instill a deeper understanding of exactly what the APEs are suppose to accomplish and what the responsibilities of the individual officers are within those overarching goals and the general functioning of the association. Bureaucracy is not a norm here and most parents aren't educated beyond a primary-school level, if they’re literate at all. Thus, the basic functions of a purpose-driven association of individuals are fairly far out of the realm of their every day experiences and practical knowledge. Other activities and events that I’m concocting for this trimester include a World AIDS Day extravaganza at our high school, a “life skills” class for high school girls (running the gamut from sex ed to future-planning to responsible decision making, etc.), a repeat of my very successful girls’ sports club at my primary school, as well as review classes for the CEP like those I conducted last year. But enough about work. A few vignettes from my last few weeks in village:

Scorpions

Preface: Scorpions in Burkina are generally not poisonous to the extreme of fatality, they just hurt like a “#à@(9&. It’s evident when Burkinabé comment on the level of pain that it truly hurts.

Preface No. 2: Up until the happenings recounted below, I had only seen two very small scorpions in my village. This, I believe, signifies that I am not only anomalous amongst volunteers, but blessed by some benevolent god as well.

A few blogs ago, I wrote about the benign lizards that populate my house and lauded the fact that I suffer few of the scarier creatures that other volunteers encounter regularly. This previous reality was recently altered by a most unwelcome visitor. A few weeks ago, I went about my morning routine, enjoying a cup of (real) coffee, born of my newly procured percolator, whilst reading one of the many books that I consume rapidly and voraciously (literary gluttony, if you will). After finishing several pages and a cup of American coffee (thank you, Liz!), I filled up my bucket and went to bathe. As I removed the pagne (length of cloth) I use as a towel from the peg rack hanging next to my shower, I was startled by a small, slightly translucent creature lurking ‘neath said pagne. I soon realized that it was a scorpion, about 3 inches in length. I immediately went outside in search for a neighbour to help me but everyone was in the fields, so I was on my own to battle the minute but well-armed creature. I came back to find that the scorpion had moved but soon spotted it on the floor in front of my shower. I grabbed a can of insecticide and sprayed it, hoping to render it immobile before killing it. No luck. It kept moving. I picked up a broom and started to wack the scorpion. Perhaps the broom was not the weapon of choice. Since scorpions have an exoskeleton-like cuticle that surrounds their body, the force of my blows actually propelled the scorpion toward me. Obviously this was less than ideal. At this point I tried to execute the effort with increased fatality-inducing precision. Success. I killed the sucker – by that I mean that I bludgeoned it into an unrecognizable mass of biomatter. I don’t feel bad about that. Burkina could do with a few less scorpions (this would surely be affirmed by those of my colleagues who regularly encounter several scorpions in a night).

Thieves

Why, he wondered...do I love it here so much? Is it because here human nature hasn't had time to disguise itself? Nobody here would ever talk about a heaven on earth. Heaven remained rigidly in its place on the other side of death, and on this side fluorished the injustices, the cruelties, the meanness that elsewhere people so cleverly hushed up. Here you could love human beings nearly as God loved them, knowing the worst...

Graham Greene "The Heart Of The Matter"

As those of you who keep up with my blog know, I had a rather unpleasant incident of theft last spring. It resulted in my relocating to another part of village which, both at the time and in retrospect, was a good thing for a number of reasons. Since then, my village experience has changed enormously and for the better. In short, I love my new neighbourhood, my house, and my neighbors, specifically the rugrats who regularly populate my courtyard.

Recently, I experienced another theft, that of an especially sinister nature. Brace yourself.

Somebody stole my bra.

That’s right. My bra. (Pink, very girly, from a package that my parents had recently sent). A very nice bra. A theft-worthy bra.

There is a young woman who brings me water every few days and does my laundry. I pay her the equivalent of 10 dollars a month, a tidy sum given the amount of work. She does not, however, wash my undies because it’s very taboo in Burkinabé culture and, well, who wants someone else to wash their undies? I’m happy to handle them myself. Anyhow, a week ago I had quite a backlog of underwear, so I did a bucket-load of laundry. After hanging said items up to dry on the clothesline in my courtyard, I headed out for a late-afternoon run. After coming back, I did a little yoga, took a shower, started to cook dinner and, while waiting for my pasta to cook, went to take my laundry off the line. I piled up the laundry and, as I picked it up to take inside, I realized that my nice, new, seashell pink bra was not amongst the other clean and dry items. I looked around and quickly realized that it must have been stolen. There was no other explanation. I had attached each item to the clothesline with a clothespin. I immediately got really pissed off. It was not a graceful moment. Being a foreigner, I naturally feel a little more vulnerable here than I would in the States, being a stranger renders my situation that much more precarious. Beyond that, having something new that had been sent from the States was a really nice thing. Despite the fact that it was an object as trivial as a bra, being stolen from (again) made me feel like crap. I proceeded to make a fairly big deal out of the incident, informing my neighbors and, in doing so, communicating my displeasure and hurt.

Laundry

After dinner, I hopped on my bike to go to the marché and sit with Salimata, my best village-friend. I told her what had taken place and she immediately said that she’d come by my house the next day to talk to my neighbors. She was truly offended on my behalf, a fact that was deeply appreciated. She pointed out that it was almost certainly a neighbour, someone who felt comfortable enough entering my courtyard without knocking, and was obviously a girl or young woman. This fact was particularly disturbing since I’m on really friendly terms with my female neighbors and the idea that one of the schoolgirls or young women who lives near me would steal from me was disheartening.

In lieu of the theft, I had locked my courtyard door with a padlock upon leaving that evening (my door locks but the key has long been lost, Burkina could be accurately dubbed the “land of lost keys”). When I returned, feeling better for Sali’s consolation, I unlocked the door and walked in to find the bra lying on my terrace. It had obviously been launched over the wall by someone who had come by to return it, knowing that I'm usually at the marché at the same hour each evening, and found my door padlocked.

In retrospect, I can’t help but understand the motivation of a young woman for stealing my bra. Village girls and women don’t generally have a lot of clothes and the allure of something pretty and feminine is obvious. Women here like to look and feel beautiful, just like the average Western woman. Whoever it was had enough remorse to return it, which makes me feel less slighted. In the grand scheme of things it’s negligible, particularly considering that I certainly own more bras than any woman in my village. Thus, as they say…ça va aller (so it goes).

On the subject of thievery, another brief story:

The very next night I was sleeping in my tent, outside on my terrace, as usual. I’ve become accustomed to falling asleep to the sound of music and tam-tams (drumming) during the frequent weddings and various village celebrations. On this night, however, I awoke to the sound of persistent drumming at 1 am. This was unusual. Drumming doesn’t typically begin in the middle of the night. I tried to fall back asleep, but it persisted, and was soon accompanied by movement all over the village and the sounds of men’s voices. Shortly after, I heard the women from the closest neighboring courtyard talking as they sat on a huge slab of stone between our courtyards. I grabbed my headlamp, got out of my tent, and headed next door. I asked what had happened and they responded (in Mooré) something almost completely incomprehensible to me save the word “wagda”. Thief. This naturally freaked me out and I stood around with them until one of the women suggested, in a very maternal manner, that I go back to sleep. I did, eventually, feeling secure only in that I knew that if I screamed, my neighbors would hear me. I dozed off to images of a prowler breaking into some villager’s house, searching for money and valuables (villagers tend not to deposit their money in any sort of financial institution, even though we have a small bank, “caisse populaire,” in village and people do understand the basic value of doing so. I’ve been told this is born of the legacy of colonialism - keeping money in any official institution was risky as it would often be confiscated by the colonial powers-that-were).

My bedroom

After a less-than-satisfactory night’s sleep, I got up and stopped by the marché before heading off to school. I asked about the drumming and eventually ascertained that the theft had been of a cow, not a break-in. The drumming was an alarm system of sorts, a call to action for the village men. I felt enormously relieved that it was a cow-thief and not a burglar. The thief had gotten away, but without the cow. Though certainly not a good thing, livestock thievery is pretty common and, in village terms, is not as grave as other, less common forms of theft. Thus, my inquietude was diminished.

Being in a foreign country means walking a tightrope high above the ground without the net afforded a person by the country where he has his family, colleagues, and friends, and where he can easily say what he has to say in a language he has known from childhood.

Milan Kundera “The Book of Laughter and Forgetting”

Salimata, selling slices of watermelon at the marché

Harvest Time

Well-fed poets may dream of finding the world within a grain of sand, but a starving man can find the entire universe and all the ecstasies of eternity in a mouthful of groundnut stew and a tin cup of well water.

Richard Dooling, “White Man’s Grave”

We’re currently in the midst of the harvest season here in Burkina Faso, the dry cornstalks and crisp smell of dying vegetation and dry earth are reminiscent of the autumnal northeastern United States (I can almost taste my mom’s pumpkin pie). The word "harvest" seems most appropriately associated with abundance, Thanksgiving's cornucopia, a holiday meal. Unfortunately, this year’s rainy season, though violent, was brief. It started late, came all at once in deluge after deluge, then ceased unexpectedly. In my village, dozens of houses were severely damaged or destroyed, including the house of one of my closest friends. She insisted on continuing to sleep in it, against my protestations, and her house fell in on itself only hours after she'd been sleeping inside. The southern areas of Burkina experienced severe flooding in July and August, followed by extreme drought when there is typically rain. Climate change? Methinks most certainly. The Sahel (immediate sub-Saharan Africa stretching from the Atlantic to the Red Sea – Mauritania, Senegal, Burkina, Mali, Niger, Nigeria, Chad, Sudan) will suffer more than most regions of the world for the sins of the West and the evidence is certainly apparent: desertification, shorter, fiercer rainy seasons, hotter average temperatures, projected water wars. Yesiree, the Sahel is screwed. I recently read an excerpt from a memo authored by Lawrence Summers, an economist for the World Bank. To paraphrase, he suggested that the low levels of pollution in African urban centers are an indication of poor industrial efficiency. Beyond the mere fact of suggesting that lack of pollution in Africa is a BAD thing, an obviously assanine statement, the notion that a professional would even consider conducting serious dialogue in terms of pollution as a positive indicator of development is absolutely MIND BOGGLING.

Then again,

You didn't have to join the human race. You could have stayed in America where five percent of the world's population consumes seventy-five percent of the world's resources (Richard Dooling, White Man's Grave).

I guess it’s pretty obvious that I have a hard time wrapping my head around the increasingly dire situation that this part of the world faces and the factors of Western-origin that caused and perpetuate it. Please forgive the incendiary nature of the quote - it's a harsh reality that I've come face to face with via this formative crash-course in "this is how the world actually works." Life here is hard. I’m confident that, if anything, my blog entries have demonstrated that. The average Burkinabé struggles in a way that the average American can’t fathom. I understand that better than most, but I only live amidst it, I don’t live it. The fact that the lifestyles we, as inhabitants of the "First World", lead actually make life harder here is one of the universe's sad, sick jokes. The really disgusting thing is that, aside from perpetrating heinous environmental, economic and humanitarian crimes against the "developing" world, it's the example of the developed world, especially the United States, that pushes them to strive toward ill-conceived, damaging production methods and consumption habits that mimic ours.

The harvest itself has been dismal. Corn is a third or half the size it was last year, many millet fields were ruined or produced a much lower yield than usual, and I can only imagine the impact the copious rain, then lack thereof has had on cotton. These are Burkina’s cash crops and, currently, it looks like the average family will eat less than they did last year. Prices are already elevated and it’s clear that we’ll witness quite a bit more suffering and struggle than this past year, from the costs of refurbishing and replacing damaged or destroyed houses and the loss of revenue from poor or failed crops - the mainstay of the average rural family's income. The following is a quote from an article, "Local Leaders Say Flood-Hit Residents Will Need Food Aid for Months," the link to which can be found on the sidebar:

"I was sleeping with my family when I heard the waters entering through the windows," Lassina Sanou, father of eight, told IRIN. He said it cost him 300,000 CFA francs (US$645) to build his mud house; now it's gone and he lives in a makeshift shelter. He lost his crops and cattle to the floods.

"I have to start from nothing again. I will have to come up with money and it will take years."

So, there you have it. I realize this is a fairly somber way to end this entry, but it's reality as my friends and neighbors live it.

“The people of the First World are eating the children of the Third World every night for dinner,” he said, staring at Boone, as if he expected this statement to elicit a critique from his listener.

“That”s…unusual,” said Boone. “But I don’t know what it means.”

“Cannibalism,” said Frank. “You are what you eat; but they aren’t, because we eat it all; therefore we are eating them.”

Richard Dooling “White Man’s Grave”

Sarata, Amisatu and Rasmata - my neighbors

A millet field outside my courtyard

It’s hard to reconcile the world I left with the one I find myself in now. I feel as if I cheated fate and got a whole other life in my allotted span.

Tanya Shaffer “Somebody’s Heart Is Burning: A Woman Wanderer in Africa”

She Works Hard for the Money...

2007-09-13T19:15:00.000Z

Well, the working hard may be true enough but it's sure not for the money (though, as you can imagine, $240 a month goes a lot further in the W. African bush than...anywhere in America).

We finished up the aforementioned APE/AME (Parents' Association/Mothers' Association) Workshop this past Friday. It was a productive week, though indescribably frustrating at times. Despite the fact that we were working with some high level civil servants, there remained a constant and sometimes insurmountable cultural barrier in terms of professional norms and approaches to the tasks at hand. A lot of our activities focused on groupwork, which was at once enriching and infuriating. I found myself often playing the role of taskmaster and having to guide (sometimes not so subtly) the group discussions back toward a more relevant course. It was pretty fascinating to observe how the education system in Burkina Faso and cultural norms impact professional life and, specifically, efficiency and productivity. It's easy, even after 15 months here, to take for granted the cultural and professional norms of the U.S. and "developed world." Tangents and anecdotes, no matter how related or relevant they are to a conversation, are typically unacceptable, especially in a structured and scheduled work environment. I found myself constantly looking at my watch and venting to other, equally frustrated volunteers during our coffee and lunch breaks. Despite the frustrations, however, we managed to produce some valuable material for the manual that will result from our efforts and I was able to conceptualize and articulate more fully and realistically the activities that I have in mind for the coming school year, such as meeting protocol and management training for the Parents' Associations and specific activities with the students at my primary school. All in all, a positive and useful experience.

Kim and I articulating some fascinating and important points.

And the ground-breaking ideas flow...

Group work. Many brains are better than...

You can't see the audience but, believe me, they were riveted.

Flip charts - a Peace Corps volunteers' best friend.

Girls' Ed and Empowerment volunteers.

Burkinabé workshop participants.

Volunteers, counterparts, and education officials.

"He scoured the bookstores on the Boulevard St.-Michel for African travel books written in English. He found books aplenty on traveling in East Africa, but nothing on West Africa...Tourists, it seemed, preferred lions and the Serengeti Plain to poverty and the Sahel."

Richard Dooling, "White Man's Grave"

"...the beauty of the rain...

2007-09-13T04:17:00.000Z

is how it falls..."

And falls. And falls. And falls.

In the last month the rain gods have descended upon Burkina Faso with a vengeance, at least in the East, where deluge after deluge has left us…soggy. They came a bit late this year but have certainly left their mark. My village is dramatically transformed, resplendent in every imaginable hue of green. As the millet, sorghum and corn continue to grow, people have begun to emerge from the fields, the majority of actual cultivation completed. Tending and weeding are the tasks that remain until the harvest in October. Unfortunately the volume of rain that continues currently threatens crops in more vulnerable areas. Though we're hoping for a gentle conclusion to the season, it still pours at least every other day.

As the beginning of the school year approaches, I find myself in Ouagadougou for a Girls' Ed and Empowerment workshop regarding collaboration with our village parents' associations (APE = Parents' Association, AME = Mothers' Association). The APE/AME workshop includes 9 volunteers and accompanying APE/AME members from their villages (mine is my counterpart and treasurer of my school's APE, Aissatu), as well as officials from the central and regional bureaus of Burkina's Ministry of Primary Education and Department for the Promotion of Girls' Education. The week consists of various lectures, presentations, group activities and, most importantly, the creation of a manual specific to collaborating with APE/AME that will serve as a guide for future generations of volunteers. We just wrapped up our first day, which was so chock full of information that I find myself a bit fatigued, as a scheduled 8-5 day is a little more intensive than what I'm used to in village.

One thing that I've noted about the workshop so far reinforces a characteristic of Peace Corps that I've really come to appreciate, as my understanding of and experiences with development work grow. In order to establish their volunteer programs in a given country and as an appendage of the U.S. government, Peace Corps must be invited by that country's government. As a result, health volunteers collaborate with the Ministry of Health, secondary ed volunteers with the Ministry of Secondary Education, etc. This collaboration gives volunteers a better chance of facilitating projects that are relevant, as we have an immediate and reciprocal relationship with civil servants at a variety of levels. For instance, though I have yet to embark on any major collaboration with officials at the provincial level, I have sought their advice on numerous occassions and taken advantage of their contacts for projects I've undertaken. I also work closely with the Inspection (department-wide administrative body for primary schools) in my village, and hope to facilitate training for many of the APE/AME in our department (which has 29 primary schools) in partnership with my Inspection order to enable them to function more effectively.

I think the fact of Peace Corps' integration within government institutions and the specific programs they've undertaken negates a lot of the criticisms that I'm aware of (and that irk me enormously). We are not intelligence gatherers or remnants of a darker, colonial era and we're not shouldering the white man's burden. We're trying to help our host-country colleagues shoulder theirs. Peace Corps volunteers are, generally speaking, the best integrated, most culturally aware strangers that you'll find in any given developing country. I guarantee it.

A propos to rainy season work...it's been slow going, but I did pull off a pretty neat tree planting project. Moringa oleifera is an astoundingly nutritious, multifunctional tree native to India found in tropical, semi-arid and arid climates. "India's ancient tradition of ayurveda says the leaves of the Moringa tree prevent 300 diseases. Modern science confirms the basic idea. Scientific research has proven that these humble leaves are in fact a powerhouse of nutritional value. Gram for gram, Moringa leaves contain: 7 times the vitamin C found in oranges, 4 times the calcium found in milk, 4 times the vitamin A in carrots, 2 times the protein in milk, and 3 times the potassium found in bananas." (http://treesforlife.org/) Aside from their excceptional nutritional value, Moringa leaves can be used for medicinal purposes, to purify drinking water, to make vegetable oil for use as a healthier alternative to palm oil, as feed to improve the health of livestock and, when planted in and around gardens and fields, their fallen leaves improve plant growth and crop yield. Not too shabby.

Having learned about Moringas from a health volunteer, I went out in search of seeds in my region (where Moringas are fairly rare, unlike some other regions of Burkina). I stopped by an "éspace vert" (nursery) in Fada N'Gourma, my regional capital. The extremely kind and helpful owner enthusiastically showed me his Moringa tree and sold me 200+ seeds for the equivalent of about 50 cents. Next, I went to my local "forestier" (don't know how to explain his function, he's like a department (county)-wide official who gives people permission to cut down trees and is responsible for area forestry and environmental projects initiated by the gov't and NGOs). He offered me planting advice and had one of his helpers plant the seeds and raise the seedlings in a fenced in garden area until they were mature enough for distribution. I also worked with my good friends, Marcel and Martine Comberé, a dynamic village couple who are the president of our high school's APE and the president of our women's association respectively. They helped convene a meeting of the women's association at our village "maison de la femme" (women's community center) to educate those present on the value of Moringa, plant trees at the center and distribute over 150 seedlings to villagers. Our first meeting was a success and I look forward to repeating the experience and continuing with sessions involving the many uses of the plants (after those planted this summer are mature enough). Some people in village have already started using the leaves to make sauce that's served with tô, the staple dish in Burkina made from millet or corn. Since the sauce has more potential for nutrional value than the carbohydrate base (which consists of ground millet or corn "flour" mixed with water, then whipped into a malleable liquid that is cooked and shaped into servings the shape of a flying saucer), the leaves and vegetables used in the sauce (baobab leaves, okra, Moringa) can have a huge impact on health. All in all, an exciting undertaking with lots of possibilities for the coming year.

Now for a few pictures...

Richard, my friend's son, and a Moringa tree, only a few weeks after it was planted as a very small seedling. These suckers grow fast!

Loading up the trees before our education session my village's women's association.

And the educating begins.

Marcel interpreting my French presentation in local language.
It sounded so much more interesting in Mooré.

Planting Moringa trees outside the "Maison de la Femme" (women's community center).

Many hands make light work.

Me and village ladies planting.

Martine and trees.

Madame Legma, Governor of the Central-North region, putting in some face time with the village ladies. She's one of 3 female governors in Burkina and is originally from my village. She visits regularly and provides our women's association (and me) with a lot of support.

So that's the news that's fit. It's been over 15 months since I arrived and I've gotta say, I'm at once amazed that I've made it this far, enthusiastic for the next year, and wary of how quickly I know it will pass. That said, knowing that I'll be home to visit in 3 months is...fantastic. My plane tickets are booked and I'm mentally preparing for the cold and snow of WNY and the overwhelming excess and ease of l'Amerique in general. It's gonna be good.

Thanks for reading.

'Til next time (provided I don't float away during the next downpour),

Chrissy

"Here is a starving child, there is a mad dog; feed her, bomb him...information about Africa reaches us, most of the time, through a series of filters which, by reducing the vast continent to a cluster of emotive slogans, succeed in denying us any sense of complexity, context, truth...the West was always rather arbitrary about the names it pinned to Africa: Nigeria was named for an imperialist's wife, Ethiopia lazily derived from the Greek for 'a person with a black face.'"

Salman Rushdie, "Imaginary Homelands"

"Nothing ever stands still.

We must add to our heritage or lose it,

we must grow greater or grow less,

we must go forward or backward."

George Orwell, "The Lion and the Unicorn"

song of the moment: Imogen Heap's "Hide and Seek"
book i've read that you should too: Jeffrey Sachs' "The End of Poverty"

Growing Pains

2007-07-17T20:24:00.000Z

Nobody said it was easy.
No one ever said it would be this hard.

- Coldplay, "The Scientist"

To see things plainly, you have to cross a frontier.

- Salman Rushdie, "Imaginary Homelands"

Life is full of turning points and moments of staggering clarity. My Peace Corps experience is, conversely, often composed of the opposite: moments of frustrating half-comprehension, cross-cultural confusion, blunders, and disappointing or unpleasant revelations. Thus, those rare, lucid moments of self-perception and insight, the bittersweet fruits of an endless journey, are unparalleled in value and significance. I recently happened upon one of those experiences of self-realization that caused me to reevaluate my current frame of mind and approach to this nebulous, enigmatic undertaking that is Peace Corps in Burkina Faso.

I departed on my recent trip to Ghana eager, I'll go so far as to say desperate, to leave Burkina and its reality behind. Ghana offered the prospect of a refreshingly positive (read: more developed) environment free from my consistent and very personal encounters with poverty and all its appurtenances in Burkina. Beyond a much-needed break from reality and a few days on the beach, this trip held the significance of a reunion with one of my very best friends from high school.

