Update - 21 December 2007

Bonjour/soir! I am now over six months into my Peace Corps service and just loving all of it. Things are moving along - I am integrating, making friends, starting to visualize my future work... Allow me to gush just for a moment.

Being a Peace Corps Volunteer, at this point in my life, is just the coolest job, ever. Admittedly, I am high off the holiday season and all the great times I have been spending out of site with my American friends. But I am loving being in site too...

We've started a volleyball team that has been playing in front of the school in the evening until the sun goes down. One fonctionnaire, a teacher in village, played volleyball for years up to the national level in BF. The first time he and I got together to hit the ball around, we were both shocked. You can play! And it's the perfect marriage of skills - I'm a setter, he's a hitter. Now we are training other adults in village to play, thus creating a regular group.

I am also spending time almost every day sitting and working in village, with women. In a previous post I mentioned my Koranfe-speaking Fulfulde tutor who has been introducing me to village life. Well, Poitiba and I have stopped language class for the moment (I want to buckle down and study before I go back to vocabulary instruction) but lately I have benefited from her simply as a connection to the villageoise! I'll show up, for example, in the morning to say hi. Then we will gather with other women outside her courtyard to pound millet, corn, and nuts. Every time I join the women, I pound at least a little bit. Sometimes I help clean or prepare beans or other grains and foodstuff. The women don't speak French but Poitiba, as a rare exception, can translate most things if I ask. There are also young, out-of-school girls who haven't yet lost their French. With or without translation though, I am finding that communication is constant. Whether we are silent, gesturing, or speaking in our own mother tongues, at the bottom line, we are sharing physical work. It's just not hard to spend hours on end in the company of these women sharing tasks, food, and work.

I am also loving the challenges. Heck, that's what I came here for! Some of you may have heard me say that following university graduation, I wanted to do something hard. Well, living in Burkina is not that easy but it is also, honestly, not that hard. There are so many diverse (and daily) challenges that you are constantly experiencing both failure and success. I love this dichotomy. I love to succeed. Yet, is there no better motivation than complete non-success? failure? blunder? misadventure? loss? The language issue is a good example. As I struggle to make local language progress, I am succeeding in communicating my intent. Most people I deal with now understand that I want to speak Fulfulde.

I have worked to set my own precedent. And it is a pleasure to demonstrate that all Americans are not the same, and for that matter neither are all "whites". At the beginning, it felt like all my predecessors' friends and acquaintances approached me, visited me, even accosted me with news of and obligations for our "friendship". You will come visit me. You will teach me English. We are friends, I met you once. You will do this for me. I will show you how to properly do that. But you met me - you do not remember my name? You know me and I know you because you waved while you were passing by riding your bike once.

I actually enjoy the process of making my own friends; my own personal connections. Many of those initial people have finally backed off. I am glad for this and grateful to have also met so many enthusiastic and encouraging people so far. I have enjoyed watching the changes in people's behavior - they are no longer greeting Sara when I walk down the road or into the market, they are instead adapting to interacting with me, a different individual. As time goes on, village feels only calmer and more comfortable. So, I am grateful to have done much of the hard work that I have already done.

I will start a girls' sports club in January. Eventually, it will be open to the equivalent of girls in grades 5 and 6. But I will work with the older girls first to train them as leaders for the group.

I am also going to start holding once-a-week English classes for the teachers and a few other fonctionnaires. Fonctionnaires are people who work for the government and are therefore much better educated than the average Joe, or should I say Moussa. We will work on improving conversational skills.

Finally, there is a long way to go to define the new white woman in town, and I am only just starting to tempt my real work... but I actually do love an uphill battle.

'Tis the season :)

21 December 2007

Happy holidays everyone!! I hope you are all doing well and enjoying quality time with family and friends. Here in West Africa, the holiday season has been great!

A few weeks ago I spent a fabulous Thanksgiving weekend with about 20 other volunteers. We gathered at our friends' Jill and Markus' place to feast and party for two days straight. Memorable moments include: Adlai slaughtering a pig, Mac slaughtering a turkey, and David playing guitar next to a raging bonfire Thanksgiving night.*

We prepared salad, falafel, mashed potatoes, chicken, and some kind of apple cobbler dish. The night before the slaughter/ feast Markus made impressive spicy-tuna sushi and we broke out a few cases (really, crates) of Burkina's standard beer. The cheapest brand is called "Brakina" or "Sobbibra"and each bottle is twice the size of a standard American beer.

After spending the day preparing a slow-cook, 18-bean soup for Thanksgiving night, I made the mistake of letting my soup sit unguarded in the kitchen. Someone tasted it and word got around it was good. Eventually, sneaky party-goers (meaning all of them) ate the whole thing that very night! I was ineffective against the crazed masses - I could do nothing to protect my soup!

Halloween was a low key but nonetheless fun experience. I showed up unannounced to Mac's place that night demanding something sweet. Graciously, he gave me precious dried pineapple chunks from America and I told him trick or treat!

Two days ago Burkina Faso shut down in honor of the Muslim holiday Tabaski which happens about 40 days following the end of Ramadan. Unfortunately I was not in village to celebrate with my Burkinabe friends. Instead I came to Ouaga to prepare for my own December holiday, Christmas. Next year I will surely spend Tabaski with my friends and neighbors, though, dressed in traditional Burkinabe clothing, passing out small money to kids for the fete, and eating fresh lamb and goat meat!

Finally, Christmas is just around the corner! We expect this and New Years to be two more fabulous holidays. Every remaining member of my Peace Corps training group, minus three people, are heading to Ghana for about the next 14 days. We rented an entire bus to ourselves which we'll be hopping on for 24 hours to Accra. Amazingly, ten of us will get to spend Christmas together on the beach at the house of one of my best friends from college in the States. Megan McSherry has landed a kick-butt volunteer job for four months on the coast. She's living in Ghana and tracking gigantic sea turtles at the mouth of the Upper Volta River for 4 months!

