Pictures

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

"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

"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.

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

 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

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!

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