In the weeks preceding the trip, I had undeniably reached a low point in service, as was predicted by the graph of volunteers' emotional flux that we'd been given during training (it resembles, quite literally, a rollercoaster). The year mark typically constitutes the down-slope of a low point, an anticlimax of the cross-cultural experience and, for many volunteers, THE low point of service insofar as its intensity and duration. I had thought myself atypical, successful in staving off the predicted case of mid-service blues, until I suddenly found myself quite discouraged, mired in homesickness and discontent. What better time for a vacation, you might suggest?

While the trip was certainly good overall, seeing my close friend was at once a wonderful and welcome relief and an unexpected burden. I found myself looking at myself through her eyes and coming up sorely and unexpectedly disappointed. My self-perception, or the self I had hoped that my friend would perceive was an "adventuring-embarking, Africa-exploring" me, but me in reality was an emotionally fatigued, conversationally challenged shadow of a happier self. This was compounded by the fact that my friend of over a decade is significant to me of so much that is good, in a very personal sense - of home and a full and fulfilling adolescence, of enthusiasm, drive, and dynamism, of some of my most formative experiences and endeavors and of many of the truest and best qualities and parts of myself. I was caught treading water by someone capable not only of recognizing it, but of unwittingly holding up a mirror in which my sorry image was reflected.

This all sounds pretty pitiful, but the experience succeeded in giving me the proverbial kick in the pants that I needed. I certainly lamented the fact, both during and after the trip, that I had been down and out and a bit of a stick-in-the-mud at times, but seeing my friend was probably more helpful than anything in prompting me to get back on track psychologically and emotionally, often not a small feat here in the wilds of West Africa. That said, this whole Peace Corps deal is pretty sweet and, now that I'm back in action, recharged and ready to go, I'm fully aware of just how truly sweet it is and, more than ever, I understand just how profoundly and positively this experience has affected me.

I spent a few days in Ouaga after getting back from Ghana and had lots of soul-searching conversations with PCV friends, questioning myself and this experience and whether I could really hack it for another year. I headed back to village with a bit of trepidation only to find that I was literally able to breath a sigh of relief when I stepped out of the bush taxi into my village. I was greeted with such enthusiasm by friends and colleagues and was overwhelmed with the feelings of comfort and familiarity that immediately washed over me. Diabo is home and these people are MY people. What a crazy, beautiful, unbelievable thing. I live in a West African village and its people have taken ownership over me. I am their child, albeit of a slightly lighter hue than most.

A group of women come up to me as I was walking down the road in village the other day. None of them spoke any French beyond a few greetings, but they conveyed their feelings to me via a series of gestures and some words in Zaore that I actually understand. After repeatedly pointing at me, then pointing at their breasts and making suckling noises I realized what the women were trying to tell me: "you are our daughter."

To understand just one life, you have to swallow the world.

- Salman Rushdie, "Midnight's Children"

Ghana, Part Deux

2007-07-01T17:16:00.000Z

I'm back in Burkina after two weeks in the greener, cooler climes of Ghana where I frolicked on the sands of the Gold Coast and enjoyed some excellent hospitality in Kumasi, catching up with one of my best friends from home who is working in Ghana for the summer. I headed down on my own, staying in Kumasi for a few days, then continued south to the coast to meet up with some other volunteers and, finally, back to Kumasi for a few days. Here's a glimpse of my trip in photos...

Beinvenue au Ghana. Au revoir Burkina!

Our chariot.

Kumasi. The prolific pavement and traffic required some getting used to.

Leslie with some ladies at a lunch spot near the hospital where she works.

Vikki and Leslie, conducting interviews with sickle cell patients at Komfo Anokye Teaching Hospital.

Leslie and a patient.

Anastasia doing activities with a girls' group at the hospital.

On the road again. Headed from Accra to Akwidaa.

A colonial fort on the coast. They were used by the Netherlands, England, Portugal, Denmark, Sweden and Germany for defensive purposes and as centers of trade of ivory, gold, sugar, spices, animal hides, etc. They also played a significant role in the Atlantic slave trade.

Fresh pineapple, yum!

The beach!

Leslie on the beach in front of the Green Turtle Lodge, hooray for several days next to the ocean!

A photographic shoutout to Lea - Ghana misses you.

Couldn't imagine a more beautiful landscape having not seen the ocean (or any signigicant body of water) in six months.

Our accomodation at Green Turtle - all the rooms are solar powered and just comfortable enough to feel like luxury not totally incongruent with the existence of a Peace Corps volunteer.

Sarah and Giorgio beach-ing.

Jenni and I taking a moment to appreciate our environs.

Enjoying some good reading after breakfast...with REAL coffee!

We headed down the beach to the Safari Beach Lodge for dinner one night. A twilight view.

Baked brie, fresh kingfish and well-mixed cocktails. The restaurant/accomodations are owned by a Texan couple so, while the atmosphere was African, the hospitality was distinctly American.

Beth and Giorgio.

Jenni and I.

Our bill. 1,230,000 cedi. Happily, Ghana is in the process of adjusting their currency so that 10,000 cedi will now equal 1.

Back in Kumasi. Dinner with the UPenn crew and friends.

Enjoying a meal of Ghanaian cuisine.

The market.

Stalls precariously perched over a section of the market.

Produce.

Beth, Jenni and I at the cultural center in Kumasi, engaging in potentially culturally inappropriate behavior. We did some serious shopping at the array of shops at the center, scoring some excellent gifts and gorgeous batik fabric from which to have some "haute couture" tailored for our ever-growing African wardrobes.

Leslie and Anastasia's birthday party, complete with an impressive sound system and some tasty refreshments.

Leslie and colleagues.

Jenni, Theo, and I.

And the party continues...

So that was my vacation. Jenni and I weathered a 20-hour bus ride back to Burkina complete with mechanical "challenges" and a few delays...but we're back, refreshed in body and spirit and ready to commence Year 2 in Burkina.

Politics and Lizard Poop

2007-05-11T13:55:00.000Z

…are equally insufferable in Burkina Faso.

I’ll start with lizard poop, perhaps the more obvious of the two. I do not, like many volunteers, have termites or mice or scorpions or bats or ants tunneling through my walls. I had a tarantula-like spider with a body the size of my fist once – it provoked a scream and calls for my neighbor to come and kill it, which he did while much laughter ensued at my quasi-hysterics (our silly nasara, she’s afraid of a spider!). I do, however, have lizards. Not the disconcerting floor-traveling kind that can pop up anywhere and lurk under beds or scurry across feet, but the much more benign, insect-feasting lizards that people in Anglophone African countries refer to as “wall geckos.” They have those nifty suction foot-pads and make funny guttural clicking sounds when they’re talking or mating or whatever they do. They flee, scurrying up the wall, when I enter a room or my shower and generally keep respectfully out of my way, unless it’s one of the beyond-oppressive hot days when my house is the coolest place they can find and they insist on keeping me company, en masse. So, while I would assert that they are typically polite house guests who do an excellent job of gobbling up insects, they do have one fatal flaw. They poop. Everywhere. They poop on my shoes, in my shoes, on my books and papers, in my shower, behind the door and in other hard-to-reach-with-a-broom places. I have a rack with pegs on which I hang a number of objects which are, periodically and unpredictably, pooped on. In the grand scheme of things, the fact that sweeping up lizard poop is a necessary and ritual daily activity is amusing and I’m sure I will reflect upon it with nostalgia in the future, when I’m dwelling in climates not frequented by wall geckos. But really, is it totally necessary to poop IN my shoes?

Politics. In our American cultural context it evokes images of Congressman debating bills on the floor of the House and Senatorial races with below-the-belt references to so-and-so’s marital problems or history of *gasp* inhaling. We imagine demonstrations on the Mall, neo-Classical columns adorning the colossal Department of Such and Such, get-out-the-vote campaigns, idealistic young liberals struggling to reconcile their bleeding hearts with their consumer-driven lifestyles and curmudgeon-y old conservatives who wax poetic over “a simpler time.”

From what I have read and, quite recently, observed (but have a limited ability to comment on due to the whole being-affiliated-with-the-government thing) “politics,” “politicking,” or however such activities might be accurately categorized here in West Africa, constitute an obscure, mired-in-platitudes, fascinating-in-a-train-wreck-sort-of-way undertaking. We recently had elections for provincial (there are 45) legislative representatives (the same day as France’s presidential election). Since my village is quite large and a few political types actually hale from chez moi, there were lots of activities – rallies, a bike race, mass voter-registration efforts – and scads of publicity posted on trees and people sporting their political garb, from t-shirts to complets made from pagnes (fabric) patterned with party symbols. I avoided all of this like the plague, since it is, quite logically, not befitting a Peace Corps volunteer – a neutral ambassador of our great nation – to take part in local politics. I did have several small children (who, most recently, spend their time chanting party slogans…yes, it’s disturbing in a Hitler-Youth-in-the-bush sense) ask me if I supported the dominant party, and even had a friend ask me to appear on stage at one of the rallies (thanks, but I’d just as soon remain a Peace Corps volunteer until the designated end of my service, i.e. not get kicked out). So, you ask? What exactly CAN you express? Well, this. That all the scathing, critical books I’ve read by Chinua Achebe and other African authors, all those articles in the Economist, a lot of the things I had assumed to begin with…well, yeah, I gather that there’s something to all of that. Nascent democracy (I use this term loosely) is a complex and frightening animal.

Moving on from random diatribes to…village! Good things are happening. Children are learning (potentially), girls are playing soccer and boys are watching, traditional American games are being tailored to rural Burkina Faso. “Duck, duck, goose” has morphed into “mouton, mouton, boeuf,” (sheep, sheep, cow) “sharks and minnows” – the dry land version - became “caimains et poisson” (crocodiles and fish) but evoked such chaos that it resulted in a “let’s not ever try this game again” ruling. My high school/collegiate running career has even proven useful in the bush. My CM2 girls and I start every “gym” session with a run and stretching (them, barefoot, me, with my tender feet, in running shoes) . The other day, after a modest 5 minutes out, I suggested we stop and stretch and then head back. The girls unanimously vetoed this and we continued, eventually making a tour of village that was at least 3k, possibly more. Needless to say, I was impressed with their motivation and stamina. The stretching is typically the most entertaining part of the afternoon. I give them directions in a funny voice which they repeat, in a chorus of equally funny voices. I begin with, in French, the equivalent of “touch the sky,” “touch the earth,” “touch the sky,” “say ‘Good Evening’ to God” (at which point we all wave heaven-ward, which is totally acceptable in this non-secular state, where God is prolific). I even built my school a long-jump pit the other day and am contemplating some modest track and field-type competitions for next year. My head is swimming with ideas and, happily, my enthusiasm is contagious, which bodes well for the next school year. I have two solid high school girls with whom to start my aforementioned girls’ peer-sensitization program and await the end of this school year and their super-serious-potentially-life-altering exam to really get started.

My homologue (community counterpart) has taken an idea of mine and run with it, and I have a potentially great micro-enterprise project on my hands, as well. It involves women making handbags out of a thick, brightly colored nylon thread (they’re quite attractive and popular in cities in Burkina). The idea is that the women work together, starting with a small amount of money that they cotisé (in English…pool, I guess?). They must first be taught how to make the bags (a crocheting-without-needles sort of process). My counterpart actually took it upon herself to go out and buy materials and find someone in Fada (the nearest city) to teach her how to make them – demonstrating initiative like that is rare in village and, thus, is both encouraging and inspiring. They earn a significant profit (about $1-2) on each bag, which will allow them to expand their production. Then, at a pre-determined profit level, they’ll start issuing loans to women in the group to finance their individual income-generating activities (all of the women participate in some sort of commerce, typically selling vegetables or fried cakes at the market or selling an array of provisions – cigarettes, candy, biscuits, etc. – on the side of the road). So, initially the idea is to expand their base of available capital, a pretty simple idea. I want to go a step further and conduct regular business skills development sessions so that we can talk about tailoring production decisions to the market, keeping accurate records so as to track expenditures, profits, and consumer trends, etc.

The thing with women in village, the majority of whom participate in some sort of IGA (income-generating activity), is that, despite their sheer doggedness, they lack the basic knowledge to make their endeavors significantly or even sustainably profitable. So many of them produce the same thing, saturating the market to a point where I wonder how anyone turns even a modest profit. There are many dynamic, intelligent women who will, with a little impetus, I hope, start to think more creatively. This, I think, may be one of the greatest challenges in regard to Burkinabé culture. In the West, particularly the U.S., we absorb the rhetoric of possibility, endless horizons, self-starters, and the necessity of initiative from such an early age – after all, it’s the ultimate American dream. We have the legacy of Horatio Alger-esque, up-by-their-bootstraps rugged individualists. Here, however, a collective resignation is most often the philosophy du jour.

So, there you have it: all the news that’s fit, for now. Somewhere along the line, without really noticing it (though physically moving from the periphery to the center of village played a big role), I turned a corner (perhaps several) and started to feel like the Peace Corps volunteer I knew I could-should-wanted to be. I will definitely still leave Burkina feeling like I accomplished little, the immense, endemic, colossus of poverty, impotence, and inaction as daunting as ever, but I’m no longer sitting wide-eyed and twiddling my thumbs wondering where to begin or what the next step is. This road continues to be a strange and challenging one, but the journey is often meaningful and never dull.

In closing, some brief comments on the climate and weather. Last year at this time, I was enjoying springtime in D.C. – cherry blossoms, knee-length skirts and high heels, sitting on a bench eating lunch on the Mall, happy hours on rooftop patios in Dupont Circle and Adams Morgan, and the like. Recently, there have been days when I’ve spent the three to four hottest, midday hours as immobile as possible, rendered dysfunctional by the heat which turns human beings (ok, nasaras) into vessels of water consumption and excretion and zaps all energy, motivation, and will to actively participate in, well, life. These are precious hours I will never get back, thanks to geographic position, the hue of my skin, and global warming (Al Gore’s obviously on to something with all this greenhouse effect banter…).

Thanks for reading.

‘Til next time,

Chrissy

When you help, you see life as weak.

When you fix, you see life as broken.

When you serve, you see life as whole…

Fixing and helping create a distance between people

but we cannot serve at a distance.

We can only serve that to which we are profoundly connected.

Rachel Naomi Remen

"Mouton, mouton, boeuf"

...and I'm the boeuf

“Dad was redreaming the world as he slept. He saw the scheme of things and didn’t like it. He saw the world in which black people always suffered and he didn’t like it. He saw a world in which human beings suffered so needlessly from Antipodes to Equator, and he didn’t like it either. He saw our people drowning in poverty, in famine, drought, in divisiveness and the blood of war. He saw our people always preyed upon by other powers, manipulated by the Western world, our history and achievements rigged out of existence. He saw the rich of our country, he saw the array of our politicians, how corruptible they were, how blind to our future, how greedy they became, how deaf to the cries of the people, how stony their hearts were, how short-sighted their dreams of power. He saw the divisions in our society, the lack of unity, he saw the widening pit between those who have and those who don’t, he saw it all very clearly. He saw the women of the country, of the markets and villages, always dogged by incubi and butterflies; he saw all the women, inheritors of the miracle of forbearance. He saw the hungry eating toads. He saw the wars in advance. He saw the economic boom in advance, saw its orgiastic squander, the suffering to follow, the exile to strange lands, the depleting of the people’s will for transformation. He saw the emergence of tyrants who always seem to be born from the extremities of crisis. He saw their long rule and the chaos when they are overthrown. He argued in three great courts of the spirit world, calling for justice on the planet. He argued with fantastic passion and his case was sound but he was alone. He didn’t see the mighty multitudes all over the world in their lonely solidarities, pleading cases in the supreme courts of spirits, pleading for justice and balance and beauty in the world, for an end to famishment and vile wars, destruction and greed. Dad was alone because he didn’t see the others, the multitudes of dream-pleaders, invading all the courts of the universe, while struggling in the real hard world created by the limitations in the mind of human beings.”

- Ben Okri, The Famished Road

2007-04-24T14:56:00.000Z

“The women are, of course, the biggest single group of oppressed people in the world and, if we are to believe the Book of Genesis, the very oldest. But they are not the only ones. There are others – rural peasants in every land, the urban poor in industrialized countries, Black people everywhere including their own continent, ethnic and religious minorities and castes in all countries. The most obvious practical difficulty is the magnitude and heterogeneity of the problem. There is no universal conglomerate of the oppressed. Free people may be alike everywhere in their freedom but the oppressed inhabit each their own peculiar hell. The present orthodoxies of deliverance are futile to that extent that they fail to recognize this.”

- Chinua Achebe “Anthills of the Savannah”

Kin Kindé (Greetings).

A quick update since I’m back in Fada briefly to retrieve a package from the post office – some postal love that, over the past month, has made its way from Western New York to the heart of West Africa and one very appreciative daughter. A new headlamp, a sturdier tent, rechargeable batteries, reading material – this is the stuff of Peace Corps volunteer dreams and it takes on a whole new meaning here in the bush (thanks, Mom and Dad).

I decided to escape the air-conditioned, tunnel-vision-inducing, head-spinning mania of the internet café and take advantage of a fellow PCV’s laptop to type this entry. E-mail access is both a blessing and a curse here as it is unspeakably wonderful to be able to communicate with friends and family, yet it’s an experience that takes on an intensity here so that, in stepping back into the West African sun out of relative technological bliss, the words of people you love fresh in your thoughts, you feel as if you’ve been hit by a truck or, more accurately, slapped with an unexpected reality.

But on to village news…

I’ve talked a lot about École ‘B,’ the primary school that I’m assigned to work with in my village. The director (principal) is one of my closest friends, a confidant and source of sanity in the not-uncommon moments of frustration or confusion. The teachers, too, are good friends and people whom I respect deeply for the tremendous task and sheer difficulty of teaching a classroom overflowing with unruly kids with only a handful of textbooks (classroom etiquette here is woeful and kids, lacking regular supervision at home, can often be a nightmare in a semi-regulated educational environment, especially when there are 80+ in a single class). That said, it’s been a bit challenging to work with the school since the teachers are so over-taxed. However, upon returning to village a few weeks ago, I was pleasantly surprised in a conversation with my school director where we managed to iron out a schedule for me to conduct review classes for the CM2 (5th grade class) who are preparing for their CEP exam, which determines whether they are eligible to continue on to junior high. As the system here is French, it is decidedly different than what we’re accustomed to in the States. Students in Burkina are not set up to succeed. It is infinitely easier to fail. The rigorous exams are just one example. As a Girls’ Ed and Empowerment volunteer, I discovered that inequity in the number of boys and girls in primary schools is not a problem in my village, as it is in many others. Rather, the problem is that girls don’t continue on after primary school, the most obvious problem being that they fail the CEP, for a host of reasons and often multiple times. Thus I’ve started conducting two review sessions a week with the CM2 class which will continue until the exam in mid-June. Wednesday mornings are grammar revision and Thursday mornings consist of a dictée – an exercise in which a passage is dictated to the students and then grammatical questions are posed. This is an area of the exam that kids do miserably on despite the fact that it’s a regular part of the curriculum. They must first listen and copy down the passage and then define and categorize certain words and phrases, conjugate verbs in the passage, translate sentences into a different tense or from the active to the passive voice. Each element is scored and students must score the “moyenne” (average) to get credit. Most do not. The exercise may not seem difficult at first glance, but these are 5th graders and French is not their first language. So here is where I come in: I execute an exercise with them and then we correct and grade it as a class. Although I practice reading each passage the night before, my accent sometimes gives the kids trouble…but a challenging revision is better than none at all. Though I haven’t implemented it yet, I’m planning on keeping a score chart for kids who get the moyenne and then I’ll give prizes to, say, the top ten kids who consistently achieve or exceed the moyenne.

Aside from the revision sessions, I’ve also started facilitating the equivalent of a gym class for the CM2 girls three times a week. My main objective is preparing them for the physical element of the exam, which consists of a 60m dash and a long or high jump (with impractically high standards, which boggles my mind…do undernourished kids in the third world really need to be able to sprint 60M in 9 seconds in order to continue their education?). Sadly, this portion of the exam often poses a problem for girls, who aren’t encouraged to participate in any form of athleticism (mainly soccer in village - the favorite pastime of boys). I’ve started off slow; we do a short run, then play a game – "duck, duck, goose" is good as it necessitates running quickly – then do another short run, which the girls, remarkably, love. I try to add interesting elements to the run, like having the girls at the end of the line sprint to the front then yell “allez” (go) to signal the next girls to start. They also enjoy singing during the run, which is always entertaining. The girls are enthusiastic to play soccer, so we’ll start with some soccer matches this week.

I’m hopeful that these sessions will pave the way for a regular sports club for any and all girls interested during the next school year. It’s pretty incredible to see how they respond to having my undivided attention for an hour. They’re used to teachers for whom it is often impractical to give significant individual attention and here I come, Suzy Sunshine ready to play games with them and even ask them what they would like to do. I’m excited about the possibilities that these activities will open up for the next school year. Burkinabé, though endlessly hospitable, are not particularly open, especially with a white foreigner. This makes it hard to tackle tough subjects, which I hope to do. “Empowering” these girls, for me, means giving them ideas and knowledge with which they can shape their own lives. To do this, we need to talk not only about making smart decisions, but what that really means – in other words, abstinence, safe sex, pregnancy, STDs, functioning and asserting themselves as females within a culture that often renders them impotent in everything from who they marry to how many children they have to whether they can leave their courtyard to go to the market. Challenging, to say the least…and I haven’t even begun to skim the surface.

At the secondary education level, I’ve identified two girls so far for the mentoring project I mentioned in the last entry. I’d like to get started as soon as possible, but the girls are troisieme (9th grade) students and are preparing for the BPEC, the exam they must pass to continue on in high school. The CEP, BPEC and BAC are the three major exams within the educational system, the BAC being the exam you must pass to receive a high school diploma and be eligible for university (like the SAT, only more comprehensive and difficult). The BAC is a rare achievement and even many teachers don’t have their BAC. Given their situation with the BPEC, I’ve asked the girls if they’ll be willing to work with me once a week during the four-month break to formulate the “curriculum” of activities and sensitizations they’ll do with the primary school girls. I also need to find a few more girls, but having two motivated, albeit timid, girls is a huge step.

I’ve got a few smaller projects in their infancy, but I’ll wait to report on those. I also await news regarding my Peace Corps Partnership funding application, and fear that it being a significant construction project and more costly than the average PCP project may render it untenable to the powers that be - cross your fingers for me.

So that’s the news as far as work is concerned. It gets easier and harder simultaneously. As I learn to navigate this culture and Burkina’s educational institutions, I identify more and more challenges and the climb only seems steeper. The consul and friendship of other volunteers is key here, as it provides an outlet and a sounding board for frustrations and fears, as well as a forum for idea exchange and support. We all want to move mountains, but we’re not even equipped to attempt hills. That said, I’d rather be here bumbling along and experiencing all that I am than sitting at a desk in front of a computer in the States. I tell myself that, no matter what, being here and trying and trying accomplishes something, even if it’s just to touch a few girls in the most superficial of ways – giving them respect and attention they wouldn’t otherwise receive.