Finally, at this point I am the only person with even some Jewish blood among my Peace Corps friends. Therefore, there has been little talk of Hannukah. Many Burkinabe have never heard of Judaism. I did receive one cute email from my little brother. Thanks, Michael! And Happy Hannukah, Sobiloffs!


*All captured on video and available upon request.

Update - 28 November 2007

I just made FIVE new posts (not including this one). Kindly, see below. I apologize for the delay!

Two more are coming soon from November 8 and November 12. If I get the chance I will put them up tomorrow.

My apologies that I do not have the energy to write up a general update here and now. But suffice it to say - all is well! And, thank you so much for being such supportive family, friends, and readers!

Much love,
Christina

An Uphill Battle

27 November 2007

It has taken me a full two months to get the word out to my defiant villagers: I AM LEARNING FULFULDE. Allow me to backtrack a little and explain.

If you have been following my blog, you may have noted that once I arrived in country I began learning Fulfulde: the language spoken by the nomadic Peuhl (Fr.) or Fulani (En.) people throughout the North of Burkina Faso. Well, despite the fact that I live in an almost entirely Peuhl region of the country (including Djibo), the people of my village, Béléhédé, are almost entirely Fulsi or Koromba. They speak Koronfe.

Honestly, this situation was extremely discouraging at first. I consulted with several people including Béléhédé's former volunteer (Sara), my school director, and Peace Corps. The consensus was that it was best to learn Fulfulde because, no matter what, all people in this region can speak that language. When I first got to village I was content to catch up with my solitude, read, clean, organize, cook, and settle in. But once I started leaving my house I realized that everyone seemed to believe that they obviously knew me, that we were already buddies, and that I would invariably greet them in their local language as if we were just old friends.

They expected of me what they perceived of Sara. Well, by the beginning of October, every time I left the house I went emotionally armed to battle one more day of my private war.

I would address a passer-by in Fulfulde. Or if I knew they spoke it well enough, French. Honestly, every single person would answer in Koranfe. I don't speak Koranfe. I am learning Fulfulde (said in French). Mi jangan Fulfulde (in Fulfulde). Every day someone would tell me I NEED to speak Koranfe; I MUST speak Koranfe; SARA spoke KORANFE; Sara spoke it REALLY well. I tried different tactics over time:

Strategy #1: Go with your gut.
Plan to face it another day. I took a leave of absence from learning and/or practicing any language that wasn't English. During this time I got by on my French and limited local language skills. I was gathering my strength and firming up my resolve.
Strategy #2: Get into it.
I started telling people what my deal was - I am learning Fulfulde, not Koranfe. On the one hand, I know laid useful groundwork for life in village by highlighting one major difference between myself and the former volunteer. This strategy was upfront and honest. I am strong, right? Good for me telling it like it is! Well, Strategy #2 also SUCKED. Every time I left my house I was getting into another fight. Big surprise - people don't like it when you tell them you are not interested in their language. Sigh.
Strategy #3: Defiance!
Oh my, I was very frustrated, things only seemed to be getting worse on the local language front. Not only was I fighting the not-good fight every day but I wasn't making ANY progress at all in local Fulfulde because at the end of the day I was emotionally exhausted. I ignored the people who relentlessly addressed me in Koranfe even when they looked me in the face. I felt - you KNOW I don't know what you are saying. I answered everyone in the little Fulfulde I could still muster.
Strategy #4: Acceptance
Finally, I think this is where I am at. But it is possible for me to be here because it seems to be where the villagers are "at" as well. We've reached a middle ground. I have relaxed and let my guard down. I am going with the flow and avoiding the trap of justifying myself to any and every person who passes me on the road. I've got a good two or three phrases down in Koranfe and everything else can at the least be muddled through with polite gestures and some French. I have a language tutor who is actually Fulsi (Koranfe-speaking) but is graciously instructing me in Fulfulde. She is also helping me integrate into the village. I finally have buy-in and acceptance from a few, kind, village friends.

So, the lesson is...

What is the lesson? Should I have had acceptance from the get go? Should one always just go with the flow? Actually, I don't think so. My first few months in village have been great but really frustrating at times too. Sometimes, I utterly did not want to leave my house. But I don't think I would change a thing. This is better than just getting what I wanted - I think I can see the top of the first hill.

Back to School

10 November 2007

For the past month or so, I have observed classes at the village school. There are 440 children in 6 grades with 6 teachers and 6 classrooms. The teachers are 3 men (including the director) and 3 women. The school was built by an NGO a few years ago and is therefore relatively new and very nice. The teachers instruct on all subjects, including phys ed, and classes run from 7:30 or 8:00 in the morning to 5:00 at night with a break in the morning and a three hour break for lunch.

Nonetheless, this elementary school system is very different from anything I have known. The largest class, let's call them fourth graders, numbers at almost 100 students in one packed classroom. The smallest class, only two years ahead of this one, has dwindled to 17 students. This reflects the fact that elementary students often repeat grades and drop out. In my sixth grade there are 6 girls and 11 boys.

It is even harder for these kids to move on to junior high than it is for them to reach sixth grade. In order to attend junior high, children must first pass an end-of-the-year exam. If they do not pass, they repeat sixth grade or drop out. If the child passes the exam, the father must find housing for the upcoming school year. The closest junior highs and high schools are 40 and 50 kilometers away. For fear of bad behavior among other things, it is unlikely for a village father to send his child, especially his daughter, on for more school.

