Trick-or-treat!

9 December 2008

Happy holidays! Friends and family, I hope you are all well... and enjoying the season! In Burkina, the Harmattan winds are starting to blow and the nights are growing cold. Yes. I sleep with long sleeves and a blanket! :) The Muslim fête of Tabaski (Eid al-Adha) is happening now... or yesterday... or the day before depending on your village. According to Wikipedia, this religious festival commemorates the willingness of Ibrahim to sacrifice his son Ishmael as an act of obedience to God. Muslims families therefore sacrifice a goat or sheep. My friends here call it "la fête du mouton" or "the goat party". Unfortunately I wasn't in village on Tabaski to share my friends' goats. However, I did made to the chicken party in September...

The Chicken Party

The Muslim holiday Eid ul-Fitr marks the end of the fasting month of Ramadan. Muslim families in Burkina Faso celebrate by killing and cooking chickens. Men kill, women cook. In fact, if a women kills a chicken in Burkina, by tradition she must name her child chicken. Meanwhile if a man cooks... well its hard to imagine that. So in Burkina, always, greetings are super-important. On holidays like these people tour around their village greeting all of their family and friends to wish them a happy holiday. This process takes so long it actually lasts a couple of days. Additionally, the holiday has no fixed date - it depends on when your Imam sees the crescent moon marking the end of the holy month. This year, for example, Ouaga celebrated on September 30, Djibo on October 1 and Béléhédé on October 2.

In Béléhédé, men celebrate with their "groupe" or circle of close friends. This could be anywhere from 10 to 20 people. Each group gets together at a selected house around noon where a meal of oily chicken and greasy rice or toh will be prepared and waiting. Their will also be zoom-koum, the local festive drink made of millet, sugar, tamarind water and sometimes ginger or other sweet aromas. When its time to get started, everyone rinses their hands in the same bucket of water, squats down in a circle around the food and starts eating with their right hand. (By the way, that's not special for the holiday, its just regular community eating practice.) Then everyone rises their hands off in the same bucket and drinks zoom-koum from the same one or two cups. (This is also regular practice.) But then... everyone gets up and moves on to the next house to do the same thing. Oh yes.

So, on the day of this party I did just what I described with a group of male friends 15 times in a row. Ha! Where were the women during this period? According to the men they were with their own groupes tucked away in other people's houses. During this whole noon-time tour of chicken-dishes in village, I saw and greeted men galore as they performed the same ritual but only a handful of dispersed women. Later that evening I went to greet my friend Poitiba and confirmed that, indeed, after they cook all morning and drop off the meals at selected houses, the women get together in someone's courtyard to celebrate with their own groupes but don’t parade around village like the men (and me apparently).

The kids also have stuff to do. Like the men and women, the kids dress up and get together with their groupes. Boys and girls alike tour around the village wishing adults a happy holiday with a special Ramadan greeting - it sounds something like Allah barka – but basically means trick-or-treat. The adults give them money or as a substitute, sweets.

Last year, I celebrated Ramadan in my village, sort of… but not really because I wasn’t with a groupe. This year, on the other hand, I was so happy to have my own groupe – an authentic experience (!) if we forget my gender for a moment…

So I dove right in to all the traditional festivities (and too much chicken) doing just-like-they-do…

I threw hand-sanitizer and caution to the wind (both figuratively) as I enjoyed breaking the Muslims' fast with friends…

That night I was exhausted, in a good way!

Two days later I was exhausted, and reeeally sick. I had contracted tonsillitis. Can someone remind me to bring along soap next time I want an authentic experience?

My Fair Ladies

At the opening ceremony for our girls' camp in Béléhédé I announced to everyone present - girls and parents - that at the end of the week, the girls would perform theater. I could hardly believe I managed to say it. I had worked with some of these girls before. I had had an idea of what was coming when David led the first session of the week - every question was met with silence.

Yet, this was expected. When we managed to coax them into speaking, they hid mouths and ducked heads under arms; they bent over double onto desks, twisted up towards the ceiling, and looked down at the floor. But this too, was expected.

When we did an artistic warm-up almost every girl drew the same three things. -Draw something to represent yourself... -I drew a fish, cow, or chicken because I like fish, meat, or eggs... We praised the few who were different. But this shortage of creativity was expected too.

When we had the girls make collages with magazines pictures and present their work, they repeated the same things, I chose this girl because she is pretty... I chose this girl because she is nice. Again we rewarded those who presented something new, I chose this woman because she has courage or because she is a fighter... I chose this baby because I want one too.

For our first theater session, however, I had no expectations. Uhh, I really wanted it to work.

I prepared an activity in which each girl would get a card with an emotion written on it that she would portray without speaking. We divided into two groups - David and Sara worked with one while my village friend Poitiba and I worked with another. As it turned out, the girls' level of French was so low that they needed one-on-one definitions of every word. After giving definitions, we organized the groups into two circles and had each girl step forward to express her emotion... joy, anger, surprise, depression, love, jealousy, boredom... There were no wrong answers or pantomimes, and after everyone had gone, the facilitators switched groups. Now Poitiba and I worked with new girls and the same emotions. At the end of the activity I brought everyone together and had the some of the best pantomime for us all. Yea, nice...

For the second theater session, once again, I did not have expectations. I planned to discuss, what is theater? and potential themes. This would not take 2 hours though, for sure. Finally I planned my warm-up activity at the last possible minute. I had been worrying, what the heck am I suppose to do with girls that won't look you in the eyes; that never speak above a whisper!? We divided into Ones and Twos and sat in pairs. Look into your partner's eyes and listen to my voice. I gave the Ones and Twos one line each: "je suis une fille intelligente" and "je suis une fille forte," respectively. They repeated their lines loudly, softly, quickly; with anger, with fatigue, with happiness. The Ones looked at the ceiling while the Twos tried to maintain eye contact. The Ones shouted while the Twos whispered. Ok...

Sara and I also did a short skit on what you shouldn't do when performing theater using the same lines as the Ones and the Twos. I spoke too quietly, she spoke too fast, I covered my mouth with my hand, she turned her back to the audience, I interrupted her, she body blocked me, I looked up at the ceiling, she looked into her shoulder and down at the floor, she forgot her line and I corrected her, I forgot mine and then told the audience that we should start over.