On a lighter note, as the school year draws to a close, I’m preparing for exciting things. I’m planning a tentative trip in June with some fellow volunteers down through Togo, visiting volunteers there, and over to Ghana, where I’ll meet up with one of my absolute best friends in the world who will be working there for three months or so. The prospect of a familiar face is the best medicine I can imagine for the subtle but ever-present stress that living here produces. In July, I’m going to welcome my first visitor, another one of my closest friends, and look forward to sharing my "second home," with a non-Peace Corps volunteer (not to mention several weeks of conversation in English - hallelujah!).

So that's the news. It's hotter than Hades, as my dad would say. The temperature and humidity increase as the rainy season approaches. It's rained for a few minutes two or three times and we've had some relief in several recent overcast days, but, let me tell you, you don't truly understand hot until you've spent April in West Africa!

Hope you're all doing well.

'Til next time,

Chrissy

“…we may accept a limitation to our actions but never, under no circumstances, must we accept restriction on our thinking.”

- Chinua Achebe "Anthills of the Savannah"

A Picture

Beth and I enjoying a cold, tasty beverage on a recent bike trip from her village to Kompienga (70k round trip, done in a day), down near the Togo/Benin border.

Ny Taabo!

2007-04-13T10:05:00.000Z

Africa tell me Africa
Is this you this back that is bent
This back that breaks under the weight of humiliation
This back trembling with red scars
And saying yes to the whip under the midday sun
But a grave voice answers me
Impetuous son, that tree young and strong
That tree there
In splendid loneliness amidst white and faded flowers
That is Africa your Africa
That grows again patiently obstinately
And its fruit gradually acquire
The bitter taste of liberty

David Diop, “Africa”

Hey, All -

I know what you're thinking..."back again, so soon?" Well, yeah. I'm here in Ouaga, revelling in the glory of a significantly air-conditioned room, taking temporary refuge from the unrelenting heat. I came into the city to submit my application for funding for a new classroom building for my village's junior/senior high school and to type up some work reports.

I thought I'd take the opportunity to share some pictures from my Easter adventures in village. I threw a rockin' par-tay for my friend Sali's baptism (lots of folks here are baptized or married on Easter weekend). The turnout was excellent - the bissap, zom kom, and dolo were flowing ( boiled hibiscus leaf juice, sweet beverage made from millet powder, and village brew, respectively) the riz gras was aplenty, as was the goat and we danced our socks off (ok, no socks were worn) 'til the wee hours. Villageois, fonctionnaires, two of my Peace Corps neighbors, young and old alike came out to celebrate Sali's now-official Catholocism and check out my sweet new digs (i.e. my most excellent new house). It was a fete to end all fetes...but I'll let you judge for yourself.

That's a lot of riz gras....

Village ladies filling up buckets of bissap, zom kom, and dolo

A group of male fonctionnaires (principals, teachers, etc.)

and Theo, my second-nearest PC neighbor

Three high school teachers and the primary education inspector

Friends

Les filles - some junior high girls who helped to serve guests and do dishes

Arnold, enjoying some riz gras

The girls - taking a break

Marcel, the president of the high school parents' association and Martine, his wife - good friends and my favorite couple in village. They're often referred to as "les amoureux" because they're love for one another is amazingly evident in a culture where egality and affection are typically taboo.

Adissa, a good friend, and a neighbor.

Aicha, adorably percocious and one of my favorite petites.

Two elementary school teachers from a neighboring village.

Me and Orelia, one of my volunteer neighbors - she biked a good 30k to visit.

Sali and I in front a my blackboard, which Orelia and I decorated festively. It says: "Happy Easter, Joyeuse Fete de Paques and Ny Taabo (Moore for "happy celebration")"

Yambila and me - this is "mam kiera" ("mon cheri") that I referred to in my last entry.

Balagissa and daughter, Michelline

Amisatu and Alima

Germaine (a teacher at my primary school) and daughter, Shakianatu

Neighbor girls and frequent visitors - they got the leftovers

Sali, dancing to traditional drumming - the drums are called "tam tams"

Orelia, dancing up a storm

Me, trying with little success to emulate traditional dance. In my village, if you dance well (or are a nasara who gives it a good try) they put money (5 or 10 cfa coins) on your back, as a neighbor is doing in the photo.

Kadi, getting her dance on

More drumming and dancing...

Amisatu dancing.

Sali and I in our Easter/baptism complets. The complets are covered in tiny crosses with large pictures of a a chalice and host that says "ceci mon corps, ceci mon sang (here is my body, here is my blood)." Somehow, here in West Africa, it's ok that I'm wearing this getup. Interestingly, Orelia, the volunteer neighbor who was visiting that weekend, is Unitarian Universalist, like myself. We figured that embracing Catholicism on Easter weekend was appropriate given our liberal religious roots.

Me and baby Michelline, seconds before she peed on me.

According to the ladies in village, this is good luck and means that I'll have lots of children.

So, there you have it. We partied like it was 2007.

Other than being the hostess with the mostest, I've been working on commencing with some new projects in village - a microenterprise/income-generating endeavor with some village ladies and a mentoring program between high school and primary school girls. I hope to have a group of 4 - 6 older high school girls to work with this summer. I'd like to collaborate with them to develop a curriculum that they'll facilitate with older primary-school girls beginning the next academic year. We'll cover everything from HIV/AIDS to "what's junior high really like?" to activities promoting responsible decision making and goal setting, etc. I hope,with their insights and input, to produce a document so that they will ultimately be able to not only facilitate the activities, but also train the next group of girls, thereby making the project sustainable and my participation unnecessary.

That's all I've got. Thanks for reading,

Chrissy

“The [Bush] administration also noted that U.S. aid to Africa “has almost tripled” during its tenure in the White House. But Steven Radelet, a senior fellow at the Center for Global Development in Washington, told the New York Times that American aid to Africa, totaling less than $5 a year per African is “About the same as what many Americans spend each morning for coffee and a bran muffin.” Most Americans believe that the United States spends 24 percent of its budget on poor countries, but the actual figure is less than one-quarter of one percent.”

- Charlayne Hunter-Gault, “New News Out of Africa: Uncovering Africa's Renaissance”

A Yaa Tuulgo!

2007-03-25T11:56:00.000Z

That's Mooré for "it's HOT!" The hot (read: hotter) season has commenced with a vengeance. It went from tolerable to "this is what they mean by hellfire" in a matter of days. I will be sleeping under the stars until the rainy season washes me back inside in a few months.

I just got back from Ouaga where we celebrated the impending departure of the oldest group of Burkina volunteers, who will be leaving us in June. The weekend was full of boisterous, debaucherous, and generally inappropiate activities ranging from sector vs. sector kickball (Girls' Ed and Empowerment lost badly, go figure) to some good old fashioned college (apple juice drinking) games to skits honoring (making fun of) the departing volunteers to karaoke. I'm currently in Fada, headed back to village tomorrow. Despite the suffocatingly stultifying heat, I am happy, no thrilled, to report that it just RAINED (ok, it sprinkled) for the first time in at least 6 months. Praise allah. Unfortunately, the rain has departed and the heat and humidity remain.

Apple Juice and Beirut skills - still got 'em

Kim and I, displaying unusual cuteness given the climate

This might be a game of flip cup

I mentioned in my previous post that I'd probably have lots to report regarding the move to my new house the next time around. I can't say I have lots, but I have some quality information to relay. The move went smoothly, with even the transfer of my wordly belongings by donkey cart occuring with relative ease. I was able to set up in a few days and already feel quite at home in my new abode. Beyond that, thus far I feel confident in asserting that my original supposition was correct. I am a seriously happier camper and feel like a brand new PCV. I'm amazed, though not surprised, at how much moving a kilometer has changed ma vie au village. It's been two weeks, but my Mooré has already improved by leaps and bounds (thanks to an army of dimunitive teachers, e.g. the neighborhood kiddies) and I am feeling much more bien integré. I've already gotten in good with the local ladies, who like to socialize with me when I pass by and get a kick out of teaching me phrases in Mooré and then listening to me butcher them. The vieux (old guy) in the neighboring courtyard has also declared that he is willing to leave both of his wives for me (oddly, they don't seem to mind) and we now refer to each other as "mam kiera" (my dear). This could be creepy except that he is quite possibly the cutest old man alive (he's got to be at least 85) and he's about 5 feet tall.

It's just started to storm for real (hallelujah!), so as this is Burkina and the power and/or internet will most surely cut out presently, I'll keep this short and sweet and close with some pictures of the new digs.

Thanks for reading.

'Til next time,

Chrissy

*Also, because there seems to be some confusion - I'll be in West Africa until August-ish 2008. Yeah, that's a long time. See you at the end of W's presidency.

Home, Sweet Home

Carting my stuff via donkey cart

La nouvelle maison

The terrace and front door

The water/dish-doing corner

My yoga spot, for a little early-morning exercise/inner harmony

The reading/eating/everything nook

La cuisine - where the magic happens

My indoor shower (a serious luxury here in the BF), that's the bucket from which I bathe

My bedroom and the world's largest mosquito net

View to the East from my courtyard, my nearest neighbors

The view to the North from my courtyard

A pretty flowering bush in a neighboring courtyard

"The earth swallowed heat all day and regurgitated it at night..."

- Alexandra Fuller, "Scribbling the Cat: Travels With An African Soldier

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

2007-03-10T14:44:00.000Z

I'm in Fada for the weekend to do some work - writing an article on an HIV/AIDS sensitization I did with primary schools kids in my village and working on a funding proposal for a new building for my village's high school. The funding is through the Peace Corps Partnership Program which is basically a conduit for private groups and individuals to donate money to specific development projects initiated by PCVs. I will include relevant information once (and if) my funding request is approved.

I'd only been back in village for five days before leaving again, but lots has gone on. First, we celebrated Le Jour Internationale des Femmes (International Women's Day - March 8th). The events included a theater production by high school students, an essay and design competition that I organized amongst the high school students , and a soccer match between male and female fonctionaires (I played with the chicks, we killed, won by a goal). The 8th March is a big deal here, each year they come out with a special pagne (fabric) and everyone who can afford to buys it and has shirts or complets (female skirt/top outfits) tailored. I was a little late getting on the bandwagon and bought my pagne on the 9th March, but I've got a whole year to wear it, so there you go. It was a fun day and included festivities oddly reminsicent of a barbeque (with drumming and dancing).

Aside from the 8 Mars festivities, I've got big news. I've made a significant decision regarding ma vie au village. I've decided, based on recent events and a general feeling of discontent with my living situation, to move. I'll be moving to a house much like my current house but right in the center of village instead of on the outskirts, where I am now. The notion hadn't really crossed my mind, even after Ismael stole from me. It was Nancy, my nearest PCV neighbor, who brought up the idea. We were in Ouaga for FESPACO, sitting outside one evening, catching up and she told me that my friend Sali had stopped by her village before she'd left for Ouaga and that they had talked at length about my situation in village. Sali voiced the opinion that she thinks I could be a lot happier than I am and told Nancy that she had an unoccupied house in mind if I expressed interest. The idea hit me like a ton of bricks and made me realize that my current situation is pretty lame and has resulted in an experience that isn't exactly what I had imagined Peace Corps would be like.

I live in a courtyard with two other fonctionaire houses and my neighbors are, in effect, strangers to the village, just like me. Despite the fact that they're nice (sans Ismael the thief), I didn't come to Africa to make friends with civil servants who are assigned to the village and move every few years, I came here to live in a village and to get to know villagers. Though I am well-integrated into my village and have lots of friends amongst the villagers, I've missed on on a lot of the quotidien experiences of other volunteers by not living directly amongst villagers. This has hindered the development of my local language skills and has, I realize, caused me to be needlessly bored at times.

So, upon returning to village, I dropped by the market to catch up with Sali before heading to the high school to do some work. I mentioned that Nancy had filled me in on their conversation and expressed interest in seeing the house. Sali replied that she would take me to see it whenever I wanted and it turned out that the proprietor is actually a good friend of mine. The house is newly constructed and belongs to his older brother who lives and works in Cote d'Ivoire. Since I had time to kill before meeting with a teacher, we went right away. I was a little skeptical as Sali led me down the paths through a maze of courtyards - mud hut upon mud hut - and was shocked when we turned a corner to find a really nice house in a small courtyard. It's the same two room setup as my house now with the added benefit of an indoor shower (a small room with a drain in which to take your bucket bath, really nice during the windy harmattan season when you freeze your butt off showering outside in the morning). It has a concrete terrace and an overhang with a metal roof and the courtyard is private with a solid metal door that locks. The house is totally screened too, which is rare for a villageois house and is a requirement for PCV lodging. Overall, it's nicer than my current house and its situation is much better. It sits on the edge of a huge, populous quartier, so there are tons of neighbors and lots of little kids running around, but the courtyard is still unique, so I can close my door and have privacy. The courtyard also looks out onto a barrage (big man- made pond which provides the water for gardening and is home to some crocs) and jardin (massive, fenced-in garden that many of the villagers share) . Beyond the barrage is a beautiful vista of the bush/savanah and an expanse of sky so massive that on a clear day you feel like it might swallow you up.

That afternoon, I went to talk to the director of my primary school, since it's the school's PTA that is in charge of my lodging. He was skeptical at first, understanding my current situation but wary of my desire to move right into the middle of the action in village, so to speak. However, after we went to see the house, he was impressed with it and recognized how moving there would positively impact my situation in village. So it's pretty much settled, it looks like I'll move in the next few days, which will be a pain, since it involves hauling all of my furniture and stuff 1.5 k by donkey cart, but I think the effort will be well worth it. I find that the moments I'm happiest in village are when I'm in the marché or the quartiers by the mosque, playing with the kids or talking with my female friends or the elders. I'm excited at the prospect of becoming that much more inculcated in village life and getting to know people better, instead of living in my fonctionaire fortress that is intimidating to most villagers.

So that's the news. I'm thrilled at the prospect of being able to step out of my courtyard into the heart of the village. The director termed my move as a "rebirth" which seems pretty accurate, as my experience is about to change radically. I imagine I'll have lots to report on the move and the changes it brings the next time I write.

'Til then,

Chrissy

FESPACO and village updates

2007-03-02T10:27:00.000Z

Greetings from Ouaga and FESPACO - the bi-annual Pan-African Film Festival. The festival features films from and about Africa, mostly of African origin with a few from the UK, US, India, even Haiti. The city is abuzz with droves of nasaras, of all hues and nationalities, who've descended upon our otherwise-totally-obscure country to get a taste of cinematic culture, African-style. The Peace Corps hostel is packed, so a bunch of us opted for a hotel down the street. We're currently hosting volunteers from all over W. Africa: Mali, Senegal, Ghana, Togo, Benin, and Guinea, whose volunteers were just evacuated due to escalating conflict and government instability. It's been cool to hear a little bit about their experiences in-country and realize the cultural elements that transcend borders here in l'Afrique de l'Ouest.

I had the opportunty to see four films. The first, "Some Kind of Funny Puerto Rican? A Cape Verdean-American Story", by Claire Andrade Watkins, is a documentary about Fox Point, a neighborhood on the lower east side of Providence, Rhode Island, which was the major settling point for Cape Verdean immigrants in America (no longer in existence thanks to the construction of Route 195) . (Reference: the Cape Verde Islands are just off the coast of W. Africa and were colonized by the Portuguese in 1462). The second film was "Ezra" by Nigerian Newton Aduaka, the story of a child soldier in Sierra Leone. I had to shut my eyes for a few scenes depicting raids on villages. It gave me a sort of sick feeling because those images aren't "over there" or "somewhere else" any more. I know those huts and those lives because I live amidst them. Imagining widespread, intense violence on a localized scale is something most Americans are unable to do because we haven't experienced it and can't truly fathom experiencing it. Images of terrorized kids running away from AK-47-wielding mercenaries evoked some serious emotions, not because I live in a war-torn or particularly unstable country, but because those kids looked like MY kids.

The third film I saw was a documentary by American Micah Shafer entitled, "The Death of Two Sons" which hit a more personal note. It's the story of Amadou Diallo, a Guinéan who moves to New York City to work and save enough money to go to college. While he's in NYC, his family simultaneouly hosts a Peace Corps volunteer in their village in Guinea. In 1999, Amadou Diallo was shot by 4 NYPD policemen as he was leaving his apartment building in the Bronx, I believe. He was reaching for his wallet which the policemen mistook for a gun. He was shot 19 times and fired upon 41 times. His death cause major controversy and resulted in a multitude of demostrations targeting racial profiling. Jesse, the American PCV, mourned with the family and even tranlsated for American journalists who had come to Guinea to visit the village and report on the funeral. Some time later, Jesse had returned from vacation in Ghana and was in a bush taxi with two other volunteers in Guinea headed back toward village. There was an accident and Jesse and one of the other volunteers were killed. The documentary depicts both of their stories and the details and ramifications of their deaths, both on a personal level and on a broader, international, social, and political level. It focused on the disparity between the "justice" that was served in each country, since the 4 officers were acquitted yet the government of Guinea held the bush taxi driver liable and sentenced him to 3 years in prison (this was probably done as a political statement as accidents are typically not pursued legally in Guinea, this was mentioned in the film and reaffirmed by a bunch of volunteers from Guinea who were in town for FESPACO). It was really well done and incredibly moving and thought-provoking. It hit home not only because I'm a PCV, but because the third volunteer who was in the accident was, until recently, the Secondary Education Director for Peace Corps Burkina and was sitting a few rows in front of me in the audience. She now works for another NGO in Ouaga but still comes by the hostel when there are lots of volunteers in town. It's hard to imagine the addition of such a tragic event to the already challenging experience of "the toughest job you'll ever love."

The fourth film was "Tsotsi" by South African Gavin Hood. It won last year's Oscar for Best Int'l Film. It's the story of Tsotsi, literally "thug", a young street thug in the townships of Capetown, I assume. He steals a car in a wealthy neighborhood, shooting the mother and leaving her for dead, he drives off only to discover that the woman's baby is in the back seat. Story ensues. I won't go into it since you can rent it in the States. It was really well done, better executed than Ezra, the other film in the fictional/drama genre I saw. The cinematography and urban cityscapes are excellent, I'd reccomend it if you can find it.

Yesterday was the last day of the festival and, though I didn't catch any films, I get to check out the art/crafts expo which featured artisans from all over the continent. I bought some beautiful Tuareg earrings (they're a nomadic group from the Sahelian region of W. Africa including northern BF, they make beautiful imprinted silver jewelry), some batik prints of village scenes made by a local artisan (who invited me to come watch him make the prints, which are stunning, the next time I'm in Ouaga), some handpainted writing paper, and a malacite necklace from the Democratic Republic of the Congo. I also met a woman from Madagascar who makes colorful straw handbags that would be trés chers in the states, but cost around 10 to 20 dollars here. I had seen her handbags in Ghana, so it was neat to meet her and hear about her business and distribution throughout the continent.

So, FESPACO, good times.

Before I get to the lengthy history of recent goings-on in village, I'd like to make a few revisions on facts presented and judgements rendered in previous entries.

Revisions and Reinterpretations

First, regarding my friend Sali who was due to depart for Equatorial Guinea. Her departure has been delayed due to the challenges and frustrations of third-world bureaucracy. This is not a big deal for her and is great for me as I get another month or so in the company of my closest friend in village. She's also currently trying to find out a bit more about the current state of affairs in EG, since a friend who has just returned to village from Libya, where he worked in the Burkinabe embassy, offered information suggesting that the economic/employment situation in EG may not be quite as rosy as the picture that had been painted for Sali by some others.

Second, regarding my neighbor, Bachir, the French teacher. I'd related a story about some less-than-appropriate advances made on a high school girl that had changed my opinion of him significantly. I'd like to revisit the subject in light of a conversation I had with Sali on the matter. We were talking about male-female relationships in Burkina and how infidelity is rampant and contributes greatly to the HIV/AIDS problem (significantly lower here, under 4% infection rate, but that's still 350,000 people in a country with a population only slightly greater than New York City). I expressed outrage at the way women are treated and impacted by their husbands' infedility (not that women don't participate too). To this Sali responded that it's just how it is here and that the situation is, in fact, better than before as women are asserting themselves more and more, especially in urban areas. When I mentioned my neighbor and how his behavior continues to impact my opinion of him, she approached the issue from a different angle. She talked about how she respects his manner, how he conducts himself with a humility not often seen amongst males here, how he doesn't "se promene" (socialize) around village a lot, but stays in doing classwork most of the time. She also said that, while it's possible that he does interact with female students in a non-studious way, it's not many or frequent as is often the case with other male teachers. (Female high school students here are often as old as 20 or 21, as well). When I looked at it from her angle, I realized that his behavior is way more upstanding than the average male here and that I tend to make judgements based on my U.S.-borne standards of behavior, which just don't work here because the norm is so totally different. While I can assert my views based on my cultural context in order to generate dialogue, it's not necessarily productive to let my instinctive, context-driven judgements effect my relationships in village.

So, that's the update. Oh, almost forgot, one more tidbit. I cut my hair reeeeally short (we're talking one step away from the page-boy I rocked as a three year old). But anyhow, on to the major subject of this blog entry...

I WAS ROBBED.

Seriously. It happened last Sunday evening. It was not a stranger. It was my 18-year old neighbor, Ismael, who lives with is brother, the aforementioned Bachir, French teacher at the high school. A little background: Ismael comes from Ouaga "the big city", his mom is the Minister of Forages (wells) for the country and his dad owns or runs or does something important at a major transport company in Burkina. In village, he is identifiably a "city kid" as he sports clothes way nicer than anything most people in village can afford, like 30,000 CFA shoes (that's $60 USD!!! a fortune for a cultivator, seriously). Point being, this kid is NOT hurting and he's certainly never been hungry.