When students read aloud in class, they identically sound as if they are chanting or singing. It makes me wonder if that's not how they learned to pray. The kids are not quick. They have trouble making simple connections. In the fifth grade class, for example, the students were doing a fill-in-the-blank exercise with only four blanks and four choices. But many students missed the objective; some students used the words from the instructions, like fill-in while others did not fill in anything at all.

When the teacher or any adult walks into the room, the kids all stand. When a teacher walks by them outside of class, they bow with their arms crossed and their arms their elbows bent out - think cross between pre-teen angst and I Dream of Genie. Bonjour, madame is barely audible. In fact, often the bonjours can't be heard at all as students mumble and hussle to bow inconspicuously behind teachers' backs.

To speak in the classrooms the kids raise their hands, snap, and cry moi, Monsieur, moi! When they speak they stand up but often double over their desks and sometimes wrap their arm(s) around their head and neck while squirming and mumbling. Girls are painfully shy and often silent in the classroom setting. Corporal punishment is illegal but the not-so-tacit understanding is that it happens everywhere, anyway. If you don't hit the kids, they will never listen and never pay you respect.

School was suppose to start on October 1st, nationwide. In major cities , it certainly did. In my village, the start date may as well have been in November. The first day that more than 10 kids arrived on the premises was October 22nd and the teachers probably started new lessons in earnest around November 1st. Children were too busy, prior, helping their families with the harvest. At this time of year, working hands are indispensable. Plus, there were weeds four feet high covering all the space in front of the school. Classes could not start until the children cleared this space. Otherwise, they would be in danger of bites from snakes.

Just Try to Blend In...

19 October 2007

This village has about 3000 residents and draws a crowd of probably 2000 people on the big 21-day marché*. On October 15, I realized that I was literally the only white person in a 2000-person market. Not only was I the only white person in Béléhédé's market that day, but also the only non-African. This market is a completely local phenomenon; there would be no reason for anyone to come if they didn't live within 50kilometers. When I thought it out, I realized I could say with almost complete certainty that I was the only non-black, non-West African person within at least a 22K radius, and excepting my friend David in Tongomayel, make that 40K. Within 22K I would also be by far the most educated; probably the only person to have ever been in a plane; certainly the only person never to have experienced extreme poverty within my extended family; probably the only one to have ever been to a movie theater or an amusement park; and certainly the only individual with a gmail address.

Just some perspective.


*Béléhédé, my village, has a market every three days and each Monday. When these two markets collide every 21 days, there is a BIG market - le vingt-et-un marché.

Tuesday Morning

17 October 2007

I went for a run yesterday around 9am. It was a real treat to be listening to a great song on my ipod which is filled with a random sampling of my brother's music. I only get a chance to charge the device every two weeks on average, so far, so when I heard to kids calling behind me, I ignored them. Well they were still there when I looked back a minute later and even after greeting them, they carried on behind me.

My plan was to run a little more than 2K to the hill with intermittent phone service. If I was lucky, I'd be able to check my text messages. When I got to the top of hill, I turned off my headset and looked back. Two kids were climbing up right behind me. After another minute or two I had six panting, 8-11 year-old girls (my neighbors) next to me while I turned on my phone.

Of course I couldn't get service. I held my arm up high and stood on my toes. I walked to the left, the girls walked to the left. I walked to backwards, forwards, and to the right; they followed back, forth, to the right.

So much for my plan. But since I had gathered a following, I figured I'd give the girls their money's worth. I let them off to get a drink of water*, lined them up double arms distance, and gave them a quick introduction to boxing.

Then I told the girls I would be going home so they picked up their flip flops and we ran back to village together. We were all keeping a similar, modest pace - me in my running sneakers and the girls on their bare-foot, 10 year-old feet.


*Actually it was stagnant, dirty water collected in a small pool on the rock hill but I know I couldn't stop villagers from drinking this even if I tried. Plus, considering the fact that these kids would be running behind me no matter what, I preferred that they hydrate.

A Vampire? Maybe?

5 October, 2007

Last night I had an unwelcome visitor.

First I heard a nearby flapping sound which woke me up. In gauging nighttime terrors and threats I think in terms of the worst possible thing. So I thought, at least this sounds bigger than a cockroach... Second, I simultaneously grab my glasses (to the left) and my flashlight/ weapon (to the right). Third, I wield my light and assess the situation. Ah ha! I was right, it is not a cockroach! But... Oh-My-God... it is flying, bigger than my hand, and INSIDE my mosquito net! I dive out of bed to the right breaking the seal of the tucked-in net and run screaming and slapping myself into the living room.

It was a bat.

I examined the net for holes or entry points. That night I found nothing out-of-the ordinary, no rips or tears, and decided to leave the bat trapped. I'll ask someone for help in the morning. So I pitched my tent and slept under the stars. When I woke up at 5:30 (as usual) the bat was gone, there were no holes in my net, and my creepy bed-mate had left no trace.

What do you think, should I start sleeping with a wooden stake?

I Have Arrived

Finally, finally I had that moment. The other day I finally felt it - I have arrived.

Funny, I had been in Burkina for over three months. I had watched my friends experience moments of their own. I had heard countless versions of this in Africa, this is crazy, what am I doing?, where are we? Many of my friends had already reported profound moments when they were looking at the stars the fileds, the markets, the animals, and suddenly thought, felt, realized - I am here.

So, here is mine. Simple.

I was on typical, terrible Burkina transport. We had gotten to the station before 1pm to catch the camion (truck) leaving at 2. It left around 3:30. I bought our tickets by crawling under the vehicle itself (seriously) where the guy running the service was escaping the midday sun with friends. We waited at first in the middle of the road (no seats and/or standing room at the "station" which is in reality the smack-dab-middle of the market on market day). The once-a-week market in Djibo draws villagers and visitors from the region within 100K of radius of the city. The truck is being loaded to the brim and over for 3 or 4 hours with sacks of rice, flour, corn, and millet; and also mattresses, bags, buckets, bikes, sifters, and fish. And oh yea, on top, people.