We then discussed what you should and shouldn't do in theater and finally brainstormed potential themes. At the end they divided into three groups to choose themes and begin working on the final theater pieces. By the end of the session each group had chosen a theme and some had even started picking characters. Whoa, sweet.

Day Three. Omigod. Today they would start fleshing out characters, plots, morals of the stories, lines... Should I have them write? Do they need to pick their characters first or create the storyline? What are they saying in local language!? Should I force them to speak in French? I don't know if we are making progress. Shouldn't we write something down? How are they gonna do this? Every time I ask a question they don't say anything! Do they even understand me!? What are they saying!!?

Let me tell you. Day three, day four, day five...then they requested a day six and a day seven to get in more practice. At the closing ceremony they performed two theater pieces on "Girls' Education" and one on "Burkina Faso, Our Native Country".

They. Did. It.

And they are funny! Our girls have comedic timing! The room was full by the time the presentations started; by the end it was overflowing with fathers, mothers, neighbors, and children. She remembered to speak loudly! Look, she's walking like a crab so as not to turn her back to the audience!! Aw.. They are not body-blocking each other! Finally this group has picked up their pace! I watched the old men in the room smile at their girls, laugh with them, and applaud. Elizabeth really looks like a teacher! Katherine really acts like a dad! Fatimata's gestures are so expressive and the audience loves it! I wished I had it on video, I wished I was taking pictures but the other volunteers were not there to help me with the closing and my backpack was buried (stupidly!) in the back corner of the room. Some part of me wanted to get to my bag but most of me was totally engrossed - squatting in front of the stage, gesturing to remind the girls of this and that, giggling alternatively at the actors and the audience, and well, smiling.

It went so well. I was full with happiness walking home afterwards. I could have cried for the relief of it all and the regret of not taking any pictures, but as I approached my courtyard door - ha - the students of my Friday evening English club were waiting for me. -Hello. -Hello. -How are you? -I'm fine thank you, and you? -I'm fine too. -And your family? -No problem! Teaching English to my friends kept me focused, wound me down, and helped me not cry.

The community saw a real transformation in these girls and talked a lot about it afterwards. I kinda knew what I was getting into organizing a camp for twenty-five painfully shy and sheltered village girls... I was expecting copied drawings, covered mouths, and silence after questions. But twenty-five Pygmalions exceeded ALL my expectations.

Make-believe

There are many beautiful birds in Province Soum. I see them in and around my village and along the road when I am biking. My favorite one is dark and metallic with a long, purple tail. They often land on my courtyard wall - I've never gotten close but have always wanted to.

The other day I was visiting the village "majeur" or director of the health center. A majeur is not a doctor but the closest thing to it outside of Burkina's largest cities. We were sitting and chatting under a large, leafy tree when something caught his attention. He got up, went inside his house, and came back out with (some version of) a shotgun. He had seen that "black bird" and wanted it to give to the children. I've seen kids (boys) in Burkina catch and kill pigeons presumably to pluck, cook, and eat them later. At least that's what they'll tell you. Usually though, I'm pretty sure they catch and kill, then just play with the dead birds until they get sick of them. You know, kinda like when little American girls have "tea parties" with their dolls... it's pretend because the dolls aren't alive and there is never actually any tea. Well this game is pretend too since the birds are dead and there's never an actual roast or any eating...um, just the torture and the killing and then the playing with dead birds.

Well. The majeur shot once and I saw my bird fall. Just that morning I had been admiring one from afar thinking to myself one day I've got to get close enough for a picture... He had hit it in the heart. The kids weren't even around, and it was the middle of the day so he could have easily been called back to work and forgotten all about the "gift". He handed it to me alive, now dying in my hands. It was warm, soft, and beautiful. I gave it back to him before I thought it was dead. When he put it down and had to go check on a sick person I sat and got my close look. The feathers were indeed dark, metallic purple mixed with a bit of midnight blue. The head and underside of the body were all a striking black on the surface but upon inspection I found the hidden feathers were increasingly lighter shades of gray. In fact all the plumage which would never be exposed to the sunlight was not colored and shimmering like the exterior feathers but faded like an old man or woman's aging hairs. The underside of the dark head feathers were light grey. They underside of the of the long purple/blue tail was black and where the feather crossed over one another the upward-facing but hidden parts had remained (or turned?) black too. Its wings folded in and out easily, gracefully. I suppose that would be the case with any newly lifeless bird but I had never held one before.

I got my close look. I was glad I was there when he killed it because I know he will never kill a bird for no reason again if he thinks I'm near. I got my close look and I got to touch that beautiful thing and feel it dying in my hands. But I didn't get my picture, which is good. Now that's still something I've got to get close enough for.

Photos from Blog

OK, from now on I'm going to blog with photos IN my posts...

Here are the old ones in case anyone got to missing 'em.

Update - 9 August 2008

June was a transition month. School ended, the fonctionnaires moved out, the community waited for rain, and once it had come, they went to the fields to work. July was a busy month! And August is shaping up to be very busy too... So I hope you are all enjoying the summer in the USA, and elsewhere. I'm thinking of you! Thank you for checking out my blog.

June
School officially ends on June 15 but, in reality, slows down to a stop one or two months before that. In April the teachers complained that it was too hot to teach, in May they claimed that the school-year was over. By the middle of May the teachers and students had thrown in the towel. I left village around May 24 for a "Training of Trainers" in Ouahigouya. When I came back at the beginning of June, all the teachers had left. The school director stayed to coordinate the end-of-elementary school exam on June 10-12. This year Belehede was selected to become a testing center. The village was very proud to be hosting the exam. Out of the 15 of our students who took this exam, however, only 6 passed. Only 1 of the 6 is a girl. That means that the 5 girls and 10 boys who failed the exam will either drop out of school or repeat 6th grade. Some of them have already repeated this grade or another one. The 6 students who passed the exam may or may not go on to junior high school. This depends on many things: whether or not the student's family has relatives in a town with a junior high school - the closest schools are 40, 50, and 70 kilometers away; whether or not the family can afford to pay the school fees and the costs of transportation for the child; whether or not the patriarch is actually committed to sending this child on for more school, etc. I'll let you know what happens with these children.

