Here is a difference between American and West African culture. The Togolese and Burkinabe are collectivist; they identify with groups, think in terms of families and define themselves in relation to others around them. Americans are individualist - me, Me, ME! What do I want to do with my life? What have I done to make you respect me? Or more importantly, maybe, what HAVEN'T I done to have your respect?
West Africans respect their elders, in general, and very old people, specifically. They respect people with "salary jobs" and those above them in heirarchies. They respect government officials. They respect people with advanced educations.
As an individualist American, I think about what I want and what I do and don't mind. So first of all, I do mind being respected for the color of my skin. This is afforded at restaurants and shops, in cars and sometimes in the street and it is based on the assumption that "the white" has money (or power?) to spend.
I mind being respected because I am American, just a bit. How proud should I be for the positive image my country has apparently cultivated here? In these two former French colonies? I'm proud of my country for having a "Peace" Corps, I guess, but that's just one thing... Whites have money; Americans have money. Whites and Americans get respect. But I mind this because what have I done to earn it? My individualism is relentless. I want to know that I deserve what I've got because I've done something to get it. I want credit.
There's no I in CHRISTINA... oh wait... actually, there are two.
But here's where my thought process falls apart. I don't at all mind being respected for being a woman. Huh? Being white, being American, being a woman - I had nothing to do with any of this. I can't take any credit for the way these chips fell. But I want my womanly respect - and I can't quite feel that it has nothing to do with me.
Apart from this, why should I want respect? For being a hard worker? For having completed a university education? For being able to speak French? Hhmm. I can't say that I owe these things just to myself.
For being a firstborn? For having well-liked parents? For enjoying esteem from friends? Hhmm. Again.
I'm an American. I'm individualist. I don't want you to tell me what to do and I want to work to earn what I deserve and then, of course, to OWN it.
But there is something to thinking as a group. It may be worth admiting that every individual is defined by their interaction with and relation to the groups and the cultures surrounding them.
Don't respect me because I am white. Respect me because I manage my emotions.
Yovo? Yovo?
YOVO-YOVO-BONSOIR-CAVABIEN?-MERCIIIIIII....!!!
Don't respect me because I am American. Respect me because I would eat anything you put in front of me at least twice just to make you happy.
Green slime and sticky birdseed dough or to avec la sauce gumbo.
Don't respect my education, my sense of adventure, my ability to speak a second language - that's just the hand I was dealt and played.
J'aimerais bien parler avec vous pour ameliorer mon francais et mieux comprendre votre culture...
But do respect me as a woman. And I'll respect you as a man, or a woman or something else. We should all get one thing we care about most, shouldn't we? One identity card that trumps everything. Respect me because I'm me. Respect me because I am one of us.
27 September 2009
06 September 2009
Au Togo
I've moved! I left village, left Djibo, left Ouaga and finally left Burkina Faso. Where did I go? America? No!! Je suis allée au peitit Togo!
I am still a Peace Corps Volunteer promoting girls' education and empowerment but have now become a "third year volunteer" aka overly enthusiastic nutso who has elected to spend yet another year living on $8 a day, baths with a cup and bucket and semi-annual bouts of dysentery. So that's me - crazy Peace Corps VIP or loon depending on how you look at it - and I'll be around, blogging on West Africa through September 2010.
Here's my new contact info should you be awesome enough to use it:
Christina Sobiloff, PCV
Corps de la Paix
BP 3194, Lomé
TOGO, West Africa
cell phone: + 228 974 36 25 (I can receive texts!)
À bientôt…
I am still a Peace Corps Volunteer promoting girls' education and empowerment but have now become a "third year volunteer" aka overly enthusiastic nutso who has elected to spend yet another year living on $8 a day, baths with a cup and bucket and semi-annual bouts of dysentery. So that's me - crazy Peace Corps VIP or loon depending on how you look at it - and I'll be around, blogging on West Africa through September 2010.
Here's my new contact info should you be awesome enough to use it:
Christina Sobiloff, PCV
Corps de la Paix
BP 3194, Lomé
TOGO, West Africa
cell phone: + 228 974 36 25 (I can receive texts!)
À bientôt…
15 July 2009
World Map (Part III) - Pagne Project (Part I)
Let me start where I left off last time. Following the Ambassador's visit in December, the teachers wrote an ambitious requête or proposal for various donations to the school. They asked for: solar panels to light the classrooms at night; a computer (and electricity generator) to keep better school records; sports equipment to use in physical education with the kids; sound equipment to do theater and awareness raising activities with the community; books in French for students to read; and a partnership with an American school.
I emailed the Ambassador. She responded quickly and congratulated my community on their ambitious requests. She explained what the Embassy could and couldn't do to help: if we wanted to make a partnership with an American school or procure books in French we would have to do it on our own but for the other requests the Embassy could potentially help. She recommended that I meet with her Head Economics Officer to discuss grant options. Great.