So ultimately, maybe five people wind up sitting in the cab of the truck. Everyone else - which could be 30, 40, 50 people - litterally climbs up the side of the truck* and sits on the stuff. The truck is probably 10 feet deep. I climbed the truck by putting my first foot on on the wheel, my second foot on the lower ridge between the cab and the cargo. Then I took a third step somewhere higher and finished with a graceful (ha!) shimmy/hoist.

When we leave there isn't even enough room for someone to WALK down the middle of the market-on-market-day-street. Somehow people just move or something as the 8 or 12-wheel truck starts to go. We stop at the outskirt of the city two minutes later. We pick up more stuff and passengers as women float around the perimeter of the truck with platters or fried dough, fried fish, nuts, cold drinks, and gateux balanced expertly on their heads. If you want to buy something, you snap or hiss, you drop money down, they toss your food up, and you hope for the best!

We get five minutes out of the city and we know it is going to rain. They stop the truck. The guys break out a tarp and start trying to get it up above us. They are rubbing the smelly, filthy heavy truck-tarp over mine and my friend's heads etc. I am sitting alternatively on a mattress, a stack of buckets, my vegetable-filled backpack, the bar on the top of truck, or a rice sack filled with pointy, uncomfortable who-knows-what.

They tell us to move. We have no where to go. The filthy tarp once again gets rubbed all over my head and eventually strapped down next to me. I am essentially spearing my section up to create breathing room with a crooked neck and stubborn head.

Its raining. We wait. It slows up. We start moving again. We cross a 100 meter section of the road completely submerged in at least a foot of water.** We get a flat tire. Its dark and I can't see or breathe under this tarp. I can only smell - fish, flour, rice, exhaust, human bodies - and hear - Fulfulde, Moore, Koranfe, maybe Dogon, and French. Thankfully they need to move the tarp to get to the tire changing equipment as well as the spare tire. In fact the spare tire is underneath all 10 feet of the piled-up stuff right in the middle of truck. An hour or so later, they fix the flat. Thankfully it has stopped raining and the have also removed the tarp.

We're on the road again for another 20K. It has gotten dark. Then we are stopped by the armed police. The officer mounts the truck with his rifle slung to his back and proceeds to check every single passenger's identification card except us. He chastises the guys running the truck about putting their foreigners on the back of the truck with everyone else. What does that say about Burkina? This is how you represent our country and treat our guests? He tells them that next time we should be put in the cab of the truck.

So I got home 40K later, at 8:00pm, in the dark. But as far as I'm concerned here is the point:
To get what I "need", I've got to make this same trip every week. Sure I can bike the 40K in the morning or the day before. But if I am transporting anything large I'll have to jump on this since it is the only way to travel to my village on a Wednesday and Wednesday is the BEST day for transport during the week. (Wow, right?) But forget about me - I got bumped, rained on, smothered, stabbed in the butt (by metal on a bucket), chastised by the armed police, and thrown fried dough (the good thing!) - but the Burkinabe vendors living in village really MUST make this trip every week. And they really MUST deal with this stuff in the same way that you/me/we take the orange line subway in DC, Paris, or New York. Or hop in our cars to go to the supermarket or bagel store in New Jersey.

So, long story short, this trip struck me. Then I did it again the next week. And it wasn't even a bush taxi.

Post Script: I found out one week later that my friend and fellow traveller this day, Mac, did NOT arrive in his village 50K away that night. The truck got another flat tire, he spent the night practically sleeping in a Burkinabe man's lap, and arrived at 3:00PM the next day. Here's a link to his blog.


*We did not use a ladder although sometimes there is one attached to the truck.
**We have discovered that in Burkina they do not build bridges. Honestly. Where there is a lake or barrage they rather lay concrete down at a lower level than the water so it flows constantly over it. I don't know what to call these structures. How about reverse bridges since they go down instead of up?

A Long Expected Party

I am now a volunteer!!! HOORAY!

Things have been going great, but let me get down to business first. Updated information follows:

We swore in on August 24th. It was awesome, a beautiful ceremony with great speakers and entertainment. Five trainee-turning-volunteers gave speeches in local languages and that was really great. There was a traditional band/ dance group which played/ danced as we arrived, in the middle of the ceremony, and when we ate. Everyone got traditional Burkinabe outfits tailor made for the occasion. I wore a green and blue top and long skirt. The ceremony was in Ouahigouya and we traveled directly from it to Ouagadougou, the capital. Our time in Ouaga was great - we celebrated our new status as volunteers and enjoyed some last moments together for potentially a long time.

I have not had access to the internet since the second to last week in August. There is no cell phone service in my site. To check my text messages on my phone I have to walk or bike 2K to climb a hill which might or might not work. So far, two out of four or five trips to the hill worked. If I want to make an outgoing call. I can use a telecenter (landline) phone right next to my house. My regional capital is a great city 40K away, Djibo, which I have biked to twice. I am hoping to do this once every week around market day (Wednesday). Unfortunately there is virtually NO internet access. Although there is an alleged cyber-cafe, I have not seen it open and functioning yet. This means updates on the blog will be far-between.

Today I am in Ouagadougou, the capitol, which I will visit from time to time. I am here on Peace Corps business because I was elected as a new volunteer representative to the administration. I had remarkable timing getting this job since Ron Tschetter, the Director of Peace Corps, visited Burkina this week! Apparently it is the first time a Peace Corps Director has visited the country in longer than any of our administration can remember. Yesterday afternoon we met and had lunch with the Director and last night we attended an cocktail hour at the US Ambassador's house! Glamour stops here and will not appear again on this blog for the next two years.