With all the teachers gone, the summer in Belehede is a different place. Volleyball transitioned from an all-fonctionnaire to an all-villager game and then ended for the year. Once it begins raining, Burkinabe farmers spend ALL day, every day working the fields. High noon in Belehede at the beginning of the rainy season (before everything becomes really green) is like the Wild, Wild West after the gold ran out. Completely deserted. Man, woman, and child are all out in the fields tilling land, pulling up old growth and weeds, planting seeds, carrying food out to family members, supervising work animals, fetching water, etc.

Basically, some people left town, and all the rest started getting really busy. Luckily I already had a lot planned for myself: 2 weeks of working at Pre-Service Training in July, 3 weeks of girls' camps in July and August, VAC* meetings in July and September, and the swearing-in ceremony of the new volunteers at the end of August. I also had a few guests (fellow volunteers) in June which was really fun. We made cookies, village pizza, goat stew, tuna burgers; traded stories; slept outside under the stars... all lined up on thin mattresses on my porch... anyway it was a nice couple of days with my June guests.

I started one new project upon the request of some enthusiastic village friends: Friday night English club. So far so good, we've had 6 meetings with about 15 people each time. Before the first meeting I told my guy friends that I would start this English club on this condition: "You bring a notebook, a pen, and a women." I told them I was not interested in starting any dudes-only activities, obviously, so I sent them out to find interested, motivated femmes. We've got at least 5, so, not bad.

July
At the beginning of July, I spent two weeks in Ouahigouya working as a Peace Corps Volunteer Facilitator, (PCVF). A new group of trainees arrived in country on June 11 and settled into the same training city and host villages as we did one year ago. It was great meeting these people. They are an enthusiastic and fun group. It was also great to facilitate and finally be one among the experienced volunteers. Still, I tried not to tell them this is how it is because every volunteer's experience is honestly so different. As PCVFs we shared experiences, answered questions, and of course, facilitated technical training sessions. "How to incorporate theater and radio broadcast into your service," "How to start a girls' club," or "How to use Participatory Analysis for Community Action, (PACA)" are some examples of GEE technical training topics. We also sat in on medical, security, and cross-cultural sessions to share what we cook in village, how we deal with stress and harassment, and what we've learned through our cross-cultural experiences.

On July 4th, the trainees threw a kick-@$ party with great food and traditional Burkinabe music. We ate, danced, and celebrated American Independence. The downside to the fantastic meal was that more than half of the trainees subsequently got really sick. Ha! Since about 30 people helped prepare the food...who knows what did it? Bottom line, they all got better and no one quit. No harm done! ;)

I spent one night with my former host family in Komsiliga which was wonderful. It had been one full year since I had seen them or been reminded of their immense warmth and uniqueness as a family. Upon my arrival, every female member of the family, including the very old grandmother, came literally running up to me to throw her arms around me and say hello, welcome back. I saw baby Megan. Do you all remember how I named a baby? Well, I really, really did. Megan Tall is on the child's birth certificate and they all call the baby by her American (Irish-American) name. Megan McSherry and Meaghan Griffith you are the namesakes for a beautiful girl! She is healthy, sweet as anything, not afraid of white people, lovable, and beautiful like her mother. My camera was not working at the time but the trainee staying with the family this time around took pictures and promised to send them to me.

The next two weeks were a whirlwind. I collaborated with two other volunteers to host the first two of three one-week girls' camps we're organizing this summer. The first camp was in Belehede with 25 girls. The second was in Tongomayel (David's site) with 16. We organized three major blocks of activity per day: 8:00-10:00 for life skills training; 10:30-12:15 for theater; and 3:00-5:00 for sports, music, or art. In Belehede, the girls arrived at 7:30 for a half hour of warm-ups/ organizing for the day and went home for lunch but we gave them a snack during the morning break. For both camps we held opening and closing ceremonies with the parents at the beginning and end of the week. In between the ceremonies were 5 full days of activities that were scheduled as described above. In Belehede we wound up adding two more mornings of theater practice, at the request of the girls, before their final performances in front of their parents at the closing ceremony. Before each individual activity we also tried to incorporate an icebreaker or warm-up to keep it interesting.

Basically, this project was awesome. It was by far and away my favorite initiative as a Peace Corps Volunteer so far. We talked about self-esteem and assertiveness, role models, HIV/AIDS, and income generating activities. We introduced the girls to kickboxing and yoga, had them create collages from magazine cutouts, and taught them a little bit about music with the help of a guitar and battery-operated keyboard. But best of all - from my perspective - was our experience with theater. These girls who started the week loathe to raise their heads above their desks from beneath their arms and hands to answer a question... created, practiced, perfected, and performed three mini-plays. Then they showed up to the closing and actually performed before their parents and neighbors! It was almost unbelievable... to see them have comedic timing, remember not to turn their backs to the audience, speak loud and clear enough for the audience to hear, support and help each other get it right, engage completely in their productions... It was awesome. For now, I will leave it at that. This is just an update, in any case. Next time I blog though, I will tell a story with less information and more detail.

August
Finally, in August, I am here in Ouaga finishing up my Mid-Service Conference. We have been here for over a year! As you can see, things are still going very well. But I love, love, hearing from you so thank you for commenting on the blog, emailing, mailing, and calling me. You guys are so great.

Miss you all and hope to hear from you soon. Much love....


*Volunteer Action Committee

Sobiloff Family in Morocco - March 2008

Update - 2 June 2008

Greetings everyone! Here's an overview of the last few months. Please note that I just made THREE NEW POSTS. The other two can be found, below.

March
Following International Women's day on March 8, I had the happy privilege to meet up with my real family without ever leaving the continent! My mother, father, and brother met me in Morocco where we had a wonderful family vacation. Morocco was beautiful and fascinating. I especially appreciated my family's reaction to their first "call to prayer" at four in the morning in Fez: they were terrified. The sound was (honestly) haunting - as if there were hundreds of voices crying from every direction - from muethins at mosques all over the city using megaphones, loudspeakers, or just powerful voices. A muethin is a Muslim man who calls from a mosque five times a day to remind his community to come out and pray. At four in the morning he chants "God is great. Praying is better than sleeping."
So, at this point I have un-regrettably used a majority of my vacation days. I am saving the rest for future visitors (hint, hint) and I can't wait to host those of you who have said that you'll come! ;)
I have no plans to return the United States until my service is done.
I spent the end of March mostly easing back into village life after a relatively lengthy vacation. The teachers had been on break around the same time but were not yet back when I returned so I found it difficult to get much done when many people were not around. At this time I was still waiting to organize action steps regarding the needs cited by the population.