Around this time I was also surprisingly busy: I had three fabulous friends come to visit from America and subsequently took an unexpected trip to the USA myself to see a sick grandparent. While I was home I visited the third grade classroom of my own elementary school friend who has now become "Miss Niland". I had the kids from Béléhédé write to her class once and when her class returned the favor they also sent over a large, bountiful package mostly full of books in French!! The efforts of these third grade children in Harrington Park have significantly touched the community in Béléhédé including the parents' associations, the teachers and the students themselves. These books are the foundation for -- and very first contributions to -- a school library which the community hopes to build in the future. THANK YOU.
When I met with the economics officer at the Embassy she advised applying for their "Pagne Grant". Pagnes are the patterned, brightly colored fabrics with which almost all Burkinabé clothes are made. Women wrap these cloths around their waists, busts, heads and backs where they serve as skirts, house dresses, towels, head coverings and baby-holders. Men get them made into booboos, pants, shirts and children's clothing. People twist money into their corners -- bundling in coins or bills with a strong knot -- and wrap their belongings in them when they travel. In theory people could use them to filter very dirty water by placing them over their canneries or clay pots where they cool their drinking water but I actually haven't seen anyone do that. So...
The Embassy got special pagnes printed with patterns that symbolize collaboration between Burkina Faso and the USA to give out to Burkinabé associations and Peace Corps Volunteers applying for small-medium grants. We applied for this grant requesting the equivalent of over 1,000,000 cfa ($2,000) to pay for solar panels, a computer, a generator, sound equipment and sports equipment. The Embassy decided to fund us for ALL of these requests excepting sports equipment since the Head Economics Officer herself gave me an in kind donation to walk away with after our interview. Nice!
Of course this process took a couple of months. On May 11 I picked up the pagnes and sent them off to arrive in village by May 13. There are 708 of them. Let me give you some perspective. To make a full, head to toe, long sleeves/ long skirt outfit it would take 2. If you are a baller and show up to a baptism with an above and beyond gift for the new mother you would give her 1. If you are a functionnaire and have a family you might decide to go ahead and spend the money to buy them in sets of 3. (That's how they are intended to be sold.)
From the beginning of the initiative I insisted that the people responsible for the project be women. I added (in truth) and then exaggerated (in my own interest) the fact that the Embassy prefers to grant money to female-driven associations. So we put the request in the name of our Association Meres Educatrices or the mothers' PTA. Later, the Embassy came to check out the association and met with a wider group of women from my village who were interested in the project. In the end they created a committee du gestion or a managing committee of 12 women to execute the sale of all 708 pagnes. The school director also selected one teacher to serve as the general project manager and overseer of funds. Together they opened an account in the village credit union.
Challenges: 6 of the pagnes were destroyed or went missing on transport. The Embassy gave enough pagnes to cover the costs of the equipment requested but not enough to cover unexpected costs like transporting them, etc. Rumors circulated in the village: one went that the pagnes were a gift intended to become school uniforms that the teachers had stolen and were now selling for profit.
Solutions: I called a meeting and invited the "whole community". Most people came 2-3 hours late (typical) but we had about 80 people. I told the "story" of all that had happened from the day of the Ambassador's visit on December 20 up until this very meeting six months later. I asked the project manager to give an account of the budget and all financial matters. We noted that from before the first pagne sale, the committee du gestion had decided to up the price of the pagnes by 250 cfa to cover unbugeted costs to be incurred throughout the project execution. I stressed that the people in attendance were responsible for informing their smaller communities - neighbors, families and friends about the history of this project.
The meeting dispelled rumors and testified to the fact that sales were off to a good start. We asked people to be patient and told them that this would take a long time to reach completion. At least 1/3 of the pagnes had already been sold by the day of the meeting but we noted that they probably wouldn't finish selling off until October or November following the harvest. That is the annual moment when Burkinabé start earning some money. Rainy season (during the summer months) is the time of the year when rural farmers are most broke.
I will be leaving Béléhédé on August 12 and Burkina Faso on August 21. I've learned that I'll have a replacement, his name is Charlie and he's going to be awesome! So I may give you more info about this initiative via him next year. As for myself... I was going to do a third year in Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso. Unfortunately that fell through. But the good - great -- excellent (!) news is that I will still be doing a third year right next door to Burkina in TOGO.
Check it out...I can't wait to go! TOGO
TO BE CONTINUED...
P.S. My camera is broken since January so no more pictures until October. : (
I emailed the Ambassador. She responded quickly and congratulated my community on their ambitious requests. She explained what the Embassy could and couldn't do to help: if we wanted to make a partnership with an American school or procure books in French we would have to do it on our own but for the other requests the Embassy could potentially help. She recommended that I meet with her Head Economics Officer to discuss grant options. Great.