My house is great, big, and private but I had a LOT of cleaning to do and am still working out how I am going to battle the constant termites, mosquitoes, crickets, and roaches that plague mine (and I think most) volunteer sites. I have no electricity or running water, obviously. My house, though, is much different than my previous hut. I have a tin roof, supported by rotting wood beems. There are three rooms: kitchen, bedroom, and living room which is twice the size of the two former. I have a large courtyard with a metal door. I also have a hangar under which I will sit and entertain outside. The house has large cracks in most of the walls and needs a lot of work. Nonetheless, this living sitution is a HUGE step up from my previous, straw and mud hut. There is actually cement in sight. lol.

Otherwise, my moral has been very good! Happily I have great PC neighbors near and within the region of my site. When I was just starting to stay inside a little too much, my 50K away friend Mac suprised me and showed up at my site! Its great having guests with whom you can explore the village, chat, doo crossword puzzles, decompress, and cook. I am discovering that most people in my village speak Koranfe, a completely new local language. However, I will continue to study Fulfulde as it is the most prevalent language in the region. Also the former volunteer at my site recommened I study that because "everyone understands Fulfulde". Still, I am already getting significant pressure from villagers who speak to me in Koranfe even when they can also communicate in Fulfulde or French. The former volunteer learned this language and it appears that I will continue to be reminded of that fact for a while.

The one very sad bit of news is that two more awesome, awesome GEE volunteers left Burkina and decided to go home. Beth and Katherine, I know you did what is best for you but we miss you! Hugs and kisses and good luck. We were 29, now we are 22. GEE was 12/29, now we are 7/22.

Well, that seems like a decent amount of information for now. My next post will be a story about transport in Burkina, which I am discovering to be a crazy crapshoot absolutely no matter what. Thank you for reading my blog and contributing such awesome and encouraging posts. I miss you guys and send my love.

Christina

A baby is born

Six days ago - that is last Friday - my Burkinabé sister gave birth. Chez les Peulhs*, babies are named seven days later at their Muslim baptism. It is the father who chooses, naturally, and he does not generally consult his wife(s), as far as I can tell. Sometimes, though, the father discusses potential names with his male friends.

So, the new dad here is my host brother and you won't even believe it - he said that the name is up to me. "Adjara, it is you who will name the baby. Not me." Are you serious? Well I need a few days to think about it! I don't know Muslim names... "You will choose an American name! Take the name of one of your closest friends."

Anyway, I consulted the mother and ran a few names by her to see what she could pronounce. Long story short, I just named my first baby about three days ago and it's official by, like, the end of tonight. Welcome to the world, Megan Tall.


*Peulh is the French word and Fulani is the English one for the ethnic group that speaks Fulfuldé.

Bonsoir!

It is 2:00 pm in Burkina and people are already saying bonsoir. Although this literally translates to good evening, people start replacing bonjour (good day) around the end of lunch. Despite the sun, by 3:00 pm, it is definitively le soir.

And now some news...

I am STILL a TRAINEE and NOT a volunteer. Ug. Swear-in is set for the 24th and at this point we are counting down the days. On the one hand we have been really lucky to have had a great group of trainers and lots of really useful/ interesting theoretical and practical sessions. On the other hand, sometimes I feel like I am in junior high since our schedule is packed and we are constantly told what to do.

On a positive note about training though, we had a great practical exercise this past Thursday. All GEE* trainees facilitated one half- hour session each at "Model School". C'est à dire: two trainees were assigned to each class and while one taught, the other observed. I was the one trainee who got paired with a current volunteer and we did not prepare our sessions collaboratively before hand. I had no clue what type of Life Skill** she would discuss.

Naturally, I prepared an un-hot topic. This would be my first class - I certainly wasn't going to talk about AIDS! I prepared a simple metaphor and a dicussion about decision-making. Well, when we got to Model School the classroom was packed and the students were huge. As it turned out, we had a class of 100 16-20 year olds and current volunteer Sara was scheduled to go first.

I sat down in the back of the room to observe the session and wouldn't you guess, Sara led an 35- minute brainstorming session on how to turn down sex. What should you say if your boyfriend/ girlfriend says, 'If you love me you'll have sex with me'? Now break up into groups and come up with responses. So, much to my dismay this first session was anwhere from rowdy to border-line hysterical, controversial, and clearly hot. I sat tapping my nervous foot and gearing up from the corner of the room - it would be hard to imagine a more intimidating start.

But the sesssion went great. I introduced myself and took a moment to let the kids notice that I was coming at this from a different direction. I explained that we would move on from the discussion about relationships to one on decision-making and why we behave the way that we do. I told them to imagine this sitution: it is hot. (Not hard for Burkinabé students to imagine.) It is really hot and you are in front of a pool -- or better yet a lake. There is no shade and this lake is the only way for you to cool off so you decide to go in. Then I had the students choose one corner of the room (and had them all move). One corner was for the jumpers - those who decide to jump right in the lake, one for waders - those who get in the water petit à petit, one for the testers - those who dip a toe or finger in before deciding, and the last corner for the delayers - those who would wait on the side and observe first what all the others would do.

After everyone settled in the discussion went great. At first I had one student from each group explain her/his choice. Then I asked if they would always be in the same group no matter what the decision. Do you always make choices the same way? They seemed to think that they would stay in their groups. Then I gave this example to the jumpers: if your father introduced you to someone, would you right away become their friend? The jumpers decided that they would not jump into this situtation -- that they couldn't fully trust this instant friend. Then I gave this example to the delayers: if your teacher asked the question, 'what color is this ruler'? (I held up a yellow ruler.) Would you wait to see what your classmates would do or would you go ahead and answer the easy question?