April/May
In April we officially said goodbye to the group of volunteers in our sectors who came to Burkina one year before us. They had their "COS" conference or their "Close Of Service". Of course, most of them are not leaving until July or August which is good because we really like most of them and don't want them to go. But I guess it's just the circle of life now, isn't it? Each time a group "COSes" we throw a big party in Ouaga to celebrate. This group's theme was "beach OR superheroes" and the day was full of fun, group-friendly activities like sector vs. sector kickball, brunch, pool time, trivia, flip cup, etc. Girls' Education came in dead last in most of the day's events. So much for Empowerment. :|
We also had our first VAC (Volunteer Action Committee) meeting with the new Peace Corps Burkina Director, Doug Teschner. From his first day in the office, Doug has been enthusiastically getting to know every Burkina volunteer. His efforts are impressive and appreciated. The meetings went well and it looks like PC Burkina is heading in a good, new direction with improved communication between volunteers and the PC “bureau” (office).
My fabulously-fit running partners abandoned me after only one month of training. :( Apparently, running in cheap plastic sandals wasn't working out for Issiaka. Otherwise both he and Djibilirou had to start building and repairing houses anyway before the cultivating season. So I am back to running occasionally and slowly while cursing myself for not being more disciplined or in generally better shape.
I lost all the music on my ipod through some it-could-only-happen-to-me glitch that involved me plugging the device into a wall and then discovering that then all my music was gone. I did not have music for about four months. Seriously. Anyway, thank goodness I just got it fixed by a tech-savvy friend and finally I'm listening away! Phew! How did I do it? No music for four months...
I have begun to help the equivalent of sixth grade students study for their end-of-elementary school exam. If they do not pass this exam on June 10th, they CANNOT continue on the junior high. Therefore, I have been playing Jeopardy with them once or twice a week and generally encouraging them to take studying seriously. I ask you to hope, cross your fingers, and pray that most of these kids pass this June 10th exam because it is NOT a give-in. I suspect there is one child in the class who still does not actually know how to read. Whenever I asked him to read something off the board, all of his classmates chimed in to tell him every single word. So it's either that or the kid needs glasses...
I have also started facilitating life skills discussions on communication, decision-making, and relationships in a French literacy classroom. My village has three literacy programs - one in Koranfe, another in Koranfe and French, and a third less established one in Fulfulde. The French literacy program was just started this year but already seems to be successful. The sponsoring organization actually provides money to pay the students. This is great because it encourages the students and helps to account for their missed money-making opportunities while in the classroom.
My girls club has come to an end but volunteers in my region are planning to organize three girls camps during the summer. One will be in Béléhédé, one in David's Tongomayel, and another in our provincial capital, Djibo. It should be fun.
The majority of the "village needs" continue to be unaddressed. I am definitely finding it difficult to mobilize the community to take concrete actions. However, I had one small success regarding the community's desire for a second primary school. We took the necessary first step - a formal request to the regional director of primary education. Following protocol, I personally delivered the request to the school inspector. That way, I was able to articulate how much the community prioritizes education. I was able to explain that among all the needs they cited during my "Needs Analysis" activity, the top two were related to education. The earliest we could get a second primary school would be the school year of 2009-2010 but do not get your hopes up, people.
Finally, volleyball. This is going great because we still play most nights. It's competitive and fun. No women play except me but I have temporarily come to terms with this. On the court, players have no choice but to treat me as an equal. Only two of us in the group have played off of Béléhédé's makeshift court. Its me and the men - barefoot in dirty, thorny, sand with large branches for posts and a ripped up, sagging net. Every night they separate me from the other experienced player. They organize the game around us. We alternate as the first two picks because neither always wins but it's almost always our match. We joke around and call other players "the pro", "the solid old man", "the attacker", and "the expert". They never call me “the pro”. They also never call me “the woman”. One day during a discussion the men admitted to me that they think of my like a "boy" (garcon) - you know – almost one of them. Is it for fear of the better word? It is a complement to be thought of like a garcon…
The fact is, I've never even heard them refer to me as a woman on the court. They use other descriptives for players like "the old man", "the Dogon", "the Peul", "the young one", "the teachers", "the short/tall one", "the counselor", "the solid one". So, sometimes I call myself "the woman". Sometimes I go out-of-my-way to remind them. But the effort falls on deaf ears: the men are not really ready to share the court.

Living in the present

Hello everyone! Once again, it’s been almost three months since my last post. Time flies!

Well, I love Burkina Faso. Not hopelessly, or overwhelmingly, or unconditionally or anything like that. It's not like I won't want to come home when it’s all done. I will! But I do love it here right now. I love Peace Corps service. Maybe this is interesting - for me, being a Peace Corps Volunteer is like having two present and active lives. My third life is the life at home in America. Yes, here in Burkina I live two separate and not quite equal lives. Most of the time (when you're not hearing from me) I am in or around my village removed from electricity, running water, toilets, cold drinks, bananas, vegetables, and most other fruits. (Although right now Béléhédé has mangos and guavas!) I present myself differently; I wear different clothes, I speak adjusted French and some local language. I've got my friends and my habits which include sitting around drinking small shot glasses of foamy, strong, green tea with sugar; working on local language in a (honestly) filthy, fly-ridden mud hut on a worn, ripped-up straw mat; playing volleyball most nights barefoot in dirty, (sometimes punishing) sand; interacting with some school children and all their teachers; and often walking around village trying to track down meetings that never happened or information that is somehow, perpetually just a bit further away. I eat with someone's family almost every day and sometimes twice a day. In people's courtyards we are surrounded by chickens, goats, sheep, guinea fowl, sometimes ducks or even bunnies, and always children. I respond to a local name, or several names to foreign ears, although I know that they are all the same thing. I use my right hand for everything. I often use only my hand to eat.

