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.