So in the end we had a great (albeit brief) discussion about the way we make the choices that we do. The students made the connection that we make simple choices easily and difficult choices with much more thought. They decided that a decision merits time when it could affect one's future. So I brought the discussion back to sex and we came full circle after my not-hot examples. Consequences of teenage sex include: unwanted pregnancy and dropping out of school, getting STDs, and especially getting AIDS - basically jumping into lake water that might destroy the future for you. Whew. It is hot in here?


*Girls' Education and Empowerment
**Life Skills is the broad category in which all our topics fit. We have a manuel (actual two) on how to facilitate Life Skills sessions where you discuss communication skills, peer pressure, health, self-esteem, etc.

The Current Situation

Hello all. I do wish I had access to the internet more often. It is frustrating to be so busy all the time (and/or sick) that you can not communicate with your friends and family when you really, really want to. Once I begin my service in Béléhédé (yes, that is my site!!!), I should have a lot more free time than during this grueling training period.

Well... don't get too excited yet. Indeed I will have lots of "unstructured" time, especially during my first three months. But I will also be 40 kilometers away from a bad internet connection that supposedly costs so much that it's "not even worth it". I do have a cell phone! For those who are interested, you can buy a reasonably priced phone card and call me sometime!* But still don't get excited yet. There is no cell phone service in beautiful Béléhédé so I'll be biking, running, or walking to the top of a hill 2 kilometers away to receive or make any phone calls. But I can receive texts! (on the hill...)

Now with eight (ooh just added another fifteen) minutes left on my internet connection before another training session - sigh - I will just highlight a few notable moments:

I have been sick for the past three weeks. Actually I have felt good for four days in a row now (so exactly three weeks from this past Friday) and all I can say is UGH. I'll spare you the details which are exhausting just to think about. But I will say - it started with a four day unidentified fever of like 102F (yes I was still attending classes and training sessions) and it ended with the death of an amoeba by the marvel of modern medicine!

We lost another two GREAT trainees who decided to go home. Jaime and Chris were one of our two married couples and I am really going to miss them. Now we are 24. Every time someone else leaves it gets harder to say goodbye.

Nonetheless, as a group we have pretty good morale and relatively positive attitudes. At this point, everyone is ready and waiting to finish up training and move to their sites. Over the past two weeks we all had the opportunity to visit our sites (or at least our regions) and meet our Burkinabé counterparts.

My site is in the north, in the Soum province which is part of the Sahel region. (Remember - where desert meets savannah?) Well now I have two minutes left and that is just not enough so I'll put this off until next time. Suffice it to say that I will have access to vegetables most of the year round and there is a lake. what!?


*If you are so inclined/awesome and would like to give me a ring, shoot an email and I'll send you my digits. Also, Mom has the number.

When The Rain Comes II

The second* time it stormed I had visitors. Two of my secondary education friends who live in the city decided to try out a night of village life. The other trainees in my village (three at the time) also had visitors so we gathered in a group of about 10 at a my friend Yaneth's house.

The Burkinabé had known that it would rain. We promised that we would get back in time. Yaneth's home is technically next to mine and in the daylight you can theoretically see it across the peanut/millet/corn fields. Anyway, I had a general idea of where it was when I took my two buddies tramping off into the darkness and we got there just fine.

Yaneth's extended Burkinabé family gave us a very warm welcome. They set up mats for us to sit on and more mats so they could sit next to us. Eventually the two groups chatted separately in their respective languages as everyone enjoyed the fine night.

After only a half hour my friends noticed that the children (girls) behind us were calling me.** They were telling me that "the rain had come". Well, clearly it hadn't since I was still DRY. So I acknowledged the girls and kept on chatting.

A few minutes later they were calling me again, "Adjara, regards la pluie est venue". I looked where they were pointing and could not see a darn thing. Throughout the evening we had been watching the other part of the sky light up in silent flashes. It appeared to us that nothing had changed.

Finally, the young girls insisted that we go home. "Faut partir, maintenant. La pluie est venue." We said our goodbyes and began walking off into the dark. Thankfully both of my friends brought flashlights but we could still only see a few feet ahead. After a few minutes they noticed someone calling me. Why is it that everyone else notices when someone is talking to me? "Adjara, à droite!" They were telling us to go right. So, we started to veer a little bit more to the right.

"A droite, Adjara, à droite!!" So we veered a little more. Eventually the girls must have been a football field away monitoring our two dinky headlamps bob off into the wrong direction in the night... "A DROITE, ADJARA! FAUT ALLER A DROITE!" OK! We finally turned right.

Ten or fifteen minutes after leaving Yaneth's we arrived home and entered my hut. We dropped our things, thanked goodness and started to laugh. Of course, right then, it began to rain.


*Could have been the second time... but also could have been the third or fourth?
**Just a note: they were only a few feet behind us but Burkinabé girls (and children in general) tend to speak softly. Sometimes it takes a moment to notice when they are talking to you.

When The Rain Comes

Since I have been in Burkina, we have had say, somewhere between 3-6 storms. It is the rainy season now when many Burkinabé depend on the sky to open up and allow them to cultivate their fields.

The first storm was at night. I was sleeping* in my round, thatched-roof hut during one of our first nights in village. I was woken up by the wind slamming my tin door at against the frame repeatedly. The first time I think I screamed... after I shut and locked the door a voice cried through the one of my two windows - faut-pas avoir peur! or don't be afraid.

The next thing that happened was probably that I started to cough. There was dust everywhere! Was this a sandstorm? Do I live in the dessert? Instinctively I wrapped one of my two bed sheets around my head like a head scarf. I left my eyes exposed so I could try to see something (ha). Another voice screamed through the other one of my two windows - faut fermer la porte! or shut the door. (Didn't I already do this?)