When I'm with Americans, it’s different. We dress in pants and tank tops. We complain in English (whereas Burkinabé complain in French, n'est ce pas?) We do not say hello to EVERY single person along the road or in the street. We do not stop to shake hands with strangers or even greet each individual friend when we enter a room. We do not invite strangers to eat. We drink beer, we hug, and we touch. We talk on our cell phones for extended periods of time and we receive enormous, gratuitous packages. We laugh, a lot. We talk about where we want to travel, next. The Peace Corps community is vibrant, mostly young, fresh... Sometimes, with some special friends, you can mix your two lives as a Peace Corps Volunteer. When you are integrated into your community, sometimes you'll act similarly when you are out of it. But in Ouaga with other Americans you are compelled to make a choice. Some volunteers won't ever invite you or strangers to eat; some won't greet people on the street. This is the city, for goodness sake. The other white people don't do that. Volunteers in a group speak ENGLISH. There's no two ways about that. Unless, of course, you're with an American who doesn't speak English as a first language… My friends Yaneth and Kim are Columbian-American. One even received her citizenship just before joining Peace Corps. Volunteers like these learn the host country culture AND the American culture all at once! I'm personally learning more about Americans, in this diverse but very American group, than ever before.

Well the point is, I guess, that sometimes, I think about my two faces. In village - here are some of the things my community thinks - Adjara is sporty and likes to do sports. For example she runs and plays volleyball. She is not married (or is she?). She does not have children but wants them one day. She wants a husband one day too (for those who really "know" me!) Adjara likes to debate. She does not speak "our language." Adjara does not drink or go out at night. She can dance well but we have only seen her do it once or twice. She comes from America and is therefore rich. She is white - our white person. She likes children and gives them empty bottles, cans, or cartons at her house. She is here to help girls and maybe women. She smiles a lot and likes to travel in and out of village. She is not Muslim but also does not go to church. She does not believe in genies. (Actually only the teachers know that and they are still trying to convince me of the facts of black magic.) She walks around village but when she leaves she rides a bike. She is courageuse (courageous) because she came all the way to Africa from America with no one and moved into the bush and lives alone. I haven't heard them say it yet but they probably think I am crazy too.

Peace Corps Volunteers are crazy. And they are diverse. They come from all over the country and from all different backgrounds, orientations, age groups, religions, and experiences. African-American volunteers in Burkina are called "white person". Latino-Americans experience the same thing. Asian-Americans are called Bruce Lee and Chinese. Married women are called by their husband's first or last name. Homosexual volunteers are advised not to reveal their sexuality to any locals lest they endanger their safety and security. Outside of Peace Corps meetings, I have never heard any Burkinabé even breach the subject of homosexuality. They do not believe it even exists.

This was supposed to be an "update post" but it turned into a tangent about my lifestyles. I will type an update tomorrow. To finish this up though, for now, I'll tell you what I did today and what I did days ago. Today and yesterday I ordered food to the transit house, ate a salad and humus and beer out last night, I watched part of a movie, and sat and sleep in front of standing fans on a real bed, drank water from a freezer that had turned to ice. A few days ago, I held a life skills discussion on assertiveness in a French/Koranfe literacy class; I ate rice with beans and oil sauce; I played volleyball with a bunch of men whose single or multiple wives were home cooking for them while breast-feeding their babies; I walked around village fanning myself with a ever-present hand fan (it's my third arm), and fleeing from brutal sun; I drank warm water; I went to bed not long after the sun. Right now in front of me seven friends are sitting in front of a standing fan and a laptop, on a couch, watching The Office. We just got wireless internet in our Ouagadougou transit house. I can smell someone cooking something in the kitchen. I can see two other people reading an American gossip magazine and Newsweek respectively. I am personally listening to Lauren Hill, Norah Jones, the Cranberries, and Radiohead on my ipod after about 4 or 5 months without music (seriously) because the ipod temporarily broke. This is borrowed music since all mine got erased. A few days ago I would have listened to the BBC news on my (broken) shortwave radio. Often I listen to World Have Your Say and Focus on Africa while cooking or sometimes doing yoga.

The food in the kitchen was popcorn and thankfully, most volunteers do share.

GUEST POST by Megan

As promised, my great friend/ X-mas host/ Komsiliga-baby namesake Megan has written up a summary of her trip to Burkina Faso. Thank you Megan and Andy for this and for your fabulous visit!

Visit to Burkina Faso

We left Ghana for Burkina Faso on an STC bus on the 21st of January, 2008 and did not arrive until about 24 hours later. It was a long and tiring ride from Accra to Ouagadougou. We were met at the STC station in Ouaga the morning of January 22nd by our sweet and caring host Christina and that is when the adventure began.

Our first ride in a BF car was in a Ouaga taxi (all green in color) which took us to Hotel Del Wende where we were to pass the night. Christina (our host, tour guide, translator and everything in between) then took us to a restaurant where we had one of the popular foods in BF, couscous. It was delicious. On our way back to the hotel, we stopped to purchase some fruit from some women on the street. However, the minute we indicated any interest in buying anything, we found ourselves surrounded by vendors crowding, shoving food in our faces, and shouting at us in French to buy their goods. Andy and I were completely overwhelmed as we couldn’t even comprehend what was being shouted at us and Christina, being assaulted in every direction and simultaneously trying to translate the French being spoken to Andy and I as well as our responses in English to the women, grew understandably and increasingly frazzled. This situation (which must have looked quite hilarious to any of the other “le blanche” walking the streets) finally culminated in Christina and I busting out in uncontrollable, unstoppable laughter at the insanity of it all while Andy in the meantime, continued to fight off his salesman. The funniest part of the whole situation and what finally caused the breakdown was when Christina translated what one particular woman had been shouting all along. While shoving an orange up to the faces of both Christina and I (while another one thrust strawberries to our mouths), the woman repetitively called out the phrase “jolie comme toi! jolie comme toi!”. When Christina told me the phrase means “pretty like you” and I pictured my face being compared to a beautiful, bright, plump orange, I felt both flattered and ridiculous. The thought, combined with the persistence of the women in the Ouaga side-parking lot market, made all three of us laugh and to purchase not only several of the “pretty like us” oranges but also a bunch of the deliciously sweet strawberries the other woman had insisted on us sampling.