So, this is how it went down. It was Sunday evening, after dinner-ish, about the time when the sun has just set and darkness creeps in (necessitating the use of petrol lamps and my headlamp, which the villagers think is WIERD). Anyhow, I was sitting between my house and Ismael and Bachir's house, playing with my new kitten, Africa, (white and orange tomkitten, seriously cute, pictures to follow) and hanging out with my petits neighbors, Gislain (age 6) and Martine (age 11). These kids are like my surrogate siblings. I was teaching Martine some constellations and telling her a bit about their mythology. This is a new pastime of ours, we're fans of Orion (who's not!?), Canis Major, and Lepus, particularly. Anyhow, she suddenly gets really quiet and then leans over and whispers that she's seen someone enter my house. The main door is open and unlocked with only the screen door closed, since I'm sitting maybe 20 feet away. She says that she thinks it's Ismael, which is confusing as there is absolutely no reason for him to be in my house alone. Culturally speaking, you don't enter a person's home unannounced and you would certainly never go in alone, uninvited, especially in the case of a woman living alone. I tiptoe up to the door and peak in the main-living/kitchen room which is dimly lit by my petrol lamp. I notice that the curtain on the door to my bedroom is askew so I return to where I had left my flashlight, grab it, and go back into my house. I pull the curtain open, shining the light around. After 15-20 seconds, I realize that Ismael is crouched behind my bed, veiled by the mosquito net. The light rests on him for a moment and he doesn't move until I say, "Ismael, qu'est-ce que tu fais (what are you doing)?" I proceed to demand if he is trying to scare me, the first thing that crosses my mind given the totally bizarre nature of the situation. He gets up and mutters something affrimative about trying to scare me and proceeds to leave my house. I don't recall the exact chain of events following as I was pretty shocked, but I returned to where the kids were seated after Ismael went back to his house, where some other lycee students were hanging around. I sit down and Martine tells me that I need to tell his "grand-frere," Bachir, right away. I sit with them until Ismael leaves the courtyard to accompany a friend out, and I go up to the house, stand outside and call to Bachir. I tell him what has passed and am forced to repeat myself two or three times as Bachir is totally shocked by what I tell him. The force of his reaction trumps mine and he assures me that he will talk to Ismael immediately. I return to my house and look around, for the first time considering Ismael's motive, to steal. My first thought is my iPods, but they're still where I'd left them, along with my camera and shortwave radio. Finally, I come across the messenger bag that I use to tote my work when travelling around village and see my wallet, a small zippered pouch I'd bought in Ghana, lying on the floor next to it. I'd had a 1000 franc bill and some coins inside, the mille franc bill was missing.

At this point I walk outside as Ismael is walking from the door to the courtyard across to his house. I call out to him and tell him that the mille is missing and that it was there before he went into my house. The little !#(&@ has the gall to tell me "il faut bien regarder" (to look well). A barrage of expletives come to mind right now and, a week later, I still feel the urge to wring his neck, but I'll spare you. I freak out, go inside and start to get really upset (we're talking tears here). I don't know what the heck to do next so I take off on my bike to find my friend Sali. I tell her what's happened in stunted, incoherent French but she gets it and tells me she's coming back to my courtyard with me and that she'll talk to Bachir and Ismael and that I need to let her talk and not try to stop her. The girl is PISSED OFF, which is seriously reassuring for me, the lone nasara who's suddenly feeling a little insecure about her situation in the middle of the bush in Africa. We head over and Sali greets Bachir and very respectfully states her/my case. Bachir is totally willing to sit down and talk and we proceed to discuss the situation. After a few minutes he asks that Ismael be present, so the little @#'(- sits down across from me. I am beyond words (well, beyond French words), and so am silent for the most of the conversation and let Bachir and Sali takes turns reprimanding Ismael and demanding that he fess up. I do throw in the odd comment such as how his actions and behavior are that of a child and not a man, etc. We sit for two hours until he finally says that yes, he took the money, and that he's already spent it (1000 cfa is a lot of money to spend in a day in villagewhere you can buy a meal for 50 or 100 cfa). The kid has no shame and is the quintessential coward, which makes me even angrier about the whole situation. Finally, we disperse and I try to sleep. Both Sali and Bachir send me reassuring text messages asserting that my safety and well-being in Diabo are not compromised and that, in effect, they have my back. This is particularly great coming from Bachir, who's in the awkward position of playing responsible party and guardian to his cousin and being my friend and neighbor.

The next day Ismael decides to add insult to injury and drops a mille bill in the courtyard, I suppose to make it look like I had dropped it. The proprietor/landlord of our houses discovers it and asks me if it's mine. I tell him that yes, it is in fact a "remboursement." Bachir comes over to talk to me about it and I express my rage. I call the PC safety and security officer, who rocks and handles the situation SO well, calling Bachir to discuss what has passed and explaining that the situation has diplomatic implications and that, while we'll deal with it entre-nous (between us) this time, anything that occurs in the future will be taken directly to the police. Bachir comes to talk to me after the phone call and has obviously absorbed and taken to heart all that has passed and definitely appreciates how it's been handled.

That night my nearest neighbor comes to spend the night to give me the opportunity to vent in my mother tongue and to demonstrate that we are solidaire and that she too, has my back. Sali joins us and we chat on my terrace into the evening. During this time Ismael sends me a text message demanding pardon (the cowardly little son of a you know what). I don't respond as it doesn't dignify a response. As my neighbor and I are about to go to bed, I hear a "coq coq coq" at the door (that's what people do to announce their presence). It's Ismael, he asks if we can talk and I say yes, so we sit down outside. He proceeds to tell me that he's been out of sorts all day trying to figure out what motivated him to steal from me (read: he regrets his bad move and the consequences and repurcussions it holds for him). Demanding pardon is a big deal here so I grant him that but tell him that I have lost all confidence in him, that our friendship is finished, and that his ass is grass if he so much as sets a foot on my terrace, let alone approaches my door. Meanwhile, as he's been talking, my PC neighbor, who knows Ismael, makes intermittent comments like "that's bullshit" in response to Ismael's very rushed and rehearsed apology, which causes me to laugh inapproriately. She and I later sit outside spouting jingoist, ethnocentric wisdom inspired by the temporary bitterness that the events have wrought. Sometimes a little un-PC humor is all it takes to make the situation feel a little less terrible.

I left village to come to Ouaga two days after the fact, but made sure to tangibly demonstrate my iciness before leaving, not because I want to hold a grudge (there is an equivalent to karma which pemeates Burkinabé culture) but because I want Ismael to learn a lesson and feel remorse, which he's done a crappy job of displaying. Before I left, Bachir and I sat down and Bachir expressed his worries pertaining to Ismael's lack of direction and the casual way in which he operates and views his relatively privileged situation. Bachir is the polar opposite of Ismael, having worked his butt off to succeed and having rejected any sense of entitlement, working to pay his own way even while at university. Bachir and I were actually on the same bus to Ouaga, he had planned to stay the weekend, during which he would explain everything to Ismael's parents (read: there will be hell to pay). Parents are tough here and I hope they give it to him good (in the non-violent sense) and that he comes out of it with an appropriate amount of shame, because tendencies like that are dangerous, especially here, in the developing world, where life is so much more precarious.

So, that's that. It sucks and totally changes my situation in village, particularly in my courtyard, but life goes on. I'm doing my darndest not to let this get me down and to remember, as my neighbor Angel said, why I'm here and what my mission is. I've got real, kind friends in village who have demonstrated their loyalty, so I can deal with one less. It was definitely a lesson learned and I will no doubt move about with a greater sense of attention to my actions and those of others, and will certainly not take things at face value, even kindness. But I'm not going to let the exception determine the rule, though I will certainly feel the consequences of Ismael's actions for quite a while.

OK, gotta go catch my bus. Sorry to end on a downer. FESPACO was sweet, I ate some good food, and I'm revived both physically and spiritually...on to village!

P.S. A belated but major thanks for mail - packages and letters alike. You know who you are and you rock. Thank you.

Pictures from Village

2007-02-28T16:18:00.000Z

“I know that my achievement is quite ordinary. I am not the only man to seek his fortune far from home, and certainly I am not the first. Still, there are times I am bewildered by each mile I have traveled, each meal I have eaten, each person I have known, each room in which I have slept. As ordinary as it all appears, there are times when it is beyond my imagination.”

- Jhumpa Lahiri, “Interpreter of Maladies”

The mosque in my village.

A courtyard near the mosque.

The mosque.

My friend, Eloi, storing straw to be used as cattle feed during the dry season.

Philomene the coiffeuse (Eloi's wife) - tressing hair.

Gladys, one of their daughters.

Diane, another daughter.

Richard, their son, waiting impatiently as dad makes tea.

Mes petits voisins at the robinet near my courtyard.

Visiting neighbors: Jamila, Latifa, and Yasmina

At the baptism of baby Zouweratu - with mom.

Me and Zouweratu (she's a week old here).

Salimata and Zouweratu.

"What's the rush? Dip your brush into this twilight..."

A women's association in village, dying traditional pagnes (fabric) to be sold to benefit their work.

Laying pagne out to dry.

Salimata and Nancy, my nearest PCV neighbor

Boys playing foosball "baby foot" at the market

Ecole 'B': the primary school where I work.

The kiddies.

“But troubled as these early years of nationhood have been, Africa need not dwell forever in the uncertain twilight zone. Its dreams have only been mislaid, not lost.
- David Lamb, “The Africans”

"I know we've come a long way, we're changing day to day..."

2007-02-12T01:15:00.000Z

Bonsoir!

(Yes, the title of this entry is from a Cat Stevens song and yes, I think that is totally appropriate given that I am a Peace Corps volunteer).

I'm back in Fada and headed to village tomorrow after a week of traveling for our In-Service Training (IST). The In-Service took place in Ouahigouya, the city where we had our three month training upon arriving in Burkina. For those of you've who've been reading since the beginning, you'll recall that our Girls' Education and Empowerment group lived in four small villages outside of Ouahigouya, where we had most of our classes, biking into the city (realize that the term city is totally relative) a few times a week for training sessions. Our stage (training group) also consisted of Secondary Ed volunteers (high school teachers) who lived in the city proper (and enjoyed such luxuries as electricity and refrigeration...WEAK). Anyway, IST was only GEE volunteers, though we did get to see a few SE volunteers who teach in Ouahigouya. It was the first time our whole GEE group has been together since swear-in, a whopping five months ago. IST is supposed to take place three months into service, after the completion of our etude de mileu (comprehensive village study, basically). It didn't because a new group of volunteers immediately followed ours, which is unusual as they're typically spaced apart by at least a few months. I guess we can thank Mr. Bush for that, since he boldly issued a challenge in the 2006 State of the Union to significantly increase the number of Peace Corps volunteers abroad while Congress chose to maintain our paltry annual budget - democracy at it's best.

It was neat to be back in Ouahigouya, no longer wide-eyed newbies but now significantly more equipped (and slightly jaded) veterans. Our four-day training consisted of sessions on primary project design and management, secondary projects, analysis of our village studies and experiences and activities thus far, as well as a host of other useful stuff. We all took a short Myers - Briggs personality test and I am pleased to report that I have a personality and it is INTP (Introverted, Intuitive, Thinking, Perceiver). From what I gather, we're a pretty interesting bunch (including the likes of Albert Einstein and Marie Curie)...

"They have a finely nuanced ability to analyse situations, find root causes and foresee consequences. They distrust action taken too quickly without the necessary investigation. They are usually levelheaded, objective, impersonal yet intensely involved in problem solving. They are fiercely independent, seeking input and comments from a chosen few. When reporting to others, they need to establish credibility first: their own and that of the person they are reporting to. If the gap in knowledge and expertise is too great and their own proficiency dismissed, belittled or ignored, they will lose interest and motivation.

They are less interested in running the world as they are in understanding it. They are curious and capable of explaining complex political, economic or technological problems, taking great pleasure in explaining all the factors and intricacies. They are rigorous with their thoughts and analysis, choosing the exact words that convey precisely what is meant. They may spend a lot of time defining words, concepts and systems in order to define a problematic solution.

They are armchair detectives, scientists and philosophers, spending most of their time in quiet reflection to ponder truth, and solve mysteries. They may tend to neglect social requirements and responsibilities, finding many relationships to be too superficial to be of much interest."

...so that's me apparently. Analyzng our personalities was fairly interesting, especially considering how intensely introspective just about every volunteer becomes after a few months in the bush. There's nothing like an intensive, substantive cross-cultural experience to put a person better in tune with themselves and shed some light on behaviors, quirks, idiosyncracies, and the like.

The most valuable part of the IST were the casual conversations, anecdotes and opportunities to discuss our experiences thus far with one another and the other volunteers who helped out with the training. We also had an afternoon free to bike out to our host villages and visit the families that we lived with during our initial training. I biked out to Sananga, my host village, with two other volunteers and we spent a few hours visiting all of our families and catching up on village news. Unfortunately (well, fortunately, really) I didn't get to see my host sisters because they were all in the city at their respective high schools. We did sit and talk for a long while with Harouna, my host father, and it was exciting to be able to converse more fluently in local language with my host mom. Our interaction during stage consisted mostly of lots of smiling and gesturing, so we were both excited to have a substantive conversation. They were definitely thrilled to see us in village and it was nice to come back with better lingual skills and cultural know-how in general.

I did see on of my sisters randomly when I was running one evening after our training sessions. I headed away from centre-ville toward the house of a volunteer who lives in Ouahigouya. As I was running, I noticed a young woman staring at me and, as I got closer, I realized that she looked familiar. We stared at each other for a few seconds before I realized that it was Zaalisa, one of my host sisters. She looked taller and a bit plumper (read: no longer super skinny - all of the kids in village looked healthier since this year's harvest was really good). It was so nice to see her and talk about her classes and the family. Seeing my host family made me miss the small-village experience of stage. Diabo is great, but it doesn't have the same close-knit feeling of Sananga (it's probably 10 times as big).

So IST was good overall; it helped me to clarify some ideas and identify new approaches for project implementation. I'm certainly motivated to get back to village and pursue some new projects and better organize projects that I have started. Our ride back was a bit eventful and constituted my absolute worst transport experience in Burkina thus far. A group of 8 or so of us had taken a bus together from Ouahigouya to Ouagadougou, the capital, where we were all planning to stay for two nights before heading back to village. An hour and a half into the ride, one of the tires on the bus blew out and we veered back and forth on the road (at high speed , because everyone drives like a maniac here) until finally and uneventfully coming to a stop on the side of the road. The tire was changed in shockingly good time (this is Burkina Faso, after all, and things that should take an hour often take four or five) but I could definitely could have done without this particular cultural experience.

We spent an enjoyable two days in Ouaga, eating well and celebrating the birthday of one of our volunteers with a fancy-smancy dinner at this nice restaurant near the Peace Corps hostel (I ate grilled capitaine, garlic shrimp, and sautéed calamari - I had forgotten that food like this EXISTED). I also had the opportunity to hang out with my friend Severin from Diabo, who goes to lycée (high school) in Ouaga. I hadn't seen him since September so we met up up, had a Coke together, and caught up on village news, his classes , etc. This trip has been a nice break-from-village-reality but I'm ready to go back...too many days in the big city (I'm falling behind on my reading)!

I guess that's all the news (that's fit) for now. La vie en Afrique is good (though I am in dire need of a bucket bath after my dusty, sweaty transportexperience). On that note...

"And what was that stench in the cupboard?" asked Jimmy.

"Africa," I said.

- Dea Birkett, "Jella: A Woman at Sea"

Thanks for reading.

- Chrissy

IST Welcome Dinner in Ouahigouya

Peace Corps Dance Par - tay, getting down at a volunteer's house

Joel and I

Every Day is a Winding Road

2007-01-27T22:24:00.000Z

Hey, All.

First things first. Regarding the new address (see sidebar): my old Ouaga address will always work (it's the Peace Corps office) so, if you have sent something there, never fear, it will be received. I'm using the new Fada address because it's easier for me to get mail in Fada, as I'm there more often.

I'm in Ouaga this weekend for a meeting of our newly formed PC Burkina AIDS Task Force, having been elected the rep from my sector (Girls' Ed and Empowerment). Basically, we get together to discuss HIV/AIDS sensitization - what volunteers are actually doing and how each sector can incorporate activities into their work. We're also trying to consolidate and streamline the myriad of resources and ever-changing news and information so that volunteers can easily access what they need to initiate effective sensitization campaigns. Good stuff.

I just got back from lunch and satellite TV at the American Embassy. Weird. I haven’t seen U.S. network television in 8 months and I just watched an episode of Extreme Home Makeover. I cried...about five times (the stories are so sad!). It was on the Armed Forces Network and followed Access Hollywood or some comparable gem displaying the gag-worthy excesses of American pop culture. Having not been exposed to that stuff (except for the odd Entertainment or People lying around the PC hostel – c’mon, who doesn’t want to check out this years results for “Sexiest Man Alive”?), it was slightly disgusting to be inundated once again with all of the meaningless, materialistic bullshit that pervades American culture...yes, I know I sound like someone who’s been living in the bush for 8 months, go figure. Don’t get me wrong, I am seriously nostalgic for the Land of the Free, but it’s hard to reconcile a lot of what I’ve known and been surrounded by Stateside to what I’m now experiencing.

On that note, what I’m now experiencing is significantly better than what I was. I’m starting to feel like a competent volunteer and a person capable of doing some meaningful work. The transition back to village after my holiday travels was harder than I thought it would be, despite the fact that I was welcomed back so warmly (they really like me!). I had a tough time getting used to the relative solitude and the lack of stimulus and English speakers that my almost three week vacation provided. However, after getting back into the swing of things, I realized how much progress I have made as far as integrating and forging relationships, particularly those that are significant professionally. All of a sudden, I felt really capable of figuring out what to do and how to do it. Since getting back, I’ve revamped my English club at the high school – now it’s just open to the two oldest grades (the students capable of forming actual phrases in English – beyond “How are you?” and “I am fine.”). Our focus is now going to be topic-based discussion, and the kids are enthusiastic about tackling issues that impact them – forced marriage, poverty, female circumcision, HIV/AIDS and the like, which is pretty exciting for me because it makes this endeavor meaningful beyond the English aspect. I’m also hoping that the club will help me identify kids who are interested and motivated in working with me on other projects, namely a peer-mentor program with primary schoolers. I’ve also started a girls’ club with my primary school – the two oldest grades. We’re starting off light – games, songs, stuff like that, but my goal is to start incorporating life skills exercises (we have a really good manual with a ton of activities on everything from values and decision making to pregnancy and forced marriage). Beyond that, I’m working on developing an HIV/AIDS curriculum for my high school, having just recently realized that there is NO HIV sensitization this year (read: no NGOs coming in to do it). Though the principal is certainly motivated, he and the teachers are over-burdened with the overwhelming class sizes and course load as is, so he was excited that I’m up for the task. I’m either going to do it all myself with each grade level or try to make it a peer education project. Lastly, I’ve started devoting each Tuesday to helping our with baby weighing and vaccinations at my village’s clinic. There are 2.5 babies born every day in the department, which is the administrative equivalent of a county but really the size of a few small towns in the U.S. (total population is 22,000+). I help with the record keeping, which is basic but time consuming, and get to hang out with lots of cute kids in the meantime. So that’s my update, work-wise. Things are definitely just getting off the ground but I am beyond thrilled to be occupied every day.

Next week we (all the Girls' Ed volunteers) head up to Ouahigouya, where we had our three month training, for our In-Service Training (it's usually supposed to take place three months into site, but for us it'll be at five because another incoming group's training occupied the time when we should have had it). It's our opportunity to discuss our experiences, observations and challenges thus far and receive training or consul based on our needs at this point. It's also the first time our group will all be together since swear-in, so it'll be great to catch up with everyone. I'm going to try to visit my host family as well.

Regarding goings-on in village, I experienced a rather startling realization about two weeks ago. The existence of excision (female circumcision) was certainly something I was aware of and something that we touched on briefly during training, but the reality of excision in village only really became apparent to me recently. I had been in Fada for my birthday and had stopped at the internet cafe before hopping on the bush taxi to travel the 60k back to village. While I was using the computer, this sort of jolly, bumbling older man walks in and, being a nassara (white), I glance his way but don't give him to much thought. I get back to village and am biking down the main road to the market and I notice that there's a meeting going on at the maison des jeunes (big building that hosts lots of different activities). I notice a nassara outside which is a bit curious but continue on to the marche for veggie-shopping and socializing. As I'm biking back, a younger guy stops and greets me so I stop pedaling and talk with him for a few minutes. Turns out he's from Tibga, a village about 25k from Diabo where there's another volunteer. He then explains to me that he works with the Catholic mission there and they're doing a sensitization on excision for opinion leaders in the community (so the white guy's a French priest, that makes sense). I think "hey, that's cool" and ask him if they'll be back. They will, so he tells me to follow him over to the meeting, where the discussion portion of the sensitization is going on, so that he can grab the schedule to let me know the date. I walk up to the door as the chef from a neighboring village is coming out (this dude is COOL, I visit with him from time to time because my friend is his daughter-in-law - he's this tiny little man who always wears a striped bou-bou and a kind of bowler-type hat, very 1900). We chat and then the young man indicates that I should come inside to meet the priest.

He's sitting in the back of the room, behind the audience, listening to the discussion. We exchange greetings and head outside to talk, at the same time I realize he's the nassara I'd seen at the internet cafe that morning. He introduces himself, tells me he's the priest at the Tibga mission and that he used to be at the mission in my village (our current priest is quite boring). He turns out to be this really dynamic, energetic guy and we start talking about excision, which, it turns out, is still practiced by the majority of the population, we're talking like 80% of girls, AT LEAST. This is rather shocking news to me, but it turns out that excision is a pretty hush hush deal so it makes sense that I haven't been aware of it. It is technically against Burkinabe law, but prosecutions are few (though apparently there has been one prosecution of a vielle (old lady) in a nearby village).

The really sad thing, beyond the totally grotesque, reprehensible act of cutting off a young girl's clitoris, is that it's WOMEN who promote and perform this heinous act. WOMEN mutilating other women. Let's start with the 3 months a girl spends sitting on a pile of sand (and NOT going to school) because she's in too much pain to move and continue with the potential for infection, increased risk of STDs (a 400% higher risk of HIV infection) and potentially fatal complications during childbirth. On top of this, she will experience a great deal of pain during intercouse and will most definitely never enjoy it. I had a conversation with some of the male clinic staff over tea and the graphic descriptions of problems arising from excision during childbirth made me thankful that my French level only allowed me to understand 2/3 of it.

There are people, namely younger parents, who understand that excision is a bad thing, but often the authority of older members of a family trumps a parent's opinion or wishes, so the excision occurs anyway. This is fueled by the plethora of myths that girls won't be able to procreate without being excised, will be undesirable to men, and the like.

Though I have some very strong feelings, naturally, on the matter, I'm going to let this subject lie as the Tibga mission is doing a great job of making an effort to sensitize people to the many, many risks of female circumcision. Beyond that, their moral authority is more effective than my plain old nassara-ness will ever be, not to mention that taking this issue on could kill my stellar popularity ratings au village, risking the success of other projects. I will, however, be present at the next sensitisation and have already conversed with some younger women, whose progressive views on the topic I pretty much (correctly) assumed. There are a lot of elements of culture in Burkina that I disagree with but can rationalize to a degree or accept based on circumstantial factors, but the prevalence of female circumcision in Burkina (one of the highest in Africa) is really revolting and has certainly cast a dark shadow on la vie simple au village.

OK, on that cheery note I'm going to beg off in the interest of getting some actual work done here in Ouaga. So, 'til next time...

"We are the ones who first ploughed the earth when Modise (God) made it. We were the ones who made the food. We are the ones who look after the men when they are little boys, when they are young men, and when they are old and about to die. We are always there. But we are just women, and nobody sees us. "

- Setswana poem, Botswana -

Thanks for reading.

Chrissy

http://www.stopexcision.net/

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Female_genital_cutting

NEW ADDRESS!

2007-01-16T08:11:00.000Z

Hey, All.