The other sounds that followed were the usual (though not yet usual to me at the time) -- goats, donkeys, cows, bulls, chickens, guinea fowls, and cocks. The next thing to come was, of course, the rain. Well this was the best sound of all. I discovered that when it rains outside, it also rains inside a little bit too. It was raining on my bed. I scrunched over. People were outside maybe running around? Or just talking? Or maybe passing from here to there -- there is a lot to do when it rains.

This particular storm didn't last very long. When it was over there were voices at the door of my hut, people were calling my name... I opened the door and used my flashlight.** Well the family came pouring in, within minutes I had 15 people in my hut fawning all over me laughing and discussing the storm. There was an inch of dust on everything.


*At least I think I was sleeping. Am I ever sleeping here?
**I think I remember using my flashlight but if it was as early as my second night in village, I did not yet have a working flashlight to complement my kerosene lamp.

Jusqu'ici, tout va bien...

Oh, where should I begin following my last post? That was now a full x days ago.

Everything is still going very well. Since I last described my life in village I have done the following things:

• Attended my first marriage - the second night of a three-day a Muslim ceremony outside the husband's family's concession in the pitch-black Burkinabé bush.
• Played my first "football" match with other Peace Corps trainees against a team of Burkinabé girls - neither group was empowered since it ended in a 0-0 tie. I played D.
• Participated in two panel discussions Burkuinabé girls - Girls' Education/Empowerment trainees met with middle/high school girls to discuss their experiences in local schools.
• Met with two different parents' groups similar to American PTAs - the AME is a mother's association and the APE is for parents in general. At our second meeting with the AME, my friend Yaneth and I learned about women's daily tasks (before sunrise to after sunset).
• Discovered my first village night club in the bush - it was dark, the music was all African, and there was a donkey on the dance floor.
• Eaten dinner with only my right hand - this is how the Burkinabé do it; they do not use utensils or their traditionally (and realistically) dirty left hands.
• Swept my hut completely on my own once and observed my host sister Kadidia do my laundry twice - this weekend I will take my first crack at the multi-step process...
• Demonstrated how to modestly climb a tree in a skirt - this was an exercise in facilitation and just one example of creative group work. Peace Corps has us constantly getting up in front of the group trying new things, speaking in public, and sometimes inviting us to embarrass ourselves. (Just kidding, sort of.)

I have also shopped at the local marché, enjoyed eating many local specialties, talked with Burkinabé in Mooré, Fulfuldé, and of course French, and finally I have already seen three friends decide to go home. We started as a group of 29 and have whittled down to a current 26. So, it has been up and down already after three weeks but I really look forward to being assigned a site and visiting it for the first time in about 2 or 3 weeks.

For my next post, I'll try to tell a story and hope to make things a little more interesting. At the moment I have not properly slept in days (and even weeks) and I am actually completely spent. Happy to post information for you though... thanks for reading!

à plus tard, mes amis, et grosses bisous!

I had a nice long chat with Christina

Hello all,

I heard from Christina yesterday by way of a phone building that is barely more than a booth. She rode her bike to this site, which is just outside Ouahigouya. She pays via a meter for her time, and then I call her back. We had a nice long talk and it was wonderful.
She is well--in fact, very healthy so far. As many of half of the volunteers have gotten sick already. I’ve given her probiotics to keep her immune system strong. And of course, she takes malaria pills every week.
I was standing the the sunny, 85 degree heat today thinking of her as she slogs her way through 105+ temperatures with humidity. “You want to die in the middle of the day,” she says.
The night before, there were storm rumblings in the sky because the rainy season is almost upon them. The farm animals were running around screaming all night, so she got little sleep and then rose at first light at 5:30 am, when their day begins. I’m imagining Chicken Little with “The sky is falling” hysterics!
Christina says the animals are everywhere: in the huts, in the latrine, in the shower, in the common open areas with thatched roofed coverings. In the mornings she goes and says good morning to her host family parents and there are always ten or more animals around them. At night she wishes them a good evening.
When the Burkinabé greet each other, it is never with a simple hello. You commonly ask about each other’s health, sleep, family and more. You can exchange greetings with each person for as long as 15 minutes. Just as well--Christina says you break into a sweat just by moving!
Her family’s father, “Baba”, gave her a gift of a small goat. One of her “sisters” said that this makes her an offical sister of the family.
When she and others met the chief of about 40 villages, they brought him a chicken. They also met the Iman, or religious leader.
For breakfast everyday there is coffee and bread . But for Christina, one of the brothers makes her three eggs. For lunch and dinner there is always a staple such as rice, potatoes, yams, or millet. Sometimes the staple is spaghetti with elbow macaroni! In addition there is always some kind of sauce such as peanut or cabbage and tomato with a little meat. Another common dish consists of peas with a sauce. Some sauces are spicy. The most common dish, sometimes eaten for all meals is “to” (spelling? pronounced with a long o). This is a pasty dough made of millet and eaten with the fingers.
Christina is living with Peul people who are herders and who speak Fulfude. She is learning ther language aw well as the language of the Mooré people who are crop farmers. Mooré is the first language that she is expected to learn in this country of 50 languages!
For these three months of training, there are four Peace Corps volunteers in her village. They get their training in the village and in the city. Next week, for example, a vehicle will drive them into the city for one day and they will bike it back. The rest of the week will be spent in the village. Other weeks, there may be more days in the city with some overnight stays.
Some of you have asked what you can send her. For the first three months, just things that will get used up, and the lighter the better. She would love packets of Gatorade powder or the like, to flavor the gallons of filtered and purified water she consumes to stay hydrated. Small boxes of matches from your favorite retaurants would also be helpful. She needs them herself for her kerosene lantern and the local people love to receive unusual and interesting boxes of matches. So you can make many people happy with these smallest of items. Cliff Bars and Power Bars or the like would also be appreciated.
I just sent four lbs of goods air mail and it cost me about $40. So that’s about $10 per pound. She will also have to pay at her end.
Her address is:

Christina Sobiloff, PCT
S/C Corps de la Paix
01 B.P. 6031
Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso
Africa
Despite the challenges, Christina is very happy. She really likes the other volunteers and the Burkinabé. The kids are cute, the food is great and healthy, the training is intensive and she is relishing the experience. And your good vibes are the wind beneath her wings!