The next day took us to Djibo. It was the market day or the “marché”. It was a great sight to see. We combed the market and got some few items for our next few meals at X’s place in Béléhédé. Later, in the dusty heat of the afternoon, after purchasing our transport “tickets”, the driver called out that it was time to go. To our amazement (and Christina’s nonchalantly, on-the-phone-with-her-parents un-noticing of the whole scene), hordes of Burkinabe rapidly and nimbly scaled the back and sides of the oversized and overstuffed lorry (aka tractor trailer truck) that we intended to ride. Now, for those of you who are only used to seeing the calmly passing and horn-tooting tractor trailers on highways in the US, let me explain to you just how this particular truck differed. Not only were the seats in the cab filled (the only actual seats on the whole rig) but the whole of the back of the truck was also filled top to bottom with goods. This left the roof of the truck, guarded on all sides by a short fence such as one you might find typically on the ground to keep say, goats or some other small farm animal, contained at a petting zoo. But even atop the truck, no “seats” were to be found. For while people rushed to fit themselves and any belongings, babies, bikes in any open crack or crevice, the workers continued to load ginormous sacks of rice and other grains, thereby crushing people’s toes as they (oh wait, that was us), as we hesitantly and desperately searched for a place to exist. Since none was to be found (thanks to Christina taking her sweet ol’ time, which later we realized was no accident but in fact genius strategy, even the smallest openings of space had been filled), we stood there wide-eyed and a bit intimidated as people shouted at us in god knows how many languages to move, get off their stuff, stop pushing, stop staring at their babies, exposed breasts, etc. (at least that is what I imagine they were shouting at us). However, luckily, our guide and hero X-tina had made this trip before, many times by now. She would not be intimidated or held back. Shouting right back at all the pushy, jabbering Burkinabe, she crawled, pushed, and basically swam her way to a miniscule open space towards the front of the truck. Following her lead, I plopped myself right down on a big sack of something and struggled to keep the large woman pushing up against me from squashing our tomatoes into paste. Andy, on the other hand, being the too-kind-for-his-own-good kinda guy that he is, kept letting latecomers nudge him out of any space he had managed to gain until finally he was dangling from the top of the little fence thing with no space even to stick a toe. He was joined in the back there by another Burkinabe, perhaps one of the loaders, who midway through the ride decided to completely duck out and ride instead hanging from the back. The man’s dark skin matched his red shirt by the time we disembarked due to the at-least-inch-thick coating of red dust all over him.

After the truck had finally been loaded and the last of the latecomers had shoved their way on top of somebody (see the genius part now?), the truck pulled out of the marketplace only to stop about hundred feet later to let the street vendors do their thing. From her tiny hole in the middle of the truck, Christina expertly maneuvered a transaction that resulted in all three of us sampling some of the sweetest, coldest, freshest, and best yogurt I have ever tasted. This topped off our good mood as our ride officially began. Andy and I, still in shock over the way we were being transported, had a case of that unstoppable laughter again. Christina, unfazed by it all, sat back and enjoyed the ride. However, part-way into the ride, we realized that we could shout back and forth across the truck to each other without a single soul understanding a word we said. It was the first time I had been in such a situation. I felt like one of those haughty Asian women in a nail salon, always smugly commenting on the shabbiness of a customer’s toes before politely turning back to you to inquire what color polish you desired. Needless to say, everyone else stared at us in wonder, curious to know what was being said. At this point, the baby boy of the outspoken woman riding next to/on top of my legs started pissing. Since this woman lacked the double-durability and ultra-absorption of a Huggies disposable diaper and had instead donned her child with part of a cloth she wore (which she quickly pulled away, by the way, when the kid started to go), the pudgy woman and I were soaked. Fortunately for me, it only got my leg. The other woman’s shirt was soaked all down her back. Though the woman showed no remorse and didn’t look as if she was bout to start apologizing, I quickly smiled at her and let out a laugh to let her know it was no big deal (much to the anger of the large woman). Andy, in the meantime, had made a new friend in the passenger riding beside him and was conducting English lessons up above my head.

Shortly after this incident, Christina called out to ask me what it was she was leaning against (as she had no way of turning around to see for herself). “Is it a person or a thing?” she asked. “Well,” I said as I struggled to get in a position to see what lay behind her, “it appears to be a sword. Yep, a sword.” Well of course we couldn’t let the moment pass without capturing it on camera so X politely asked the fellow behind her if she could see his sword. Seconds later, the man whipped out (of the box with the photograph of it) a fancy, shiny, silver, old-school warrior sword. Hence, the photo below of X-tina happily brandishing the sword to the amusement of our fellow passengers. Needless to say, we had, what Andy so rightly termed “the best ride ever”.

“Welcome to Béléhédé” was what everyone seemed to be saying when they saw us. The people are so friendly and welcoming. And guess who was waiting for us at Christina’s- David. He had come to keep us company. The next few days saw us visiting friends of Christina including Valerie, a teacher at the school who spoke some English, and her cousin Coco. With Alou, Christina’s counterpart in Béléhédé, we toured some of the farms and spied a crocodile sunbathing on an island in the middle of the barrage (lake). Everyone we passed stopped to exchange friendly greetings and welcome us to Béléhédé. After all we were friends of Ajarah, “the one who is loved.” One woman was so happy to see us she asked Christina to tell us that as much as we love Béléhédé, Béléhédé loves us more.

The following day took us to Dori where Yaneth is stationed. In Dori, we spent two nights hanging out with other PCVs and visited the marché, which is much bigger than in Djibo. Andy’s proudest moment came when he got to sit on a donkey, something he had wanted to do since the first day he saw one being used as a means of transportation in Djibo.

Bani was our next stop from Dori. We left early in the morning after a breakfast of “pain” aka bread and sweetened condensed milk (mmmmm!) to visit this small town which seems to have a mosque for every day of the week. In total, eight (I believe) mosques sit atop the surrounding hills, facing, unlike all other mosques aimed at Mecca, the center of the town. The mosques, while appearing ancient but actually only 30 or so years old, were built entirely with mud and sticks. The view of Bani and the surrounding desert from these hills was spectacular.