This is my first posting as a 24-year old, exciting stuff (thanks for all the birthday greetings, messages, e-cards, etc). I am certainly older, wiser (debatable), and more fully situated in the realm of adulthood - frightening. Had a wonderful weekend here in Fada with a bunch of other volunteers. We ate, we drank, we made merry and welcomed my 24th year in an altogether enjoyable fashion. Aside from the fete, I managed to finish my 'etude de milieu' (big old report summing up all that I've seen and learned in the last few months) so I'm still productive in my old age (though my English and spelling are in a sorry state).

Anyhow, not much to report having been back in village for just a week and a half, so I'll save my energies for the next blog entry. I do, however have a NEW ADDRESS, right here in Fada, which will make receiving of mail a whole heck-of-a-lot easier, since I'm here fairly often and not in Ouaga all that much.

So:

Christine Hart
BP 228
Fada N'Gourma
Burkina Faso
West Africa

There you have it. Thanks for reading, I'll find some interesting things to report next time. Did I mention that I've eaten grilled caterpillars? I did. They taste like...grilled caterpillars.

Best,

Chrissy

Ghana and Cote d'Ivoire: A Photographic Summary

2006-12-29T13:26:00.001Z

After an altogether fantastic two weeks in Ghana and Cote d'Ivoire (and a 17 hour bus ride) I am back in Burkina. Since I have lots to share and tell and a picture is worth a thousand words, here are some pictures (and some words) to give you a taste of my travels to foreign lands...

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.

Our transport to the mainland, a traditional boat (I'm fairly sure they're made from palm trunks).

Beth and I took a day trip to Akosombo to see Lake Volta, the world's largest man-made lake, and the Akosombo dam, which provides Ghana and neighboring countries with the majority of their hydroelectric power.

Beth and I standing on the dam. We had an interesting tour, which included our tour guide professing his love for me.

We couldn't take photos of the intake chambers of the dam, but this is the body of the dam and the spillway.

Aylo's Bay, on the Volta River, where we enjoyed a lunch of fried plaintains and a Ghanaian rice dish for lunch.

A suspension bridge on the Volta.

There aren't too many vistas like this in Burkina!

Lea, Simran, Beth, and I on our last night in Accra.

Cote d'Ivoire

We left Accra and took a "sept-place" (seven seat Peugot station wagon) to the Ghana/Cote d'Ivoire border. Customs itself was relatively problem-free, but we were hassled a bit at a few of the four barriers (military police blockades) during the 65k trip to Aboisso, Beth's sister Sarah's village. Sarah works with an NGO initiating and supervising sustainable literacy programs on cocoa and coffee plantations.

Aboisso. On the road to Sarah's house.

Sarah's house in Aboisso, Cote d'Ivoire.

Sarah, her colleague Charlotte, Beth, and I eating Futu, an Ivoirian dish made from manioc and bananas and served with a spicy sauce.

Centre-ville in Aboisso.

One day we took a hike en brousse to a village of Burkinabe who are working on a cocoa plantation where Sarah has a literacy program. It was neat to speak a little Moore and enjoy their hospitality which included some amazing fruit - coconuts, papaya, and pineapple.

One of the many palm grovers sur la route - these trees produce palm oil.

Drinking coconut water.

Beth and I with our new Burkinabe friends.

Beth and I on the walk back, displaying our gifts of fruit, including the world's largest papaya.

We also stopped in another village on our walk back where we ate at the chef (chief's) house.

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.

Breakfast on Christmas morning: Beth, Sarah, Pap, and Assi, Sarah's colleague. The bucket in the middle of the table is filled with an enormous amount of fruit salad.

Hanging out on the porch, drinking some Christmas Morning mimosas.

A Christmas visit from the neighbors.
Christmas Dinner.

Beth, truly in the holiday spirit.

Pap and I.

Departure.

A la gare, Aboisso. We took a sept-place to Noe, the town at the Ghana-Ivoirian border, then caugh a six-hour trou-trou (Ghanaian bush taxi) ride to Kumasi, a large city in central Ghana and the heart of Ashantiland. We spent a night at a guesthouse there before, exploring a bit before embarking on our 18-hour bus ride back to Ouaga.

Ghana

The Grand Market in Kumasi, the largest market in West Africa.

Grand Market.

Ghana has an amazing array of fabric, from traditional woven kente cloth to tie-dyed and patterned batik cloth. Beth and I spent our day in Kumasi wandering around centre-ville and the market and buying lots of cloth to have tailored back in Burkina.

Beth at a cloth stall in the market.

Batik cloth.

You don't often see traffic like this in Burkina. One of the biggest differences we noticed between Burkine and Ghana and Cote d'Ivoire was the prevalence of cars. In Burkina, even in the cities, motos and bicycles exponentially outnumber cars.

Well, that's all I've got for now - will try to post more vacation pictures as well as pictures from my village on my Shutterfly site.

Happy Holidays!

Cote d'Ivoire

2006-12-23T14:55:00.000Z

Hey, All. Just a quick note to report on vacation progress. Had a great week in Ghana with my friend Lea and her housemate. We got a taste of the Accra nightlife, the ex-pat scene, made it to the beach, and even took a day trip to see the Akosambo Dam and Lake Volta, the world's largest man-made lake.

After a six-hour ride along the cost of Ghana (beautiful!), we made it to the Cote d'Ivoire border just 45 minutes before it closed! Had no problems getting through, but were a bit hassled at the four military checkpoints on the 65k route to Aboisso, where Beth's sister Sarah, our hostess, lives. At the 3rd checkpoint, the policier demanded why we didn't have visas to which I responded "we don't need a visa to come to Cote d'Ivoire and had no problems getting through customs." He then asked who had told me that visas weren't necessary to which I replied "the Department of State of the United States of America" (totally true as I had read it on the State Dept. website). This pacified him, thank goodness, as did a small "dash" (payment/bribe) made by our taxi driver.

All's well that ends.

We've enjoyed several days in Sarah's village, just outside of Aboisso, having met lots of her Ivoirian neighbors and gotten to see a lot of the small city. We're currently in Abidjan for the day to see the city and pick up Sarah's Senegalaise friend from the airport. Abidjan is amazingly developed, despite the obvious economic effects of the war, and resembles a European city more than a West African one in many ways. For instance, we walked through a bona-fide shopping mall this morning and have passed dozens of speciality boutiques, from electronics to sporting goods stores.

We're going to stock up on supplies for Christmas while in Abidjan and will enjoy a relaxing Christmas in Aboisso before heading back to Ouaga via Ghana for New Year's.

Happy Holidays to All! Pictures SOON to follow (really, they're already on my jump drive!).

Ghana: First Impressions

2006-12-15T12:11:00.000Z

It's Day # 2 in Accra, so I thought I'd take a moment to report my impressions and experiences thus far. My friend and fellow volunteer, Beth, and I arrived after a 23-hour long bus ride from Ouaga, altogether not a terrible experience. The bus was air conditioned and exponentially nicer and more comfortable than any transport I've experienced in Burkina. I left armed with a stack of magazines, several books, snacks, and a fully charged iPod. I shared my abundance of Newsweeks with the couple sitting in front of us on the bus, the only other Americans traveling with us. They were on a long visit to several West African countries, having served in the Peace Corps together in Ghana over three decades ago. It was neat to hear about their experiences as they served with their children (one of whom was born in Ghana) during the four year window when Peace Corps supported families abroad. Our border crossing at Paga took some time (ah, bureacracy in the developing world), but was otherwise uneventful.

I noticed significant differences in the scenery immediately upon crossing into Ghana. The houses, though quite reminsicent of those in Burkina, were often larger with corrugated metal roofs, which are not common on non-fonctionaire or city houses in Burkina . The villages we passed through all had an atmosphere of being, well, more developed. The cities, however, presented the most significant difference, as even the smaller cities we passed through (Tamale, Kintampo, Kumasi) are much more developed than Ouaga, the capital of Burkina Faso. It's not that any of this should come as a surprise; Ghana is # 16 on the Human Development Index of the 51 African countries, while Burkina is # 48. The discrepency was obvious in so much that we saw, from the prevalence of advertisements to the types of cars (I saw a Hummer on the road to Accra) to the improved state of schools and municipal buildings.

After we arrived, we headed to our hostesses' house (my friend from college and her housemate), in one of the nicer neighborhoods of Accra, home to a large proportion of expats. It was neat to see some of the city, which is often more reminiscent of Europe than West AFrica. When we got to their house, we were absolutely floored by how nice it was and generally beyond excited to be staying somewhere that in no way resembles our houses in village. We spent the day relaxing, napping, and watching Desperate Housewives (such luxury!). We met my friend for lunch at a nearby restaurant that serves a mind-boggling variety of salads and sandwiches (it took us a good 15 minutes just to decide what to order). After dinner, we headed out to a local bar/restaurant (complete with American decor - photos of James Dean, Marilyn Monroe, etc.) to check out the expat scene. We met lots of our hostesses friends, from employees of NGOs to European and Middle Eastern entrepreneurs, some of whom actually grew up in Ghana. It was a huge change from our experiences with the nightlife in Ouaga, which are generally limited to other Peace Corps volunteers and development workers.

Today our plan is to check out a market and artisans center in the city, followed by dinner (the variety of restaurants here is amazing!) and a night out. We hope to take a day trip to a beach a few hours away this weekend and, as there's not all that much to see in Accra, have made a firm commitment to watch lots of movies, eat well, enjoy our friends' company, and generally partake in the decadence and luxury of being in country # 16 and not country # 48 for a week!

Moral Conundrums, Goodbyes, and Other News...

2006-12-11T22:01:00.000Z

“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!"

Pictures

2006-12-05T11:28:00.000Z

They're belated, but here are some pictures from swear-in (August 25, 2006) for your viewing pleasure. I've been having trouble uploading pictures as of late, so thanks to the other volunteers from whom I borrowed these ones!

Voila!

Swear-In Ceremony at the U.S. Embassy in Ouagadougou

Beth, Jenni, and I

Girls' Education and Empowerment Group

Secondary Education Group

Beth, Krista, and I

Giving my speech in French

All of us during the reception

Thanksgiving in Fada

2006-11-25T10:27:00.001Z

"Now, looking back on my life in Africa, I feel that it might altogether be described as the existence of a person who had come from a rushed and noisy world, into a still country."

- Isak Dinesen, "Out of Africa"

Happy Belated Thanksgiving! I hope you all had a most excellent holiday and ate as well as we did here in the BF. It's been a while since my last posting as I've been in village for most of November, occasionally traveling to visit my two closest neighbors but trying to put in a lot of face time au village before my Christmas travels out of country (more to follow)! The Harmattan/cool dry season has begun, so the nights are sometimes downright chilly (relatively speaking) and there is an almost ever-present breeze, somtimes gentle, sometimes gusty. The Harmattan winds blow down from the Sahara and bring with them lots of dust but also much welcomed relief for the heat of day.

I've been in Fada for 4 days, having extended my stay for a less-than-pleasant reason...

Thanksgiving and Dysentery

Let begin with the positive. I was fortunate to spend Thanksgiving here in Fada with 20 + volunteers, including some who traveled from other regions to join us which meant seeing friends for the first time since our swear-in. We enjoyed a meal of not only turkey and all the trimmings but two roast pigs as well. I had the unique opportunity to meet of all these creatures before their inevitable demise and was present (though not attentive) during the slaughter of the turkey, although I did watch the de-feathering. Aside from the aforementioned, we enjoyed mashed potatos, gravy, sweet potatos, two kinds of stuffing, green bean salad, cranberries, as well as pumpkin and pecan pies...not too shabby! Unfortunately, I had to beg off early and forego the dancing and debauchery that is a necessary characteristic of most Peace Corps gatherings. I'll skip the details, but the next day I ended up sending a stool sample along with volunteers headed to Ouaga. I realize that this is a gross and slightly strange detail to the average American, but this is standard operating procedure here in Burkina Faso, which has the highest incidence of diarrhea of any Peace Corps country (and that's saying a lot). Anyhow, god bless the PCMO (nurse) who hustled over the the Embassy lab and had results quicker than I could have hoped. Turns out that I have (drumroll please)...AMOEBIC DYSENTERY! Yeah, that's what all of those settlers on the Oregon Trail died of. I will receive lots of meds via transport this afternoon and should be on the mend and eating food other than bananas and bread by tomorrow, as well as headed back to village. I would, however, emphatically reccomend avoiding dysentery.

Brandi and I with the pigs

The Bird

Thanksgiving Dinner

Jorge, Beth, and I at Thanksgiving Dinner

Beth and I

L'Anglais

Before coming to Africa, I hadn't given much consideration to the English language beyond my enjoyment of reading, writing, and speaking. Here, however, English is put on a veritable pedestal and I, as an English-speaker, am often held in high regard for this chance ability, as opposed to the French-speaking Europeans in-country, who aren't nearly as interesting to the average Burkinabé. America may be suffering a massive crisis of image in many parts of the world, but here in Burkina Faso she's still doing quite well and a ticket to the States is the ultimate pipe dream for just about any Burkinabé you'll encounter. Those who've made it to the "land of milk and honey" are considered with awe and envy by their countrymen and those of us who actually COME from the States are peppered, on a daily basis, with comments, questions, requests for a "correspondent" or English lessons, and continual jokes such as "Tu vas m'amener avec toi, n'est pas?" (you're going to bring me back with you?).

I mentioned that I was considering teaching English. After meeting with the two English professors at the lycée, we decided that it would be much more beneficial to the English students to have some extra activities and opportunities to use and practice English. Both of the professors are good, in Burkina terms, where pedagogy is formulaic and resources are non-existence, and speak really decent English considering that neither of them have actually been to an English-speaking country (even Ghana). Beyond that, they certainly have a far superior capacity than I to explain grammatical concepts and rules in French. I, on the other hand, have a wealth of knowledge, from songs and games to cultural knowledge, with which I can provide contextual activities and opportunities for students to really get into their English study (which is actually quite necessary as it is included on the exam to pass out of high school and be eligible for University). Thus, I have started an ENGLISH CLUB! It's open to all English students who are interested. Based on the response I received when I went around to all of the classes to talk about it, I think that attendance will be high, at least at first. We will meet for the first time next Thursday, since there are no classes Thursday afternoons. The younger, first-year English prof. will join me and help a bit in preparing the activities. He's excited to learn songs and games that he can use in the future as well (and is pretty stoked at my presence in general, as a native English speaker is a rarity). My idea for next week is an interactive lesson on the human body - I'm going to use a volunteer and have the students help me identify their basic "parts" and stick tags to the volunteer (we're going to limit it to the basics, head, arm, leg, foot, etc.). We'll also play Simon Says and learn "Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes" in French and English. It'll be a good test-run to figure out what they really respond to (kids here LOVE to sing). Interestingly, the fact that I'm going to be singing songs with kids as old as 17 and 18 doesn't present the issue that it would in the States. "Cool" definitely exists in Burkina, but a lot of the pressures kids in the U.S. face are a bit tempered here.

Les Voisins (Neighbors)

I have new neighbors! A woman who works at L'Inspection d'Education, which is down the road from chez moi, moved into the newly-finished house in my courtyard. My new neighbor has two school-age kids, an older girl and a younger boy, who have added some flavor and noise to our courtyard. The kids are really great and the daughter, Martine, is particularly sweet and has even taken to calling me "tantie" (aunt), which is flattering. I was pretty sick last weekend (haven't had the greatest luck with health as of late!) with a flu-like cold, complete with fever and migraine, as a result of the Harmattan dust. My neighbors, upon learning of my illness, were incredibly concerned and asked after my health every few hours and even brought me spaghetti they had prepared one evening (spaghetti here, by the way, is prepared with a cholesterol-raising amount of oily sauce, as are most rice dishes, and is definitely not reminiscent of anything we'd eat in the States). Regardless, it was an extremely nice gesture and I am happy to have a full courtyard now. I think I mentioned that I had been alone for the first month and a half or so until a French teacher at the lycée and his brother, a student, moved in. They are awesome neighbors and particularly interesting as they're both Ouaga-born and Bashir, the teacher who is my age, completed university (not at all necessary to become a teacher). They come from a well-educated family and their house is as nice, if not nicer, than mine as far as furniture and amenities. I have to say that it certainly is nice to have neighbors that I can relate to on a different level than the average Burkinabé. They've both travelled extensively throughout W. Africa and Bashir is the only Burkinabé I've encountered who seems to read as much as I do.

A Grand Fete

The birthday of my nearest PCV neighbor was last weekend so my second-nearest neighbor and I decided to throw a fete in her honor. Friday night I biked to her village where we enjoyed an excellent dinner of chicken, potates (sweet potato fries), and spaghetti prepared by her neighbor. The staff of the primary school in her village as well as a few others were in attendance and a good time was had by all.

I should interject here that halfway between our villages is a village with a buvette (bar/restaurant-type deal). As I was pedaling past it occurred to me that a cold beer would be just about the best darn birthday present I could think of. So I turned around and talked to the proprietor who, on the condition of me bringing the bottles back (which I did on my way back to village), agreed to sell me two bottles to take with me to her house. The bottles stayed remarkably cold during the 5k remainder of the ride and were appreciated in a way that only a Peace Corps volunteer in a tropical/equatorial country can understand.

But moving on, I stayed the night at her house and the next day we pedaled the 17k to our next-nearest neighbors village. We had pooled money to buy a goat and some chickens for the fete, which was to include a little boy (Guy) from the courtyard nextdoor who has the same birthday as my PCV neighbor. Guy's family prepared the food and we even managed to procure speakers for the fete. After a day of catching up and relaxing, we headed over to the courtyard where we were greeted by loud Burkinabé pop music and a hoard of dancing children. There were an incredible amount of people present but we were a smaller group who sat at a table inside the courtyard (us, my friend Sali from village, a number of men from the family, and Guy, the little boy). We ate well and partook in some dolo (beer brewed in village, tastes a little like cider), after which we proceeded to dance with what seemed like half the village. It was a pretty incredible celebration and experience in general, especially for Guy (who must be about 10) since birthdays aren't really a big deal here. It was neat to see how happy he was to be the center of attention for a night.

Holiday Travels

I am excited to report that I will not be spending Christmas in village or even in Burkina Faso. Another volunteer and I are taking two weeks of vacation to travel to Ghana and Cote d'Ivoire. We'll spend a week in Accra, Ghana, where one of my best friends from college works with the UN, and then we'll travel over the border to a village in Cote d'Ivoire where the other volunteer's sister is living and working with an NGO. Our transport to Ghana will be an 700 KM (420 mile) 18-20 hour long bus ride (yes, that is a RIDICULOUS ratio when you think about it). Apparently the bus is air-conditioned, however, which would certainly put a whole different spin on the situation (keep your fingers crossed for me!). Regardless, I am psyched to get out of Burkina and see a bit of both countries before heading back to celebrate New Year's in Ouaga. Thanksgiving was good but a little rough (being away from home for the first time, and the whole dysentery thing) so an adventurous Christmas complete with a friendly non-Burkinabé or Peace Corps face will help blunt the experience of Christmas sans famille a bit.

That's all the news for now. I'll be in Ouaga with computer access next weekend when I go to get visas, so e-mails will be read and responded to (that means that updates would be appreciated!).

* Also, postcards from the States would be GREAT if you are inclined to send one as I would like use them for my English club (and, of course, would love to hear from people).

*Lastly, if you're itching to send me something...things that would be appreciated include:

- things to make me smell nice (bath/body stuff like soaps)
- things to make my feet happy (Africa is brutal on les pieds)
- things to make me au courant (magazines, news in general)
- things that taste good (Crystal Light, spices for cooking, sauce packets, M&Ms, granola bars, etc.)

Village Happenings

2006-10-29T10:04:00.000Z

"Now, being in Africa, I was hungry for more of it, the changes of seasons, the rains with no need to travel, the discomforts that you paid to make it real, the names of the trees, of the small animals, and all the birds, to know the language and have time to be in it and move slowly."

- Ernest Hemingway, "Green Hills of Africa"

Hey, All. I'm back again, and so soon! I decided to take the weekend prior to the commencement of my teaching endeavors to meet up with friends in Fada. Despite the fact that it's only been a little over a week since I last posted, I've lots to report.

While in village, I spent some time contemplating this whole blog ordeal as I've been a bit disatisfied with the experience thus far. I feel like this is my one truest conduit to the outside world, the outlet that provides the best opportunity to express a fraction of what I see, experience, and feel while embarking on this wild adventure in West Africa. However, each time I sit down at a computer I feel overwhelmed to quickly and succinctly encapsulate all that is going on here into a few paragraphs during an hour or two-hour sitting at the computer, an impossible and impractical feat considering that Burkina Faso is Mars compared to the lives that you're all living (that's just the way it is). So, I've decided to throw caution to the wind and take a more fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants, stream of consciousness approach to writing my blog. This means no logical succession, no chronological order, no rhyme or reason, just my thoughts and reflections in absolutely no particular order. Hopefully, this will render my entries a little more authentic and perhaps more interesting for all of you devoted enough to read (thanks!).

Ramadan, Poultry, and Malaria

So I returned to village a week ago, after my sejours in Ouaga, and immediately went home and to sleep. I woke up on Saturday and headed to the marché to see my friend Sali*, who I've mentioned before and has come to be my closest friend au village. I think I mentioned that she works at a telecentre in the marché (excuse the obviousness, it's a place where people can make and receive phone calls) and she also vends gateaux that she makes as well as fruit, often imported from Cote d'Ivoire (bananas, oranges, good stuff like that). Anyhow, Sali is a staple presence at the marché and the telecentre is located next to a "bar" (that serves alcohol, yes, but mostly coffee (Nescafé) and food) AND there is a foosball table next to the telecentre (not to mention that the marché is unequivocally the center of village life), THUS there are always people sitting on the bench outside the telecentre including, a most recent addition, me. It's definitely been the most siginificant inroad to village life and has resulted in the acquisition, on my part, of a whole lot of friends, many of whom work in and around the marché and are actually fairly close to me in age.

But I digress. So, it's Saturday morning and I head ot the marché to sit and chat with Sali and tell her about my trip to Ouaga. I get there and Kou Kou, a lycée student and member of Sali's extended family, is at the telecentre. I ask after Sali and the people present beat around the bush for a few minutes before telling me that she's at "l'hopital." At first I'm thinking Ouaga or Fada, a real hospital, but then I realize that they are referring to the previously mentioned, woefully understaffed and underfunded, Medical Center in village. This, as you might expect, is still NOT good, especially in a place where people only go the CM to receive free vaccinations or when the situation is grave. Upon hearing this news, I am not a happy camper and I proceed to hightail it over the to Centre Medicale with Amisatu, another friend of mine and Sali's. Sali is there, in one of the barren, un-screened, not particularly sanitary patient rooms, and, to my relief, looks OK despite the syringe sticking in her arm. Apparently the night before had been bad, but she was doing ok that morning and would be released in the evening. She was in good spirits and even rendered the story of being brought to the CM with a bit of dramatic flair for our amusement. I hung around for a while, making a trip to her quartier to get her flip-flops (she had come to the CM barefoot) as well as a trip to the pharmacy to pick up the quinine and other-drug-I-can't-name with which she would be injected for the next few days.