Love,
Imelda

My Living Conditions in Village

Following an email I just received from Dad, I will explain my current living conditions. These are mostly answers to his questions.

Despite the fact that my host family village is only a few kilometers from the city, I would still describe my home as completely remote. As you bike on the main (paved) road through the city center, the city eventually stops and the bush begins. When I write bush that means dusty, expansive, chalky-red, wide-open, African space. There are some trees, very few small hills, scattered bushes, scattered people, and lots of dust. After traveling for about 20 minutes on this road (it's biking, remember) you eventually turn left. Literally, you just turn off into the bush and off-road into the dust for another fifteen minutes.

Once you reach the beginning on my town there is a sign (which serves no purpose at this point) and two or three clusters of huts/ courtyards/ families. The chief lives there, the first volunteer lives immediately to the left, the next two volunteers live off a little ways to the right relatively near each other, and I (the last volunteer) live another ten-minute, windy, bike ride into the bush. So far, I have had an escort... lol!

I have my own hut with a thatched roof. I do not have electricity and for the first two nights I could not get either of my flashlights to work. The headlamp wouldn't open and the maglight was actually in my other bag stored at the training sight. (Haha.. sorry, Mom!) Last night a friend lent me his flashlight but it hasn't been a big deal because I have a kerosene lamp (provided by the Burkinabé). I also have two small windows, trash bags lining the thatching of the roof inside (to prevent water from dripping), a bed with posts to hang my mosquito net, a wood shelf-thing on the floor to put stuff on, and a tin trunk to lock things in if I so choose to. I have a front door and screen door which both lock and the front, tin door has a key.

I do not have plumbing or running water. But I do have my own bucket-bath space (open-air but enclosed) and my own latrine (also open-air but enclosed obviously). These are directly next to my hut. I will try to get pictures up at some point. At least almost wherever I am, I can see the sky and the stars!!

The family is great, the food is great also - although they serve me way too much. I do not finish it and then they give it to other people in the family.

The people are Peul (or Fulani) and speak Fulfuldé. Three people in my family speak French and I am slowly trying to learn their language. Following this particular homestay, I will most likely be assigned to serve in the North. That would mean I would serve in the Sahel -- this is where the desert meets the savannah in this part of Africa.

With nine minutes left on my internet connection... thank you for reading my post!

I Have A Name

Thank you, Mom! And hello, everyone else!

I am indeed thriving here in incredulously HOT Burkina Faso. But instead of describe everything that has happened so far in one go, let me tell you the story of last night with last 19 minutes left on my internet connection:

Yesterday evening I moved in with a host family that will house me for the next three months. They live in a village several kilometers outside the city in which I am training. They are an ethnic group (Peul or Fulani) which speaks Fulfuldé, therefore I am on my third language of my sejour in this country -- first French, then Mooré, and now Fulfuldé, although I will continue to work on all three.

When we arrived in village the community held an adoption ceremony with lots of spectators, seats for the honored guests (us), and a respectable lawn-chair-thrown for the village chief. Our representative gave a few words, the chief welcomed us and spoke a bit (FYI this all happened entirely in Mooré), then each trainee was called up to meet their family. The first trainee was called, her family name was called -- she stood up, the patriarch stood up, they shook hands and sat down together. The second trainee was called -- he stood up, the patriarch stood up, they shook hands and sat down together. The third trainee was called -- she stood up, the patriarch stood up, they shook hands and sat down together. Then I (the last trainee) was called, my family was called, I stood up and fifteen people jumped up to surround me (someone was videotaping I think so there should be proof) and I shook the hand of 14 giggling women and children as well as the patriarch's hand.

After some laughs and commotion, my Peace Corps representative asked me my name. I said "Christina"; He said "No, they have given you a name - your name from now on is "Adjara".

Adjara -- Fulfuldé for "one who is loved".

Imelda's Viewpoint

Hi everyone,

So far, I've received two 15 second phone calls from our intrepid adventurer. The first: to let me know she had arrived safely in Africa. The second: to say she had left the main city of Ouagadougou and would soon be joining the family that will host her during her three months of training. Christina says she loves everything--the people, the training, the overall experience. She's speaking french and is learning a local language. She misses us but it sounds like she's thriving. So we're resting a little easier. More to come . . .

Imelda

Welcome to my Peace Corps Blog!

Friends, family, colleagues - thank you for visiting my new blog!

I am hoping for the best -- that this becomes a place where I will share meaningful stories, insights, and information about my Peace Corps service and life in Burkina Faso. I am also hoping that it will encourage and enable you to engage me, my family, and others in a vibrant conversation about international development.

With my (dear) mother's help, I hope to post periodic updates. Where I am living, (map above!) there will likely be no electricity nearby so I plan to make some sort of regular pilgrimage to the internet. In the best case scenario, it will be close enough for me to bike. Otherwise, I ask my mom to take the lead updating this blog following our conversations on the phone. I know that if I do not at least call my parents periodically, they will kill me (with the power of guilt-trips!)

So, I will try to keep this current, interesting, and fun. I invite you to post comments. (That would be great!) But please email me at my gmail address if you would like to say something personal. ; ) You can also email me at csobiloff@hotmail.com.

Welcome & bienvenue... Burkina here I come!

Christina