By the time we finished our mosque tours, it was time for us to leave our Peace Corps friends, including X-tina, for Ouaga, our final stop in BF before we left for Ghana the next day. Andy and I both laughed nervously as we joked about how we were going to survive the rest of the way without knowing any French. However, our gracious host was happy to write down for us everything we would need to say throughout the remainder of our stay. The note highlighted key exchanges and phrases such as “how much does it cost?” and “does this have meat in it?”. Without it, we would have been lost, I’m sure. It was so funny but we made it. We got to the hotel, our starting point from days earlier, where we had dinner and passed the night. The next morning passed uneventfully as the hotel manager helped secure us a ride to the bus station. We thought we had done pretty well and were very satisfied with our trip. We were recounting some of the funny stories when suddenly our bus toppled over the side of the road. We were hanging at full tilt off the road, ready to roll down the hill at any minute. Everyone on the bus panicked, scrambling out of the windows and doors to exit the bus. I thought it was very funny while of course Andy took up the job of worrying about our safety. We managed to get off the bus after which the driver was able to pull the bus safely back onto the road. And that is how we left the glorious, dry-as-ashes country of Burkina Faso.

Our days in BF were over sooner than we expected. Guess it was because we had such fun and wished to stay longer. That is why we would love to visit Burkina again next winter because our host was so great, took such good care of us, and there is still so much more that we would like to see! Merci beaucoup to Christina and all her friends!!!

How's it going?

Below, you'll find a typical conversation between me and any of my neighbour's children. Once I step outside of my courtyard, they yell and wave from across the street, down the road, a few houses over... "ça va ?" means "how's it going" in French but here is it used as both the question and the response: how's it going? Its goes! The children in my area are enthusiastic wavers. Its pretty cute. They wave and cry out to greet me from far away and then just keep greeting and waving until I am completely out of sight.



-Adjara!! Adjara!! Adjara!! Ça va?

-Bonjour les enfants... Oui, ça va bien.

-Ça va bien!

-Oui, ça va.

-Ça va.

-Merci beaucoup.

-Ca va.

-Merci beaucoup.

-Merci beaucoup.

-Ok, aurevoir, à plus, bye-bye....

-Ça va..

- ...

-Adjara!! Adjara!! Adjara!! Ca va!!??



The children in my area know by experience with me that they should speak in French. With adults I make the effort to greet them in their language, whatever that may be. With children or young girls/boys, I make the effort to greet them in French, because in theory that is what they should be learning. Of course, many of my village children are not in school because they are too young or because they have dropped out. But I always make the effort to speak to them in French as an example of the importance of learning that language.

Update - 12 March 2008

It's been three months!

Thank you for your letters, packages, blog comments*, and well wishes (that mom and dad always pass on). Everything is still going great here in Burkina Faso but it has sure been a while since my last post! Well, a lot has happened since December 21st, so before I tell any special stories I'll give a brief (yea right have we met?) timeline of events:

December/January
Awesome trip to Ghana. We traveled for two weeks in a group of 11 volunteers passing through Accra, Tackorati, Cape Coast, Elmina, and the rainforest. We spent Christmas and several days on the eastern beach of Ada Foah in the good hands of exceedingly gracious hosts: my American friend Megan and her Ghanaian friend Andy. We also spent several days including New Years Eve on the western beach of Busua at a really cute and cheap beach resort. We spent one night in Kumasi which has the biggest market in West Africa (wow) and one night on the edge of the rainforest in order to do a sunrise canopy walk. Fabulous trip!

When I came back, unfortunately, I learned that my cat Soumbala was dead. Somebody killed him while I was gone but nobody will tell me who did it. This was sad. And it also, ironically, coincided with the arrival of a package from my aunt and uncle which included two thoughtful toys of catnip. Sorry, Aunt Margie. :( Soumbala, RIP.

Since I last mentioned Early Terminations of Volunteers - at least two or three more quit prior to or during December. My training group started with 29, now there are 18 left.

January
I mentioned many posts ago that I was elected to represent the GEE volunteers from my training group on the Volunteer Action Committee (VAC). VAC members serve as liaisons between the volunteers and the Peace Corps Office. In January we had our last meetings with the former country director (CD) Marily Knieriemen. The next meetings will be in April and the new CD -- a former forestry volunteer and New Hampshire state legislator -- seems great!

Our friends from Ghana paid us a visit! I hosted American Megan and Ghanaian Andy for a much too brief Burkina trip. But even though they were not in country very long, I showed them Sahel sand and Burkina transport! It was really awesome hosting these friends and getting to show them (and show them off in!) my village. Since they came to visit me, I've invited them to write a blog post (if they are interested). SO, if any of you decide to visit me and Burkina in our splendor, I'll invite you to write a post too.

January/February/March
Volleyball in village continues... and we play almost every night! This is SO fun and I am so grateful to have started up this group. Unfortunately there aren't any women except me. At first one woman fonctionnaire/teacher joined us - she had the time to play because a female cousin lives with her to help take care of her son and cook. But Valerie decided to give up because she wasn't good, and wasn't in very good shape. Despite the fact that women here lead physically demanding lives, they do not have the habit of playing sports. If a woman didn't make it through a decent amount of school, she would never have played any organized game. Even when the men and I play volleyball in the evenings, the women are home preparing to cook. The men have said, if their wives started to come they'd have to hit them for not being home to cook. Is this slightly with tongue in cheek? Maybe. In any case, the women who could find the time to play, like my teacher friend, are often overweight because being big here means you are "healthy," doing "well," and "comfortable" in your life.

My girls' club continues... and this is going very well. The girls especially love to do yoga and dance. We have run, danced, drawn, talked about our dreams, gotten to know each other a bit and next on the agenda is an intro lesson in kickboxing!

February
I started doing community-mobilizing work. Peace Corps asks that you organize at least one formal activity to identify resources and/or needs in your community. The framework is called PACA - Participatory Analysis for Community Action. This toolkit includes the following activities: the creation of a community map identifying resources and highlighting the most important, most frequented, and most loved areas in the community; a seasonal calendar tracking life throughout the year and identifying seasonal variations in work, weather, sickness, income, free time, and cultural commitments; a schedule of daily activities listing what exactly one does from morning to night; and finally a needs assessment to identify and prioritize what things could make the community better, which are actionable, and how.