As I left, I asked her how she would get back to her courtyard when she was released, who was coming to pick her up (it's not all that far, but far enough that someone with malaria probably shouldn't make the trip on foot). She responded that she would, in fact, walk because "that's just the way it is here." Not satisfied with this answer, I went and asked the owner of the telecentre, and good friend of Sali's, to pick her up on his moto at the designated hour, which he did.

When I visited her in courtyard the next day (the celebration of the end of Ramadan/breaking of the fast) she looked much better and we sat under a tree in her quartier for the morning. She mentioned that Ali (owner of the telecentre) had commented on how upset I seemed when I asked him to pick her up (well, yeah, malaria's not normal or good or usual in my realm of existence!). Apparently this gives me a lot of credit in the eyes of my village, which is great and all, but the experience was, cliché though it may be, a lesson learned. Despite the fact that I call Sali my friend and truly mean it, and hope to retain that friendship all of my life, there is a serious "us" and "them"-ness to our existence that can never change. I will always be white and American, she black and Burkinabé. My experience with povery is fleeting, hers endures despite her relative success. I take my malaria phrophylaxis once a week and my gravest concern is forgetting, she works so hard and such long hours that despite her youth and health, malaria could kill her.

But now on to Ramadan and Poultry. As I mentioned, the day I went to visit Sali was the end of Ramadan and breaking of the fast. As we sat under the tree, women in the courtyards all around were busy preparing a HUGE meal, in almost all cases of riz sauce (rice and, most often, peanut sauce with vegeatables and goat or chicken). When I say huge I mean the biggest cauldron-like cooking vessel you can imagine (I have pictures which I will manage to post in the near-ish future). While the women prepare the meal, the rest of the family goes to the Mosque to pray, decked out in gorgeous colorful bou bous and brightly patterned complets. I have some great pictures of tiny little kids in matching outfits, ridiculously adorable. The Muslim population is concentrated in the area of the village near the Mosque, so there's an intense feeling of community as all this occurs. After the Mosque, the men return to their respective quartiers (neighborhoods, typically grouped by large, extended families) to pray in smaller prayer buildings. As Sali and I walked around the neighborhood, I ran into the vieux (oldest male) of Aisattu's, my homologue, family. He ushered me into their prayer building where I greeted the elders and then sat with the men for a bit as they prayed and ate (a serious privilege, I was a little overwhelmed).

After making the rounds with Sali and eating an incredible amount of food, I had planned on heading back to my house to relax for a bit before going to visit Aisattu's courtyard. However, I ran into her on my way home and was ushered into her courtyard where I was promptly fed and then led out to make the rounds again with Aisattu, which included a visit to the courtyard of the Imam. I sat in a little mud room in the courtyard with his ancient, wrinkled, totally precious and sweet mother (the vielle of the family) and as we exchanged greetings in Mooré, I contemplated how utterly "Peace Corps" that particular moment was.

Later that evening Sali biked over to my house, bringing with her a chicken which was a gift from her vieux. Apparently he had been touched by the fact that when I greeted him during the feast, I had done so in the traditional Burkinabé way (kneeling while shaking his hand, head bowed, avoiding eye contact). I asked her to keep the chicken, since I'm not well-versed in the preparation of live poultry. As we sat and talked she explained why the vieux had given me the chicken and told me that people in the village are very happy with my presence because I am "simple" (uncomplicated, easygoing) and I smile a lot and respect their traditions. This was, without a doubt, the most gratifying moment I've had thus far in Burkina Faso. It's a truly amazing thing to be so warmly embarced simply for being kind, behaving as one ought to behave, and taking a sincere interest in the culture and life here.

Dreaming in French

This is a not-particularly-relevant but, I think, amusing enough to warrant publication. So, last night my fellow volunteers friends and I enjoyed a tasty dinner (we had SALAD!), some cheap wine, and lots of good conversation before heading back to the hostel here in Fada for the night. The three of us slept on two twin bends pushed together, me in the middle. In the wee hours of the morning I sat up with a start, still asleep, and began babbling in French. I later figured out that I said something, roughly translated, along the lines of "What!? What is it!? I think there's something at the end of the bed! Is it a lizard?" while furiously feeling around at the end of the bed. Mind you, I was pretty much asleep. Aisha, to my left, was the first to wake up and promptly started to respond to me in French, "Quoi!? C'est quoi!?". Beth, to my right, then woke up because my frantic lizarcd-searching had, understandably, scared the crap out of her. At this point I woke up and realized that I was speaking French and exclaimed, "Why am I speaking in FRENCH?" Now all being awake and cognizant enough to comprehend the hilarity of the situation, we three proceeded to burst out laughing and promptly returned to sleep, only to recap the bizarre occurence, with much amusement, again this morning. I guess dreaming in French is what we would classify here as "bien integré."

CNN and Coca-Cola

And now for a totally surreal experience au village. This occured two days ago. It was Thursday and I had little to do since there is no school on Thursdays (why, I do not know, but there is school on Saturday. I enjoyed a leisurely morning, after which I headed over to the marché to pick up some varnish I had ordered to be delivered from Fada. I planned on varnishing the furniture I've had made in order to make it look pretty and protect from the plethora of wood-eating insects that frequent my village and, often enough, my house. It hadn't yet arrived so I headed back from the marché in the direction of my house planning to stop and saluer (greet) some friends on the way. As I was heading back I encountered Oumarou, the chef du marché (guy who makes public announcements au marché and basically makes sure that all goes well). He's a generally funny guy with a great sense of humor and we enjoy a playful, humurous exchange every now and then (particularly when he proposes marriage, suggesting that I would indeed be quite happy as his third wife). As we're chatting sur la route, a JEEP CHEROKEE pulls up. This, I must stress, is ODD. Yes, there are Land Rovers and Land Cruisers and any number of SUV-ish type vehicles that government officials and development workers drive around but a JEEP!? The Jeep stops and we greet the three men inside who proceed to invite me to have a drink at the nearby maquis. In Burkina, one doesn't decline an invitation without reason so I accepted and sat down with them to enjoy a tasty, cold Coke (ah, the good life). Turns out they work with an NGO and were in village on business and turned out to be entirely nice guys, one of whom repeatedly told me how captivating my blue eyes are. The conversation was fairly interesting so I accepted when they invited me for lunch, having little else to do that day. So I got in the Jeep with them and we drove down the road towards Tenkodogou to a small village less than 10k from Diabo. Here I must interject: yes, getting into a car with relative strangers would be sketchy and stupid in the States, here, au village, it is not. So we arrived at a large, COMPLETELY SCREENED house complete with a wrap-around porch, satelite dish, and it's own mini-water tower, NO JOKE. I was floored. We walked inside, over the TILED porch, into a relatively comfy (by Burkina standards) living room complete with a nice television and a bottle of Johnny Walker on the coffee table (ah, Burkina, so it goes). We sat down with the proprieter (who I later found out is the Deputé, though I have no idea what that actually means in bureaucratic terms) and he turned on the television to CNN in ENGLISH. IN THE FREAKIN' BUSH! I was beside myself, I was ecstatic, I was in 7th heaven and I watched for a good half-hour, as my companions sat, bemused by my joy. Yes, I see a television from time to time, there are lots au village,with cleverly hand-crafted antennae, though they reception is fuzzy and the options for viewing range from bad W. African music videos to the local news (think public access-style). But this was CNN IN ENGLISH and at least 30k from a paved road no less. What an experience. It made my day. The meal was good too, as was cold Coke no. 2 (a refrigerator en brousse is also pretty crazy).

So, yeah. I really don't miss 24-hour, sensationalist news all that much, and CNN pretty much sucks now (pardonez-moi, but Soledad and Miles O'Brien, I DON'T LIKE YOU and your clever banter, your discussions of your morning at home or the funny thing your niece or brother or uncle did the other day, I want NEWS!). Nonetheless, I cherish information and access to it, especially of the up-to-the-minute, this JUST happened variety (I'm currently reading issues of Newsweek, int'l edition, that are more than a month old).

Tea With Eloi

I have a friend in village, Eloi, he's a tailor and has a wife and five very cute children (four by his wife, one previous to his marriage, this I add because it's relevant later). So, I'm not sure how our friendship began, probably just because Eloi is a friendly guy and he lives in centre-ville on the main route. His courtyard is set back a bit and there is a nice area before the entrance, right off the road where there are several large, shade-giving trees. This is where Eloi's family spends the majority of their time. Eloi keeps his sewing machine on a table under one tree and, if he's not working, can be found seated under another tree brewing tea, perhaps alone, perhaps talking with several others. I find myself drinking tea chez Eloi at least a few times a week, usually in the late afternoon or evening. It is inarguably one of the most delightful spots in village, a welcome reprieve from the sun, a prime people-viewing location, a happy place (because theirs is a happy family), not to mention that it also offers a great view of the night sky, thus star gazing is a regular occurence. Also, Eloi's handmade wooden chairs are ridiculously comfortable and I have risked falling asleep several times while visiting in the evening.

Now tea in Burkina is a big deal and a social event. It is not tea as we know it, but a super-strong, quite delicious tea brewed over coals in a tiny teapot on a tripod-like wire contraption. It is an art and it is delicious. The tea is typically green and is served in shot-like glasses, usually with sugar and sometimes mint. Brewing tea is what men do in Burkina (and women are lucky if they are invited to partake, which is rare, unless you're a random white chick who happens to live in village).

Anyhow, Eloi and I, and often various others, have spent many any hour discussing any number of things. Eloi's favorite topics range from the weather, to why I should marry a Burkinabé (don't worry, Mom) and stay in Diabo forever to, my personal favorite, why la vie au village is so darn good. And this is why, according to Eloi: we grow or raise almost everything we eat and, thus, have just about all we need, things are calm (not noisy or hurried like the cities), and people are kind. So there you have it, I couldn't agree more and find his attitude encouragingly refreshing. Because, yes, the people who constantly tell me that "la vie au Burkina est dure (hard)" are right and, yes, there are challenges, problems, deficiencies, etc. but there is so much good, a fact that I state often and with force because there is SO much here that the United States could use a great big dose of (first off, the fact that people here give a damn and, no matter who you are or what you do, you could be crazy or dirt-poor or oddly attired, yet they will ask you how your day is going and how things are chez vous).

But back to Eloi. I was in Ouaga when I wrote my last entry. Eloi and I had traveled in the same bush taxi because he was going to visit family in Ouaga and pick up his oldest daughter, who was coming to live with him and go to school in Diabo. He stayed longer than I did but, on the day of my departure, he came to the bus station, though he wasn't positive that I would be there since I had missed his phone call of inquiry, to make sure that I got along ok in my efforts to get back to village (not a big deal, but it was the first time I had taken the direct transport from Ouaga to village). He was there when I arrived and proceeded to wait with me for almost three hours (one never knows when transport will actually leave) until he had to leave to pick up his daughter at another station across the city. This is a totally normal gesture, based solely upon the fact that we come from the same village and were both spending time in the city. Stuff like this is mind-boggling for me at times, coming from an American perspective. This lack of any sense of personal inconvenience, this loyalty and sense of obligation based on geography and shared experience and little else.

Whew, that was a lot and I have spent way too much time in front of a computer, thus it's time to sign off. Thanks for reading. 'Til next time.

"I am just a tiny person in Africa, but there is a place for me, and for everybody, to sit down on this earth and touch it and call it their own."

*Addendum: I considered not using people's real names, though I have been thus far, in the interest of protecting their privacy, not exploiting them for entertainment value, what have you. But then I thought "hey, this is my life and these are my friends, people I admire, trust, and have come to rely on, who play a significant part in my general well-being, happiness,and day-to-day existence." Thus, I will continue to use their real names because talking about Sali (Salimata) just doesn't work if I call her Amisatu.

2006-10-18T19:33:00.000Z

Hello from Ouaga! I'm here for a brief visit, to have the brakes on my bike repaired (as my mountain bike is American and way nicer than anything you'd see in village, the repairs are a bit beyond the scope of the mechanic au village). I left village this morning with the marche day bush taxi after a breakfast of cafe au lait (Nescafe and condensed milk) and bread at the buvette in the marche - as always, an excellent oppurtunity to socialize. Arrived in Ouaga four hours later (it's a 200k trip) but I can't complain as the taxi wasn't full so I had lots of leg room and good tunes via my iPod. Travelling here is always an adventure, between the frequent stops, the array of cargo (from potatoes to goats to people on the roof - it is AMAZING how much crap can be piled on to a bush taxi), the people you encounter sur la route, and the potetnial for mechanical disaster. But, 'wend barka' (thank god), I am here after an uneventful voyage.

Things au village are good. School is in full swing and I've been observing classes and meeting the faculties of the other primary schools and the high school. The students are totally fascinated with me which is usually endearing, but sometimes overwhelming, specifically when they cluster around me, pushing and hitting each other in the process. Though some of the novelty of my presence will surely wear off, I am definitely a fun anomalie for the kids in village.

I met with the director of the middle/high school this week and I think I may teach English at the sixieme (7th grade-ish) level since the other teachers teach a ridiculous number of hours. It would consist of just 5 hours a week and would give me a great opportunity to get to know the school and students, since it is entirely separate from the primary schools. Teaching isn't specifically in our jurisdiction as Girls' Ed volunteers, but a number of other volunteers in my sector teach classes as well and I think it's a good way to make a solid, visible contribution that will prove useful for promoting girls' ed as well. As passionate as I am about our sector, it is difficult in that it is very ambiguous. Teaching will give me a concrete role in the eyes of the villagers and will hopefully make it that much easier to commence with other extra-curricular activities.

I'm going to keep this short and sweet as I have nothing particularly noteworthy to report. My life in Burkina have ceased to be the onslaught of new experiences that it was a first, now that I'm settling into my community and really habituating to life here. I'm sure I'll have more to report the next time I'm at a computer, when I've commenced with teaching and other work. Also, I have been terribly negligent regarding photos but I will post a lot at the next opportunity, it's just tough to be on top of things here in the technological dark ages!

'Til next time,

Chrissy

La Vie Du Nasara

2006-09-27T15:47:00.000Z

Hey, All! I'm in Fada once again for a brief sejours from village, to meet up with some other volunteers. It's the first time since leaving for village that I'll have seen any other volunteers aside from my closest neighbor (it's been 1 month + au village!). I am excited to catch up, swap stories, experiences, frustrations, and the like...over some cold beers, no less.

La vie au village goes well. Each day I feel my status as 'l'étranger' a little less keenly, and feel a bit more habituated, a bit more comfortable, and a bit more knowledgeable. Regardless, it is impossible to leave my house without being met by stares as I am, for all intents and purposes, the only white chick au village. Granted, there are the European nuns at the mission; ancient, stooped, wrinkled - appropriately nunlike - but they rarely venture outside the mission walls, hence I am the living, breathing, blue-eyed American "nasara," the epitome of white and the ambassador of all things American in my African village.

It's currently nearing the end of the rainy season and the recult (harvest) will commence shortly, bringing with a host of fruits and veggies to my marché! School starts next week and the school faculties return this week in preparation. I'm excited for the return of the teachers and school directors as it will allow me to start discussing and planning possible school year projects with the primary school and high school students.

I've spent the last few weeks socializing lots, spending many hours au marché talking with all sorts of people. I've also commenced with my in-depth "étude du mileu" (literally 'study of place'). I've spent several days observing at the Centre Medicale in Diabo, talking to the nursing staff about village health needs and problems, what the most prevalent illnesses are and when and why they occur. I think that the health sector will provide ample oppoturnity for projects with students and villagers alike. My village is the administrative center of a department that contains 65 villages, which means that the Centre Medicale, not even close to hospital-like in scope and resources, serves more than 22,000 people. As you can imagine, this makes treatment a challenge, with little time or resources left over for health education and outreach. I've also started thinking about the possibility of facilitating a mentorship program between lycée students and the students at the 4 primary schools au village. I'm lucky to be in a village with a lycée and want to take advantage of having older students with advanced French proficiency.

There are certainly endless possibilities for work in village, but the challenge will be assessing real needs and finding sustainable, praticipatory ways to address them. If the past four months have taught me anything, it's that an idealistic approach to development is unrealistic, impractical, and largely impossible. Through my own observations and experiences, as well as countless conversations with other volunteers, I think that the greatest lesson I'll take from my Peace Corps experience is the true nature and possibilities of development, a hard but necessary lesson. My idealism has already been tempered and each day is a full dose of reality, which undermines a lot of the naive, bleeding-heart ideals I held so dearly growing up and through college. At the same time many of my convictions have been reaffirmed and hardened with concrete, substantive observation and evidence that no political science class or international affairs journal can provide.

Anyhow, back to la vie au village. My house is coming along nicely as I received the furniture I had made in village - a table for my "kitchen," on which my gas stove rests, a coffee table, a bookshelf, and some chairs. It's nice to finally be able to truly unpack and be surrounded by my books, framed pictures from home, and the general comfort of things in their place.

Aside from working on my étude de mileu, meeting new people each day, and visiting some of the administrative offices, I've continued to read voraciously and now run regularly, at least every other evening or morning. I'm finally starting to adapt to the heat, athletic-wise, which was a bit of a challenge. It's nice to feel some muscle mass returning and to posess more energy than I have since arriving en Afrique. I'm going to try to add a page to my blog with some comments on the books I've been reading. Most recently I finished "Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight" by Alexandra Fuller, an English author who grew up in Zimbabwe (Rhodesia) during the war for independence, Malawi, and Mozambique. I can't recommend the book enough as Fuller's authentically British, biting wit lends a unique element to her description of the colonial/post-colonial life in the 1970s and 80s. It's a fascinating glimpse into family dynamics, the expat life, and the experiences and history of colonialism in Africa.

Time to sign off. 'Til next time!

Smiles,

Chrissy

More on Diabo

2006-09-07T09:06:00.000Z

Bonjour, tout le monde. I'm back, still in Fada until this afternoon, when my nearest PC neighbor, Nancy, and I will head back to village.  We'll catch a bus headed to Ouaga and descend at Maouda, the town on the goudron
(paved road) where the road to our villages branches off. We'll bike back to our villages, 10k for Nancy and 21k for me. Not a bad ride, unless it's rained recently, making the roads less passable.

I just had a very Burkina moment. I'd written several paragraphs of my blog and the power went out, erasing all that I'd written. This is definitely not an uncommon occurence, so one learns to take it in stride...and remember to save intermittently next time.

Anyhow, as I mentioned in my last entry, the past ten days have constituted a barrage of impressions and experiences. I tried to render a physical description of Diabo and my new home, but the people I've encountered so far, particularly my homologue (counterpart) and the school faculty of école 'B', have definitely provided the foundation of my introduction to Diabo and experiences thus far.

I guess I'll start by describing a typical day en Diabo:

I typically wake up between 6:00 and 7:00, to the sounds of roosters crowing, donkeys baying, and my noisy pig-neighbors. If it's cool (ish, this is relative, of course), I'll head out for an early morning run along the main road or any number of footpaths that traverse the village and head to the smaller outlying villages around Diabo. My favorite so far is the path that goes past école 'B' to the barrage (a sort of resevoir) of Yentenga, a neighboring village (there are crocs!). People here don't seem as suprised by my athletic endeavors (which they refer to as "faire du sport") as people in Sananga, my host village during stage, did. In Sananga, my runs evoked a combination of amusement and confusion and typically caused a parade of children to run behind me in pied piper-esque fashion.  I chalk up the greater degree of acceptance in Diabo to the fact that it's a larger, better-educated village with a host of battery-powered televisions (hence exposure to the notion of exercise).

After my run, I'll boil water for Nescafé (delicious) and oatmeal, which one can procure in Fada or Ouaga, while listening to the BBC. BBC World News and Focus on Africa are a god-send, as is my shortwave hand-crank radio. In general, I feel better informed in regard to world news here than I ever did in the States. I think this is a result of the amound of undisturbed time I have to listen to the radio and the effectiveness with which I'm able to absorb information here as opposed to in the States, where every day we're presented with an onslaught of information. I typically read for a while in the morning as well, having stocked up on books at the Peace Corps hostel before heading ot site. I have a motley collection ranging from Salinger's "Nine Stories" to Edith Wharton's "The House of Mirth" to "The Wealth and Poverty of Nations" and "A Beginner's Guide to the World Economy." The ability to read often and undisturbed here feels almost decadent and is definitely a huge benefit of Peace Corps life!

I typically have a few visitors throughout the morning, most often the gaggle of kids from my neighboring quartier and Moussa, one of the teachers at école 'B' who has stayed in Diabo during the vacation and has been incredibly helpful in helping me to settle in. I try to venture out by mid-morning and will head to the marché around noon on market day (every third day) where I'll sit with Aisattu, my homologue, and Alice, the secretary of école 'B', while they vend gateaux (fried cakes) and peanuts. They're situated in a prime socializing and people-watching location, so the market presents the best opportunity to get to know new people. We'll causer (chat) in French and I'll listen as they talk (read: gossip) in Zaoré. The market in Diabo is impressively large with scores of vegetable and fruit vendors, a number of butchers, shops to buy hardware and household goods, and shops selling clothes, shoes, and brightly colored cloth and pagnes. There are also several tailors, mechanics, and hair salons (there are some incredibly intricate hairstyles here).

Aside from the marché, I'll often just head out for a bike ride or walk and inevitably end up talking to someone en route or stopping for tea in someone's quartier. Every journey outside of the house presents a host of opportunities for social interaction and it is impossible and completely impolite to pass someone you know without inquiring as to their health, that of their family, the state of their work, etc.

The first full day I spent in Diabo, Moussa and I made a tour of the local authories, the Prefet, Gendarme, Inspecteur, the Centre Medicale, etc. so I was introduced to most of the functionaires in Diabo and had an opportunity to see their offices. Since then I've also visisted two of the outlying villages. Alice took me to her quartier in Yentenga (the quartier of her husband, her family is from Diabo proper so she'll stay there from time to time as well). I met her three children and members of her husband's family, including her father-in-law, who is the chief of Yentenga. We had a long chat in French and he expressed how happy he was that I was here and promised to take me to see the barrage during the season when the crocs come out of the water frequently.

I've also visited a number of other quartiers, including that of Aisattu. (A quartier is a large, family compound which is home to 3-4 generations of a family and is typically made up of a number of mud-brick buildings and round, mud huts with straw roofs). In general, I feel like I've gotten to know so many people and already seen so much in village, which is more than I expected to accomplish during my first week and a half at site. It's definitely a testament to the preparation and cultural knowledge we acquired during stage that I've started the process of integration so smoothly.

So you're probably think "that's great, Chrissy, but what about your JOB?" which is a very reasonable question. Because of the nature of Girls' Ed, our sector, and the fact that a lot of the sensibilisation (don't know how to say that in English) we'll do is on an informal, social level, we're encouraged to hold off on diving into projects until we bien integré and get to know our schools and communities well. Beyond that, school doesn't start until mid-October, after the rainy season and harvest. I am, however, already a bit restless and have definitely experienced some moments of boredom so far.   I look forward to the return of the rest of the school staff and the opportunity to start brainstorming some projects. In the meantime, I hope to conduct some community assesment meetings and activities with various community members to guage village needs and resources and generally garner necessary and useful knowledge as I meet people and learn more about Diabo.