I am very happy to report that I completed all of these activities with my community! The first three we worked on apart -- that is, I had three meetings with the men to complete a community map, a seasonal calendar, and a daily activities schedule; and I had three meetings with the women to create the same things. We did the final needs assessment in one big group and it went great. I had the women present their work to the men and the men present to the women. I also took the opportunity to give a presentation on myself and why I am here, working in their community. Finally, I asked the men and the women to come prepared with a long list of "what could make their community better" and a short list of five most important needs. We took the five needs of the women and the five needs of the men and created a matrix for pairwise comparison. That means we compared every need to every other need and voted between the two which one was more important. What's more important - a secondary school or a second elementary school? A secondary school. What's more important - a secondary school or a more beds in the maternity? A secondary school. And so on. In the end we were able to look at the votes that each need received and see that how they prioritized the eight we discussed.

Following the needs assessment, we met again to work on action plans. Now, the needs have been parceled out to appropriate committees (mostly already existing in the community) and each group has identified a series of "first steps". At the action planning meeting I took the opportunity to give a repeat presentation of my role in the community responding to some questions and concerns I had heard that week.

I think we have laid solid groundwork for working together in the future and I am very pleased with how all of this organizing went. By now many villagers should have a clear understanding of my role. In the future, we will need to discuss which specific problems (related to the eight priority needs) are most feasible to address.

I had a Valentines Day party. My American neighbors came to the homestead bearing chocolates and love. David even biked up with a cock over his handbars. We tied "Frank" up in my courtyard until we ate him for lunch and generally had a blast.

I started running most mornings at 8am with two (buff/ripped/perfectly-in-shape) village guys. This is hilarious because they showed up at my place one night to ask me if I could "train them". What? Excuse me? Train you? In what? "Adjara, we want you to train us -- to coach us..." Huh? You mean you want me to train you in running?... Great! I had them show up the next morning and we did my first ever loop in Africa - they took me like thirty minutes out into the God-(and the villagers)-only-knows-where-we-are bush. Train them! HA! These guys cultivate fields of grain BY HAND for a living. I hope you all see the humor in this.

March
International Women's Day... March 8th is International Women's Day and a national holiday in Burkina Faso. This is a day I have been hearing about since I arrived in village -- "Adjara, what are we going to do for the 8 mars?! Last year the men cooked and the women made tea!" Indeed there was a lot of pressure for this day to be a success. The fonctionnaire women in village organized themselves, pooled their money, and bought a bunch of food to cook. They also all bought this year's 8 mars fabric and got tailor-made matching outfits. (See my photo to the right.) I participated in their party. But I also organized at the village level.

At all my community mobilizing meetings I reminded the women to come up with ideas for the 8 mars. I told them I could offer suggestions on what we should do... but that it would mean more if it they decided themselves what the village should do for their day. In the end they wanted to do traditional dances and watch a film. I threw in the idea of girls playing soccer. Early in the morning I dressed up and set out into the village to congratulate groups of women on International Women's Day. I prepared a little speech in Fulfulde with the help of my good friends Dramane and Poitiba and I delivered it over and over to groups of 5 to 20 women gathered to pound millet.

After spending the rest of the morning cooking with the fonctionnaries, we ate a very late lunch. By the time it was ready, the village women were gathered at the school to start their dancing. After I shoveled down some quick rice, I went out to the villagers, delivered another word to the group in Fulfulfe before we finally started to dance. While this was going on, eventually, my male teacher friends finished their food and took the initiative to organize the soccer game I had scheduled. Dramane took charge as the referee for the game - girls against boys. In the first half, which was 20 minutes, the girls scored a goal. Once the second half got going, however, Dramane decided to stop the game after just 5 minutes. That way, the boys would not have the chance to score a goal and the girls would win on International Women's Day!

By the end of the traditional dancing, my volleyball buddies had organized themselves and started to play - all men. But they were waiting for me to finish dancing so I could play on the women's team. We played 5 women plus one man (the real volleyball player) against a team of men. With me and Dramane on the same team, of course we - the women - won. I found out later that some people have never seen a volleyball game in their lives. They had also certainly never seem women play and win. Finally, after allowing time for the women to go home and cook for their families, I rented out the one color TV in village to show two DVDs to everyone. One was a female Burkinabe singer/ dancer that all the women apparently love, while the other was a female Malian. At least 200 people showed up to the show that night. The day was a huge success and I was certainly totally elated/ exhausted.

Most of all though, at the end of 8 mars, I was touched by all the apparent levels of support. I was struck by the leadership of my male friends. For me, much of the day, espcially the afternoon of events, turned out to be a whirlwind. If I were left to handle everything by myself, the girls soccer game might not have gotten started, or I might have tried to insist that it was a fair match up -- only girls versus girls! Additionally, I would have refused to let a man play on the woman's volleyball team and/ or insisted that the women start playing by themselves without me while I handled other stuff.

But instead what happened was that the men who have the habit of supporting me -- my teacher friend Dramane and my school Director for two examples -- took charge and initiated a proper soccer game, and then even rigged it in our favor! On the volleyball court, all my male buddies insisted that they wait for me for the game to start because there acutally aren't any women who know how to play. The first ball of the game Dramane received and passed to me asking for it back so he could slam it and get the point. I passed it to a women who never played volleyball before in her life and she missed. Even if my instincts were to try to make everything equal, equal, equal... the fact is that they are not.

And Dramane said, "Christina, NO." The next time I gave him the ball. In the midst of a crazy day I put my faith in a trusted friend and he was right on the 8 mars. The two of us played for the whole team and we won, the women won, the village won - they saw women succeed on International Women's Day. That's what counts.

So', happy women's day, everyone. And if you are a woman reading this blog, just like me, you have a lot of reasons to be grateful.


*I realize that some of you have not been able to post comments on this blog. I have now changed my settings so that anyone should be able to post a comment. Please let me know if you have any difficulties with this by contacting me through email. Thanks!