So for now, my days consist of socializing, improving my French (by socializing), and working on local language. I try to take a bike ride each evening if possible, to explore the greater-Diabo area and check out the outlying villages (not too mention the gorgeous vistas en route). I took one such ride a few nights ago, venturing far down the road to Koudougou despite the ominous thunderclouds looming in the distance. I deservedly got caught in an absolute downpour, arriving in centre-ville drenched but amused and a bit of a spectacle for the villagers.

I've also had the pleasure of a visit from Nancy, my neighbor of 12k, who came to Diabo to take advantage of our market, check out the village, and engage in some much needed English conversation. Before we travelled here to Fada, I spent the night in her village and received a much needed haircut. I'm lucky to not only have a neighbor in close proximity, but one skilled in the art of cutting hair, so that I won't look like totally ridiculous when I come home in two years. We indulged in some chocolate, peanut butter and jelly, and American tunes via my iPod during my visit - a much needed dose of America.

So that's a bit on my last ten days. I could go on but I think that this would turn into even more of a rambling incoherent mess, so I'll sign off now. Overall things are great and I'm really happy with the beginning of my sejours en Diabo. There are still lots of trying moments of frustration, loneliness, and fatigue and there are some people au village a bit disdainful or skeptical of my presence. Luckily, I was proceeded by several well-liked volunteers in other sectors, so many people have some knowledge of Peace Corps, understand my general purpose and are overall very receptive. Beyond that, I have found myself amongst a group of people ready and enthusiastic to aid me in my integration and endeavors.  Alice and Aisattu, in particular, have shown me so
much kindness and will, I hope, evolve into good friends.  It's almost stunning how we've
already developed a rapport, despite our differences in race, ethnicity, age, language, and
circumstance in general.  If anything, this experience is an incredible education in humanity
and the essence of human relations.  As much as I learned and gained in four years of college, I'm certain I'll take more with me from my two years in Africa.

Diabo: Home Sweet Home!

2006-09-06T22:23:00.000Z

Hi, All and Greetings from the East. I'm in Fada N'Gourma, my regional capital, spending the night at a hostel here to run some errands, visit the marché, and take des petite vacances from life au village.

It's been a week and a half since we left for our sites/villages and things are going better than I could have hoped. I'm so happy with my new home thus far and have already met so many kind, interesting, and welcoming people. I'm optimistic at the prospect of two years here, from the quality of the community itself to the potential to do some really neat things with Girls' Education in collaboration with the school faculties and community members in Diabo.

I arrived a week from this past Sunday after spending a day and night here in Fada with the other volunteers whose sites are in my region. It was nice to have one last night with a smaller group before heading off Sunday morning. My neighbor, Nancy, and I were driven to our sites in a Peace Corps car piled high with our bikes, luggage, and household items we'd acquired in Ouaga and Fada. I was surpisingly at ease as we turned off the paved road onto the dirt road leading to our villages. I was the last one to be dropped off and was immediately greeted by my homologue, several teachers, and the APE (equivalent of PTA) members of the primary school I'm assigned to. They helped me to settle in and made sure that everything was in order as far as my house. After unloading my things, we sat under my hangar (porch area with a thatched roof) and drank some sucréries (sodas) while I was introduced to everyone. The first night was a little overwhelming, but I was so pleased with the warm welcome I'd received and the kind attention of so many people that I immediately felt secure and fairly at ease.

The last ten days have been a great introduction to my village and the people of Diabo. I have so much to report that I'm not sure where to begin, so I'll start with my house. It's much larger than my stage house in Sananga and is made of cement instead of mud bricks. It consists of two large rooms with screened in windows, high ceilings, a tin roof, and a screen door and large metal outter door. Thus far, the only furniture I've acquired is a bed made of petit bois (little wood)which is slightly reminscent of the Flinstones but is surpisingly comfy with my Burkinabé mattress (and mosquito net canopy). I've erected a makeshift table with leftover cement blocks for my gas stove and have a lonely metal and canvas chair on loan from a neighbor, as well as several brightly-colored mats on which to sit. I also have a Burkinabé water cooler (sans the cool water)which consists of my water filter and a huge plastic garbage can next to it, in which I keep my supply of h2o. I did order several pieces of furniture from a carpenter in my village, including a bookshelf and two tables. For now my house is a bit bare, but it's already starting to feel like MY house.

My house is down a dirt path off of the main dirt road just before it reaches the center of town. The director of my school and a teacher at the village Catholic school are my nearest neighbors. My courtyard does include two other houses, one of which is still under construction and the other which is now uninhabited. I'm told, however, that it will host another nasara (!), a woman of presently unknown ethnicity who works with a Catholic NGO. Currently, my house is surrounded by fields of sky-high corn, millet, and sorghum plants, obstructing the view of my neighbors houses and affording an almost lonely degree of privacy (good thing the Burkinabé are big on visiting at ALL hours). My closest neighbors are, in actuality, a mama pig and her piglets who live under a tree just beyond my courtyard wall...and they are a NOISY bunch!

So that's my house, now onto the village itself. It's quite big for a Burkinabé village, as it is the center of the administrative Department and thus home to many government offices, as well as the local police. There is one main road that goes through Diabo from the paved road to Fada, 21k north, all the way down to Koudougou, close to the borders with Ghana and Togo. Lots of smaller dirt paths that are traversable by foot, bike, and moto, head off to the surrounding villages. On the outskirts of the village are several municipal buildings including the office of the Prefet (political head of the Department) and the Inspecteur d'Education. As you approach centre-ville, there are compounds of mud brick buildings and mud huts with straw roofs on either side, as well as roadside kiosques that sell anything from petrol to soap to rice. The first major building is a "Centre Des Enfants" which serves as both an orphanage and rehabilitation facility for malnourished babies and children. After that, there is a large dirt road off to the right which leads up to the huge "Eglise Catholique" and the Catholic mission of Diabo. The majority of people in Diabo are Catholic, although there are also Protestants, Muslims, and animism that pervades all forms of religion. The mission is an impressively large compound and includes a monastery with nuns from Burkina and several European countries, as well as a French priest. Past the church is one of the primary schools and a grove of delightfully big, tall tress. After that is a small pond and streamwith a bridge, past which lies the path to Diabo's large marché which takes place every three days and has provided the best means of social integration for me thus far.

As it is currently the height of the rainy season, Diabo is resplendant in green, from the crops to the wide variety of trees (baobab, karité, palm, etc.). It is positively lush in comparison with our host villages up North. I can best describe the topography as savannah presently, as the land is usually flat, sometimes a bit rolling, with frequent rock formations and boulders as well as tall grass and numerous trees. This description may not apply during the saison seche (dry season). I'll have to report on that as I experience it, since I have little concept as to how much the land will dry up after the rainy season. Our group has been spoiled in our introduction to Burkina during the rainy season.

While I've discussed the physical elements of my village and new home, the people of Diabo, particularly my homologue (counterpart) and school faculty, have made the biggest impression on me thus far. I hope to get back online tomorrow, since I haven't begun to delve into the barrage of impressions and experiences that have constituted the past ten days. In many ways, this experience continues to feel like the discovery of a totally new world, so far removed from my life in the States and so fundamentally different. Despite the radical polarity of existence here, the commonalities of human experience are the defining elements of day-to-day life here, as I adapt to life in Diabo get to know my community.

My time's about up, 'til tomorrow.

Wend na kond nidaare (Mooré benediction: "until next time")

Smiles,

Chrissy

Swear-In Speech

2006-08-24T15:30:00.000Z

I'm not sure if I can handle the luxury of two days in a row with internet access, but I feel the need to take advantage before I head off to village for three months (we're required to stay in our region for our first three months to ensure that we integrate as much as possible). I just finished editing my French speech for swear-in with the help of one of our language instructors, so I thought I'd go ahead and share the English version. Mind you, I'll be giving my speech to the Ambassador and a host of U.S. and Burkinabe dignitaries, as well as Peace Corps staff and my fellow trainees/volunteers so I'm definitely a wee bit nervous! Anyhow, here it goes...

Swear-In Speech

Good evening ladies and gentlemen, friends and honored guests. Thank you for joining us on this momentous and memorable occassion. It is out pleasure to share this special evening with you.

We arrived eleven weeks ago, stepping of the plane wide-eyed and a bit naive, unprepared for what awaited us. Most of us came to Burkina Faso with only rudimentary knowledge of the country, prepared for a great adventure but little knowing what to expect. Our first few days constituted a barrage of sights, sounds, experiences, and a rapid and intense introduction to Burkina Faso.

During our stage, we learned and accomplished a multitude of things. We became members of families and communities and were embraced with generosity and kindness by people whom we can never forget. Our days were spend studying language and culture and acquiring the skills necessary for our future work. Though sometimes difficult and frustrating, we gained an incredible volume of skills and knowledge from the Peace Corps staff, our host families and communities. Little by little, Burkina Faso began to reveal itself to us as we opened our hearts and minds to our new home. As we gained knowledge and experience, we evolved from strangers and observers into participants and community members.

We now have the opportunity to take what we have learned over the past eleven weeks and apply it on our own. For many of us, the next two years will constitute one of the greatest challenges of our lives thus far. We will develop friendships, apply and acquire new skills, and integrate into our communities as we continue to learn each day.

Tonight signifies the end of our journey as stagiares and the beginning of our two years as volunteers. We will take on the new roles of friends, educators, and community members. I would like to thank everyone who has supported us in our endeavors and who have helped us to reach this point as well as those who will aid us throughout the next two years. We would not be here without the support of the governments of the United States and Burkina Faso, the Peace Corps staff in Washington and Burkina, our host families and their communities, our homologues, and our future communities. We have been received with warmth and enthusiasm and equipped to thrive and succeed over the next two years. My sincere hope is that, while we will undoubtedly take so much with us at the conclusion of out time in Burkina, that we will also leave a part of us behind, in this country whose people and spirit have already begun to touch us.

Almost a PCV!

2006-08-23T18:11:00.000Z

Bonsoir! It's about 6:00 pm here in Ouagadougou and I'm taking the opportunity of our pre-swear in week in "civilization" to check e-mail and keep up with what's going on in the world. We spent 3 days in Ouahigouya after leaving our villages last Thursday. Each of the host villages had a closing ceremony on Friday to say thank you and goodbye to our host families and everyone in our villages. It was nice to have an opportunity to formally say goodbye but definitely sad to leave our families, who did such an incredible job of taking care of us and helping us to integrate. I had a particularly hard time saying goodbye to Mariam, one of my sisters, who did so much for me, from bringing my bath water every morning to explaining the incredibly complex geneaology of my HUGE host family to me. As we were saying goodbye, I went to shake her hand (in Burkina you only shake hands or hand people things with the right hand, as the left is considered unclean). I reached for her right hand with mine but she shook her head and took my left hand in her left hand, which is a sign of respect and deep friendship in Burkina and signifies that you expect to see that person again in the future. I can't tell you how flattering this seemingly simple gesture was to me.

We spent our time in Ouahigouya taking several exits tests on the multitude of technical, cultural, and lingual knowledge we've attained over the past ten weeks. It wasn't the most enjoyable element of stage but, all the same, nice to be able to demonstrate all that we've done.

We arrived in Ouaga on Sunday and are staying at a hotel for the week before we swear in and head to our sites. We spend our days in informational sessions, going over the logistical elements of our upcoming departure and highlighting some of the important safety and security and administrative elements of PCV service. We've definitely taken advantage of our time in Ouaga thus far, eating well, enjoying some time to socialize, and appreciating the plumbing in our hotel (though I'll admit that, oddly, I miss taking bucket baths). A bunch of current PCVs who helped out with our stage are around, and many more will be here for swear in on Friday. Yesterday we took a trip to the American Embassy where we met the U.S. Ambassador to Burkina, who gave us a little spiel on what goes on at the embassy and various U.S. projects in the country (things like sustainable development grants, malnutrition studies, etc.). We also spoke with the Political Foreign Service Officer who gave a talk on the political history of Burkina Faso and discussed the current climate - interesting stuff though, as PCVs it's interdit (prohibited) to discuss Burkina politics, though we can discuss U.S. politics as much as we like.

Our swear in ceremony will be held at the Embassy this weekend, followed by a formal reception and then our informal "after-party" at a dance club-type place near our hotel. Swear-in consists of speaches by the Peace Corps Country Director, our training manager, and various other important types, as well as five speeches given by us, in five different languages. Four will be in the local languages we've been learning and will continue to learn at site (Moore, Fulfulde, Gulmanchema, and Jula) as well as French. I'll be giving the French speech, which I finished writing yesterday. I think my English version is pretty great, but we'll see how well it translates. Happily, one of our language instructors is kindly correcting my translation today, so that I'll have a few days to practice before swear-in. Bonne chance a moi!

We'll spend the day of swear in and the day after shopping for household things (gas stove, mattress, housewares, etc.) before taking public transport to Fada, our regional capital, where a group of us whose sites are in the region will stay for a night before being driven to our sites. It's definitely a bit surreal that in a few short days, I'll be settling into my new house in my new village in my new country in the middle of West Africa.

Time to sign off, though I hope to post again before I leave for site.

****I'm pleased to report that I've finally gotten my act together and posted some pictures! So check 'em out! The link is below and on the link bar to the right ->

http://chrissyinburkina.shutterfly.com

"Here I am, where I ought to be."

2006-08-13T15:12:00.000Z

Premiérement - I HAVE A CELL PHONE! From the States, my number is 011-226-76-65-49-77. Calling anywhere from Burkina is trés cher (more expensive than my Peace Corps allowance affords), but texting, even the States, is doable...so, if you're so inclined, please do!! Calls are more than welcome as well as I have a cell phone tower near my site (go figure, talk about irony), thus reception in good.

That said, Hi All! It's been a while! It's been a busy couple of weeks full of classes and lots of quality time au village. We're all a bit burned out as stage winds down and are looking forward to the end of training and the commencement of our two years at site. It's definitely a bittersweet time, as I'm sad to be leaving my host family, who have made my introduction to la vie Burkinabé a pleasant and unforgettable experience. I'm hopeful that Diabo will provide as warm and welcoming an environment as Sanaga has for the past two months.
I've lately been reading Isak Dinesen's (neé Karen Blixen) "Out of Africa" which, despite being almost a century removed from my African experience, rings true in so many ways. It feels a bit cliché to be reading "Out of Africa" IN Africa, but the prose is beautifully descriptive and her insights parallel many of my own observations. She writes, of her farm in Kenya's Ngong Hills, "There was no fat on in and no luxuriance anywhere; it was Africa distilled...like the strong and refined essence of a continent." I don't think Isak spent any time in West Africa but I'm confident that, if she had, she would have agreed that this description certainly holds true for Burkina Faso. There is absolutely no fat on this land, nor its people or animals. Even now, at the height of the rainy season, the profusion of vegetation is merely relative and, unlike the images of tropical Africa, is wholly functional in its grandieur.
I'm going to take a cue from Isak and emulate a section of the book entitled "From an Immigrant's Notebook" which is an interesting and amusing collection of essays on her observations and experiences.

Grand-Mére, Le Crocodile

Last weekend, we took an excursion to Koumbre, a village 30k outside of Ouahigouya, to visit the village's sacred crocodile pools. We hiked out to the two pools and enjoyed a leisurely mid-morning snack of popcorn and bissap (a Burkinabé drink made from boiled hibiscus leaves and sugar). After relaxing for a while, we gathered around the second pool, which is a small, murky pond situated underneath a sheer cliff face. One of the Peace Corps staff had hired two local boys to lure the crocodiles out with two chickens we had purchased. They proceeded to tie a rope round the leg of one of the chickens and repeatedly hurl it out into the middle of the pond. This, one can imagine, caused the chicken to flail about for some time and attracted the attention of several of the crocodiles. That bird was a smart one, however, and soon developed a strategy of floating ,completely still, until it drifted over to the side of the pool. The chicken-throwing scenario was repeated numerous times and, though the crocs surfaced and circled it several times, they never followed through. My theory as to their response is two-fold: 1) We were too large and noisy a group and 2) These crocs are a proud bunch and were determined to maintain their integrity despite the temptation of a tasty treat.
Despite the lack of Discovery Channel-worthy carnage (did I really want to see that, anyway?), it was an enjoyable trip and a much-needed break from the increasing monotony of classes.

Interestingly, crocodiles are a significant element of Sanaga's (my homestay village) oral history, as well. According to the village Imam (Muslim religious leader), the people of Sananga are descended from crocodiles and his grandmother was, herself, actually a crocodile. Apparently she shed her crocodile skin long enough to seduce his grandfather and, after they married, she gave birth to four baby crocodiles before producing a human offspring. He told us this during a meeting we had with the village opinion leaders after which he walked off into a gentle rainshower, assuring us that the rain didn't bother him since he is , of course, descended from crocodiles. One might think there is substantial reason to doubt him however, this is the same Imam who attributed this year's plentiful rainy season to our arrival in village, thus I am overwhelmingly apt to believe him.

Hanging out by the crocodile pool

Group Photo

Le Tailleure ou "Tu as peur de manger?"

We depart village this Thursday, after which we spend several days in Ouahigouya before going to Ouaga, where we'll stay for a week before swearing in on August 25th. Swearing in, as you can imagine, is a big deal. Its the official culmination of our two months of stage - our blood, sweat, and tears, if you will - and the commencement of our two years at site.
Given this, many of us have opted to have outfits made in traditional or modern Burkinabé style for the occasion. Last weekend, some of the other stagiares and I went to the tailor of of our language instructor's wife, to have complets made from fabric we had purchased at the marché. I had met the tailor, an amiable fellow, before, as we had paid him a visit for a practical language session. After he and I discussed the design for my complet (a two-piece outfit with a long skirt and a pretty, off-the-shoulder top of an appropriately West African bright yellow and blue, floral material), he took my measurements. After he had measured my waste he looked at me and asked, in true Burkinabé fashion, "Tu as peur de manger?" (are you afraid to eat?). Rest assured, I have not wasted away, in fact, I have finally gained some weight back. However, in Burkinabé culture it is totally normal to comment on a person's physical appearance, particularly their wieght. "Gros" (fat), for instance, is a sincere compliment, as being well-fed is a sign of wealth. Slimness, on the other hand, is not so great...so thank you, Nana the tailor, for pointing that out.

That's all I've got for now as my time is winding down. Things are good - the rain is plentiful thus some nights are actually cool. Each day I feel a bit wiser and more acclimated. I certainly experience those "Damn, I'm in Africa!" moments that some of you have referred to. To return to Isak for a moment, she put it best when, describing her feeling upon waking up in Kenya, she writes, "Here I am, where I ought to be." Though I miss home, family, friends, and the comforts thereof, this is certainly where I ought to be.

Thanks for all the e-mails, know that they're read even if I can't immediately respond...it's so good to know what you're all up to! Also, there were some inquiries as to a package wish-list so here's a brief list of things that would rock:

M & Ms (as that hard candy shell withstands the heat)
Skittles
Crystal-Light, etc.
Granola Bars
News magazines (not Newsweek, as PC gives us the int'l edition...but publications like the Economist, the Atlantic, anything Foreign Policy related, etc...we are definitely starved for information and current events here)

That's all I can think of for now - anything you're inspired to send will be more than appreciated!!

Site Visit and Other Adventures

2006-07-20T13:36:00.000Z

Hey, All.

I'm back in Ouaga, sitting pretty at the air-conditioned Peace Corps bureau, after a busy few days visiting a current volunteer and checking out my future site. It's been an intense and educational few days. I left Sunday with the two stagiares whose sites are close to mine. We got up bright and early and caught a bush taxi (QUITE an experience) to the site of a current volunteer, off the road to Fada but not as far East as we'll be. We spent three nights at her site, bumming around, meeting the locals, and catching up on some much needed sleep! It was very cool to finally have the opportunity to see a volunteer at site and get a real picture of what life in village will be like. She's a health volunteer who is heading home in a month and a half, so it was so great to hear about all of her experiences and the various stages she's gone through during her two years. She definitely seems so well integrated and, though she's excited to head home, she kept reiterating how bittersweet it is to be leaving.

After our three-day visit, we caught a bus to our stop on the road to Fada and disembarked in the middle of an inconvenient rainstorm (though rain in Burkina is always a good thing). The three of us hung out at a maquis (bar), sipping some Sprites in the rain until it let up and we could head off to our sites. Nancy, the stagiare 10k from my village, and I headed down the very muddy road with our packs strapped to our bikes toward her village where we were to spend the night (my village is 21k off the main road, so we naturally opted for the shorter trip). Luckily, Nancy's homologue (counterpart, a teacher in her village), her village school director, and the director of one of the five primary schools in my village met us on their motos after we'd made only a bit of progress (heavy bikes and muddy roads are a bad combination!). They kindly unloaded our bags and we all proceeded to Nancy's village and her director's house, where we enjoyed a short repose before I continued down the road by bike to check out my village.

The school director (who is the equivalent of a principal for one of the village primary schools) and I chatted as we made the 12k trip entirely UPHILL. Yes, I am skinny AND buff, thank you. The abundance of green and general beauty of the landscape made the ascent much more tolerable and I started to get pretty excited that I'll be spending the next two years in some place greener and prettier than in northern Burkina, where we're living during stage. There are so many more trees and hills in the southern half of the country, richer soil (thus better farming), as well as lots of cool boulders and rock formations.

When we arrived in Diabo, we stopped by the director's house and I met his wife and daughter and we sat and rested for a bit before heading over to the Education Inspector's office (every region in Burkina has a school inspector) where I met a bunch of education officials, some of whom I'll probably work with while in Diabo. After that, I got the grand tour of my future maison, which is located close to the director's house and even closer to the aforementioned robinet! It's a spacious, two-room house and, on the Burkina scale, is really modern, as are many of the houses in Diabo. The majority, however, are still made of mud brick (for houses) and straw (for graineries and storage), so rest assured that my African village looks like an African village.

After that, we headed to Ecole B, the director's school, but I got a flat tire on the way so we detoured to the marche, where I had my tired repaired by the local bike mechanic (pretty much everyone in Burkina has some knowledge of bike maintenance, it's great). He repaired my tire for 100 CFA (that's 20 cents American) and I got an quick history of the region and the Zaosse people in the meantime - talk about a good deal. Loube, the director, his two very cute and impressively polite kids, and I walked back to his house where we sat and shared a beer (Burkinabe beer is impressively good by the way) with Aissatta, my homologue, and Fatimata, his wife. After that, he accompanied me back on the 12k ride to Nancy's village and we talked about potential projects for my time in Diabo.

We arrived at Nancy's director's house where we enjoyed an excellent American-style dinner and ice cold Cokes. It was interesting to get a taste of fonctionaire life in Burkina. Fonctionaires are any and all government employees, which includes all teachers and directors. They definitely live entirely different lives than most villagers since they are highly educated, make more money, and typically come from all different parts of the country (they are assigned to their respective schools by the government). It was interesting to see how different the family dynamic was at the home of a fonctionaire. While they still embody many of the characteristics of typical village families, they also interact much differently. For instance, in most village families, men, women, and children never eat together. Men eat first, then children, then women. In a fonctionaire family, that's typically not the case and the whole family tends to spend more time together. This is definitely a generalization, but it was cool to witness a family dynamic more reminsicent of the Cleaver's than a traditionally unegalitarian Burkinabe family situation.

After dinner, we headed to Nancy's homologue's house to sleep. I was definitely worn out after our very busy and exciting day and was not all that psyched to get up before 6 this morning to bike back to the goudron and catch transprot to Ouaga. Luckily, after we met the other stagiare at the goudron, we were able to catch a bush taxi quickly and made it back here in about 3 hours.

So things are good. I'm now an experienced veteran in regard to transport in Burkina, my future village is great, and I'm relatively healthy for the moment. Now I'm off to relax at the Peace Corps hostel, enjoy a much needed shower, and head off the check out the American embassy (which has a POOL!). Tomorrow, we head back to Ouahigouya for the remaining five weeks of stage and beacoup des classes Francais et Moore!

All for now. A bientot.

Chrissy

Greetings from Ouaga!

2006-07-15T17:09:00.000Z

Bonsoir!

I'm currently in Ouagadougou with the other Girls' Ed stagiares for a counterpart training workshop. We've spent the last two days with our homologues, counterparts in village who will assist us with our work, language, and general cultural integration.

But before I get into THAT, I have many exciting things to report! This has been an incredibly full week of feedback, announcements, and travel! First, I am very excited to report that my language skill level en français has jumped a whole level from Novice-Mid to Intermediate-Mid in one short month! I was very excited to receive that feedback since language is so crucial to our work and general well-being. The Peace Corps uses three level designations (Novice, Intermediate, Advanced) so I'm hoping to achieve at least Advanced Low by the end of stage (5 more weeks). We also received general performance evaluations from our formateurs (language and technical teachers) and mine was really great, which was certainly a nice boost. We've all been working our tails off, often while sick with a variety of parasite and climate induced maladies! Speaking of which, I'm currently experiencing my second round of stomach illness which, happily, is less grave then before.

The day after our evaluation feedback, we got our SITE ANNOUNCEMENTS! Talk about apprehension and excitement. We gathered together the morning before our departure for Ouaga and had a neat little ceremony where we affixed our pictures to a giant map of Burkina on which our sites, and those of the Secondary Ed stagiares, were designated. I will be spending the next two years in Diabo, a large village in the Southeast of Burkina, almost directly north of the border between Burkina, Ghana, and Togo. Apparently it's a rather large village, since it has at least 4 primary schools and a lycee (high school). It also has a CSPS (clinic), a pharmacy, a few telecentres, and boutiques that sell household things and food as well as a marche (market) every three days. This is all extremely reassuring as my current village is really small and it definitely requires a bit of a bike ride to get to a phone, market, or place that sells crucial stuff like toilet paper. I'm also a mere 10k away from another volunteer which is also super sweet since it guarantees an English-speaking reprieve when necessary. One of my current village mates is also only 25k away - hooray for bikeable proximity! Diabo is 2 - 3 hours away from Ouaga and 50k from Fada n'Gourma, one of the bigger cities in Burkina. It's about 20k off the main paved road which means catching a bush taxi or biking to the goudron (paved road) to catch transport to Ouaga or Fada. I'm definitely much more central to other volunteers and closer to a major city than a lot of other people. Happily, Fada provides a nice central location for quite a few of us, so weekend reunions will be a definite possibility.

Diabo is comprised of mainly Mossi and Zaosse people and is Zaosse in origin. The Zaosse speak Zaore which is a variant of Moore but is very similar. I've been told that Zaore and Moore are pretty much interchangeable so I should be able to commincate with most Moore speakers, a very nice thing. It's so great to see the typical Burkinabe reaction when you come out with a greeting or comment in Moore, they don't get too many white folks speaking local languages here, as you can imagine. Though it has been fun to see other expats while we've been in Ouaga. Even in Ouahigouya we see the occassional Nasara, usually a European with an NGO, and last week we had a huge group of French tourists infiltrate our little city! But I digress. So Diabo sounds pretty great and I'll find out for myself in two days when I visit my site after staying with a current volunteer for a night en route. Aissatta, my homologue, described my house to me a bit and it sounds pretty spacious and is conveniently located next to the nearest water source which (drumroll please) is not a pump, nor a well...it's a ROBINET! A real, live faucet!!! And, if my translation skills are good, it sounds like it runs well all year round with little threat to use during the dry season. So, in summation, this all sounds pretty auspicious! I'll have lots to report on my site visit in my next blog entry.

Le Moyen du Transport (means of transport)

Rewind a few days to site announcement and our departure for Ouaga. Our voyage marked the first and quite formative experience with transport in Burkina Faso. On the subject of transport, perhaps shiny new cars initially come to mind...a good old American SUV or an ever-practical compact. Now there are, of course, cars in Burkina, even the odd Benz cruising through the bush (really). But transport, Burkina-style, typically refers to a bus or bush taxi. There are several bus lines that operate in Burkina travelling between the major cities. Some lines are more timely and reliable than others, but all represent the risk of being stranded on the side of the road until the next bus comes along, or longer. Also, an aside, all of the bus line names are acronyms...STAF, STMB, ZST, SOGEBAF...weird. Anyhow, we took the STMB line to Ouaga at 14:00, arriving in Ouaga around 17:00...not bad at all if you disregard the frequent honking at bicyclists swerving to get out of our way, goats crossing the road and other unfortunate creatures in proximity to the road. The bus itself was a formidable machine, resembling a Greyhound with exponentially more miles and less paint. As they say in Burkina, ça va aller (so it goes). It was definitely a memorable experience, for our group and the other Burkinabé stuck on transport with a bunch of nasaras. I had a window seat and enjoyed the now VERY green landscape whilst listening to my iPod. I look forward to my upcoming transport "firsts" including tomorrow's journey by bush taxi to Koupela, where I'll be staying with a current volunteer to check out her site and meet with the regional education official before heading to Diabo to visit my site.

Sejourn in Ouaga

As aforementioned, I've been in Ouaga for three days and two nights, during whih I have enjoyed my first Burkina pizza and Burkina ice cream (the proverbial oasis in the desert, if you will). Our first night here, a group of us ventured to one of the dozen or so recommended restaurants in Ouaga that cater to fonctionaires (government employees), tourists, international types, and Peace Corps volunteers craving Western-style ANYTHING. Let me tell you, it was incredible. Not only did the place have atmosphere, reminiscent of a quaint Italian restaurant, with a huge candlelit patio area, but the food was incredible. I ate an indescribably delicious pizza followed by a bowl of the best sorbet and ice cream I have ever had. Needless to say, I was a happy camper.

In addition to the good eating available around the city, our two-day workshop was held in an air-conditioned room (heaven on Earth) and we ate several meals at our hotel that consisted of more than one basic food group. I've eaten at least 5 different types of vegetables in 3 days...this is a BIG DEAL. I've also enjoyed several real showers and the use of plumbing in general. It's been a nice little vacation for sure. Tonight will be our last flirtation with convenience and modernity until we return for a night at the end of the week before heading back to Ouahigouya and our villages for the last 5 weeks of stage.

I guess that's all I have to report. This Peace Corps thing seems pretty real after site announcements and our counterpart workshop, although I still have to take moment every now and then a tell myself that yes, I really am in Africa and yes, I will probably feel this white the whole two years (albeit with a nice tan)! It's certainly a continual rollercoaster of highs and lows, with lots more to come. I have frequent moments of self-doubt countered by moments of surprising strength and reaffirming clarity. There are so many beautiful and wonderful things about this experience and I am learning to muster courage and fortitude I didn't know I had, but it is HARD. This is certainly no vacation, especially three months of training to be a functional member of a community in a place that is about as foreign as it gets. The more job-related things we learn, the more we know we're up against. Gender inequity here is endemic and, as was evidenced during our workshop, touches each and every woman regardless of education or social status. This battle isn't just uphill, it's Mount Everest during an avalanche.

There are however, inspirational rays of hope in the incredible Burkinabé staff who are so dedicated to our training and our future work, and the principles that drive them. The passion they have for progressive change in this country and the challenges that many of them, especially the women, have faced and surmounted, are reason to hope and to take du courage in the face of a difficult, unreceptive environment. They will have crammed an amazing amount of skill and information into our brains by the time stage is over, preparing us for much failure and hopefully some sustainable success.

As always, thanks for the e-mails.

With Love,

Chrissy

Under African Skies

2006-07-09T15:07:00.000Z

Bonjour!

It's been quite a week and feels like a lifetime since the last time I wrote. We spent the majority of our week au village with loads of French classes, cross-cultural activities, and more tech discussions and practice sessions.

We started the week off with a 4th of July celebration in Bogoya, our neighboring village, in the courtyard of another Peace Corps stagiare (trainee). It was quite the to-do with American-style foods such as mac and cheese, hot dogs from a can, and, of course, coca cola. Mind you, all of the fare was prepared in traditional Burkinabé style, over open fires in marmites (big, cauldron-like cooking bowls). All of the Burkinabé Peace Corps staff were in attendance and many of the villageois joined us for some intense and impressive dancing aprés notre diner. It didn't really feel like the 4th, but it was certainly nice to be together en masse, celebrating with friends, American and Burkinabé alike.

We've started holding some meetings in village with our école's APE and AME (the equivalent of parent-teacher associations). The meetings are intended as practice for the work we'll do at site, although the goal is to produce a substantive, useful end-product. Our meeting went surprisingly well, with both the men and women in the groups participating in some very candid disussion of the problems facing young people, especially girls, in the village, with particular regard to issues in school and with retention of female students. The APE/AME members made some very quick and insightful connections between poverty and unwanted pregancy, the biggest issues for girls here. We ended the meeting with the idea of creating an extra-curricular club of sorts focusing on AGRs (Activités Genteratrices de Revenue) and money-management for young people (saving money is a difficult and often foreign concept in much of Burkina). We've included many of the older village men in our idea-exchanges with the hope that this effort will flourish with our initital guidance and after our departure in 6 weeks. I certainly have some reservations about getting hopes up and starting something that will potentially fall on its face with our departure. At the same time, these experiences are invaluable for us and, if nothing else, we've helped to introduce dialogues that rarely take place in our village. We've also made a significant effort to give both young men and women roles of responsibility within the club with the idea that they will play an equal role in decision making as far as potential projects, etc. Some of my sisters are particpating, which is great since they already have a successful income-generating project wherein they prepare a dinnertime meal to sell to passersby on their way from the city or from cultivating en brousse (in the bush).

Speaking of the bush, I took my first tour of the bush (and by bush, I mean the fields that the villageois cultivate and the Mango-tree groves which provide the most AMAZING respite from beaducoup de soleil and the ever-present heat). Aisha, my fellow PCT/stagiare and village-mate, and I headed out par velo ( on our super-spiffy mountain bikes) after classes and were greeted by lots of villageois, adults and kids alike. I got some great pictures our some our neighbors, including two little boys riding a donkey...I will try to post pictures soon but it's a bit of a challenge in the land of latent technology. It was amazing to see the total contrast from the dry, dust and sand covered landscapes of the village and surrounding areas (most of Burkina Faso is flat and dry and dust/sand-colored). En brousse, however, we were presented with an abundance of green, beautifully cultivated fields with complex irrigation systems (all hand dug). It was neat to see this other hugely important element of village life. I had a long conversation with my host-Dad today about cultivation and we set a tentative date for me to go out with my family to cultivate in two weeks when I return from a sojourn in Ouaga and a site visit to a current volunteer.

On the topic of sites - we find out next week where our site of two years will be! We've ascertained that most of us will be in the Northen Sahelian region (desert) or in the East (where the big national park is...few lions, but lots of elephants, hippos, etc.). I'm somewhat certain that I'll be in a Mooré-speaking village, though I'm not sure. Some stagiares are already learning local languages since the have Advanced French proficiency, so their site choices are limited to those of their language. I'm crossing my fingers for Mooré and am excited that I'll have a location to give the next time I post!

So, in order to paint a fuller picture of la vie au village, I though I'd give a topic-by-topic rundown of the often amusing, frequently awe-inspiring, and always interesting elements of village life.

La Cuisine Burkinabé

An interesting and important topic. At first, I had a tough time getting used to the Burkinabé diet, but I'm acclimating slowly with lots of trips to the "super-marché" in Ouahigouya for the odd package of butter cookies and a cold drink (Fanta is a PCT favorite). The Burkinabé staple is To ( a porridge-like millet dish that involves the vigorous pouding of millet into powder form, creating a sound that can be heard at almost any hour somewhere in the village). To is often served with ocra or various types of sauces. I have tried To and...it's interesting. I feel that I will grow to love and appreciate it but am convinced that I should ease my way in to the wild world of To. My family usually prepares me Benga (beans and rice...so good!), pasta with various types of sauces, or rice with peanut sauce. The variety is limited, but so it goes. My family also often gives me vegetables and fruits (cucumbers, onions, mangos, guava, a rare orange or banana), which are a treat (after a round of washing with bleach...no more parasites for this girl). It's tough to provide variety since staple crops all have a limited season. The rainy season, in particular, is less than U.S.-summer long. People definitely make do and my family is both generous and creative. Breakfast typically consists of a baguette and a glass of Nescafé (you grow to love it, really) with sugar and powdered milk. So that, my friends, is la cuisine Burkinabé (though you can find much creative fare in any city). We PCTs often frequent Madema Koulibaly's "Kiosque Exceptionelle" which is truly "exceptionelle." We buy sandwiches with egg, avocado, and other veggies, and top our meal of with locally-made pasteurized yogurt (which comes in a plastic container with an expiration date!). Good eating, for sure. I am, however, a bit slighter than I was...I've dropped 5 kilos or so, a problem in that my clothes are a bit baggy...the drawstring capris were an important foresight...thank you, J. Crew. The other night, my sisters were looking at my photos from home (family and friends - chances are a village of W. Africans is familiar with your face and name). Anyhow, they told me that I was gros (literally fat, though it's a compliment in Burkinabé culture) and that now I am trés petite (logically, not such a great thing). That's what all those kilometres of biking will do. I have heard that the skinniness is stage-related and chances are that, after going to site and cooking for myself, I'll gain a few of those kilos back! Now now on to the next topic...

L'EAU!

Ah water, sustainer of life. How I miss thee, kitchen faucet. Water is a BIG DEAL here and women cart it from the water pump in jugs on their head ALL DAY LONG (this is a feat I may try, perchance master?, at some future time...for now I watch in awe as they walk, turn their heads, pick things up, hold conversations, with gallons and gallons of water on their heads). And little kids do this too, REALLY little kids! I, despite frequent insistence, am not allowed to get my own water because my host Dad has "cinq filles! cinq!" (five daughters) who do it for me. To boot, my bath water is heated every morning and night. I do however, play some small role in my water consumption in that I filter and bleach my drinking and tooth-brushing water. Granted, this is a small effort in comparison but hey, it's not like I have a faucet or a sink! In all seriousness though, water is a cultural staple here as it represents a social forum, a source of pride for Burkinabé women, and a fundamental custom of hospitality (to not offer water is a travesty). That said, some plumbing infrastructure would be pretty sweet.

C'est tout pour maintenant, mes amis. Thanks for reading and for the e-mails. I would like to publically express my incredible excitement that Lea, fellow Colgater and friend extraordinaire, will be joining me in West Africa in mere weeks for her UN internship in Ghana...the beaches of Accra, here I come! Thanks for the e-mails, all, keep 'em coming! Also, I'll make a plug for snail mail corerspondence once again...it's like summer camp all over again.

Lots of Love!

- Chrissy

Manna Wanna!

2006-07-01T16:04:00.000Z

Manna Wanna (what's up), tout le monde!

Just biked into Ouahigouya from my village after a morning of French class and reading Newsweek and National Geographic with one of my "little sisters" in my courtyard. It was an odd experience to look at pictures of the war in Iraq with her, trying to explain the situation...in French, no less.

Things are good, though I had my first major negative gastrointestinal experience last week. Let me tell you, without going into detail...diarrhea in Africa SUCKS. Luckily, Peace Corps has supplied us all with the means of preparing our own stool sample, which I have done TWICE, thankyouverymuch. Turns out my intense discomfort was caused by some very persistent bacteria hanging out in my intestines...praise Allah for Western meds.

Aside from the intestinal difficulties, training's been going great. My French is improving and I am proficient in the art of greeting (which is truly an ART in Burkina Faso) in Mooré. I have a "good morning" conversation with a least 20 people each day, often before the 6:30 or 7. Speaking of which, sleeping past 6 has become a luxury afforded to me only on the days when I am tired enough to sleep through the roosters crowing, donkeys baying, children yelling and singing, and the profusion of conversation that all begin by 5:30 each morning. Oh, and there is NO WEEKEND in Burkina Faso, work is done every day and people se reveille at the same time every day as well. Days are definitely full and I am often tired, a good thing since it allows me to fall asleep despite the constant din of LIFE that is ever-present in my compound.

On a more serious note, as we delve deeper into training and learn more about Burkinabé life and the struggles and challenges particular to women in this country, I am overcome by my fortune as an American woman. You cannot imagine how fortunate we are in the States until you spend each day watching people work from sunup to sundown just to live. The women I am privileged to live with do more in a day than I could imagine accomplishing in a week - from pouding millet to doing laundry to constant cooking and cleaning to helping the men cultivate in the fields...often with a baby tied to their back during all of these tasks. Regardless of this, the people in my village constantly reiterate how privileged they feel by our presence and bend over backwards day after day to make us comfortable and welcome. You don't know what hospitality is until you've visited Burkina!

The rainy season is not in full effect in Burkina and, more often than not, nights are accompanied by what my dad would brand "a gullywasher". The experience of a storm in Burkina is intense and awe-inspiring from the time you see the dust-laiden clouds rolling over the flat expanse that is ALL of Burkina until the moment the deluge begins pounding on your corrugated metal roof with a power unexpected. The winds that precede the storm are incredibly fast and the pre-rain result is a coat of dust and sand that envelopes everything, inside and out. The first few storms were a bit disconcerting, but now they are a welcome relief from the heat, as the post-storm air is cool and moisture-filled, ensuring a good night's sleep. There is also a post-storm phenomenon of cooled drinking water (regardless of where the water is stored) that is indescribably welcome. Despite the heat, drinking water that is hotter than air temperature when it's 105° out is pretty awful.

That's all the news for now. It's still hot, the mouches (flies) are still ever-present and totally obnoxious, but morale is high and I'm starting to feel a little more Burkinabé every day (although many of the kids in my compound still call me "Nasara" - white person). In general, however, whenever I walk out of my compound into the village, I'm greeted with a chorus of "Chris-tine! Yibeoogo kibare" (good morning, how are you)... to say that this is nice, gratifying, welcoming, etc. would be an understatement.

I miss you all lots and am grateful for the frequent e-mails. Alissa - you win the award for FIRST SNAIL MAIL CORRESPONDENCE! Thank you so much for the postcard. I know real mail is antiquated but it is an AWESOME thing here so do write if you have the opportunity!! My address is:

Christine Hart, PCV
Corps de la Paix Americain
01 BP 6031 Ouagadougou 01
Burkina Faso, West Africa

Writing back is difficult and a little expensive but I will make every effort to respond to any mail..e-mail's a little tougher as access is infrequent so forgive me if I don't always respond but your e-mails are read and MUCH appreciated.

Until next time and with love!!

- Chrissy

Laffi Bala!

2006-06-17T17:13:00.000Z

Greetings from a cyber cafe in Ouahigouya, Burkina Faso! I've been in Burkina Faso for a week and a half and life in the States aleady seems so foreign compared to reality in Burkina. I knew that Peace Corps would change my perceptions but the effect a week has had is indescribabe. Nonetheless, I'll try (forgive any typing errors - it's a French keyboard!). As I write it's at least 105, having gotten up to 110 or so this week. You haven't truly appreciated a cold drink until you've lived in a rural village in West Africa, let me tell you!

I think the most effective way of conveying my impressions is to try to describe a typical day in the life, Burkina-style. To start, the basics: I'll be spending the next three months os Pre-Service Training in Sananga, a small village outside of Ouahigouya in Northwest Burkina, one of the largest cities in Burkina and the former capital of the Mossi Kingdom. Our group of thirty trainees live in the city and surrounding villages with host families while we attend language and technical classes both in Ouahigouya and in our villages. I live with the family of Harouna Ouedraogo, one of the more established families in my village of one thousand people. He is one of the vieux - the elders of the village. Sananga is Muslim and many of the families, including mine, practice polygamy. My family is absolutely huge, at least 60 strong with a million little kids running round and at least 6 very cute babies. The village is made up of compounds of mud-brick structures with a beautiful stucco mosque at its center. My compound is large and my accomodations are pretty cush. I have two rooms with screened windows and a door that locks, a private bathing area, a private latrine (read: really nice hole in the ground), and a courtyard with a shaded covering. Although my rooms are nice and I have a regular bed with a mosquito net, I spend most nights outside in my mosquito-net tent sine it is oppressively hot even at midnight. I'm dirty and sweaty 24 hours a day.

So the average day starts at 5 am when my family wakes up. I typically shower by 6, sometimes earlier by the starlight of early morning. One of the women in my family brings me water from the village pump to bucket-bathe with (a surprisingly effective way to get clean). I have a breakfast of Nescafé and a baguette (both MAJOR luxuries) by 6:30 and will spend the next hour getting ready and playing with the countless kids who invade my courtyard. At 7:30, I'll either bike to Ouahigouya for class, to another village or go to someone's house in mine for class. We typically have technical classes in the city and language classes au village. Days in Ouahigouya are a luxury as they have the potential to include a cold beverage, some sugared peanuts from a street-side kiosque,or a trip to the internet cafe or marché. Classes are intensive, incredibly substantive and well-structured, so we get as much as possible out of each day. My French is improving radpidly ,which is exciting since half of my family speaks French (the other speaks Mooré, a local language that I've started to learn as well).

We typically bike back or return to our homes around - or so and I spend most evenings talking to my brothers, sisters, abd cousins - the older children and young adults in my family who speak French. I've even had a few French-English classes with one of my brothers who has an impressive amount of basic English. Dinner consists of anything from couscous to to, a local specialty, to American-style pasta and sauce. I've made it clear that I'm a vegetarian because, frankly, the meat here freaks me out - even the fish..I can do latrines, I can do dirt, I can do 110°, but I cannot do bones or anything that may have been running through my courtyrd that same day. And oh how they run, goats, chickens, donkeys, cows...you name it!

My time's about up so I should sign off. In summary, Africa is hot and dirty and beautiful, the people are wonderful, the cultures are fascinating...each day I'm happy and sad and scared and astounded...this is definitely the adventure of a lifetime. I miss you all and so appreciate the e-mails!!!

Happy Father's Day, Dad - it was so good to talk to you!!! I'll try to call in a week or two. Mom - I love you and I'm sorry I missed you!!!

A tout a l'heure. Laffi bala (life is good).