Around this time I was also surprisingly busy: I had three fabulous friends come to visit from America and subsequently took an unexpected trip to the USA myself to see a sick grandparent. While I was home I visited the third grade classroom of my own elementary school friend who has now become "Miss Niland". I had the kids from Béléhédé write to her class once and when her class returned the favor they also sent over a large, bountiful package mostly full of books in French!! The efforts of these third grade children in Harrington Park have significantly touched the community in Béléhédé including the parents' associations, the teachers and the students themselves. These books are the foundation for -- and very first contributions to -- a school library which the community hopes to build in the future. THANK YOU.
When I met with the economics officer at the Embassy she advised applying for their "Pagne Grant". Pagnes are the patterned, brightly colored fabrics with which almost all Burkinabé clothes are made. Women wrap these cloths around their waists, busts, heads and backs where they serve as skirts, house dresses, towels, head coverings and baby-holders. Men get them made into booboos, pants, shirts and children's clothing. People twist money into their corners -- bundling in coins or bills with a strong knot -- and wrap their belongings in them when they travel. In theory people could use them to filter very dirty water by placing them over their canneries or clay pots where they cool their drinking water but I actually haven't seen anyone do that. So...
The Embassy got special pagnes printed with patterns that symbolize collaboration between Burkina Faso and the USA to give out to Burkinabé associations and Peace Corps Volunteers applying for small-medium grants. We applied for this grant requesting the equivalent of over 1,000,000 cfa ($2,000) to pay for solar panels, a computer, a generator, sound equipment and sports equipment. The Embassy decided to fund us for ALL of these requests excepting sports equipment since the Head Economics Officer herself gave me an in kind donation to walk away with after our interview. Nice!
Of course this process took a couple of months. On May 11 I picked up the pagnes and sent them off to arrive in village by May 13. There are 708 of them. Let me give you some perspective. To make a full, head to toe, long sleeves/ long skirt outfit it would take 2. If you are a baller and show up to a baptism with an above and beyond gift for the new mother you would give her 1. If you are a functionnaire and have a family you might decide to go ahead and spend the money to buy them in sets of 3. (That's how they are intended to be sold.)
From the beginning of the initiative I insisted that the people responsible for the project be women. I added (in truth) and then exaggerated (in my own interest) the fact that the Embassy prefers to grant money to female-driven associations. So we put the request in the name of our Association Meres Educatrices or the mothers' PTA. Later, the Embassy came to check out the association and met with a wider group of women from my village who were interested in the project. In the end they created a committee du gestion or a managing committee of 12 women to execute the sale of all 708 pagnes. The school director also selected one teacher to serve as the general project manager and overseer of funds. Together they opened an account in the village credit union.
Challenges: 6 of the pagnes were destroyed or went missing on transport. The Embassy gave enough pagnes to cover the costs of the equipment requested but not enough to cover unexpected costs like transporting them, etc. Rumors circulated in the village: one went that the pagnes were a gift intended to become school uniforms that the teachers had stolen and were now selling for profit.
Solutions: I called a meeting and invited the "whole community". Most people came 2-3 hours late (typical) but we had about 80 people. I told the "story" of all that had happened from the day of the Ambassador's visit on December 20 up until this very meeting six months later. I asked the project manager to give an account of the budget and all financial matters. We noted that from before the first pagne sale, the committee du gestion had decided to up the price of the pagnes by 250 cfa to cover unbugeted costs to be incurred throughout the project execution. I stressed that the people in attendance were responsible for informing their smaller communities - neighbors, families and friends about the history of this project.
The meeting dispelled rumors and testified to the fact that sales were off to a good start. We asked people to be patient and told them that this would take a long time to reach completion. At least 1/3 of the pagnes had already been sold by the day of the meeting but we noted that they probably wouldn't finish selling off until October or November following the harvest. That is the annual moment when Burkinabé start earning some money. Rainy season (during the summer months) is the time of the year when rural farmers are most broke.
I will be leaving Béléhédé on August 12 and Burkina Faso on August 21. I've learned that I'll have a replacement, his name is Charlie and he's going to be awesome! So I may give you more info about this initiative via him next year. As for myself... I was going to do a third year in Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso. Unfortunately that fell through. But the good - great -- excellent (!) news is that I will still be doing a third year right next door to Burkina in TOGO.
Check it out...I can't wait to go! TOGO
TO BE CONTINUED...
P.S. My camera is broken since January so no more pictures until October. : (
15 June 2009
The Princess & the Pea
I've come a long way.
When I first arrived in Burkina I had a lot of trouble sleeping. Why? Well, lots of reasons: heat, sickness, goats, baby goats, prayer-calls, cows, cockroaches, sheep, sheets, roof noises (thatched = creepy crunching and random rustling; tin = thunderous thumping and screechy scurrying) lumpy beds, hungry bed-bugs, itchy bug-bites, heat rash, and well, STRESS! So, ultimately, lack of sleep was my biggest challenge during training.
I distinctly remember the first time I cracked: It was about three weeks in and I had just fallen ill with the amoeba (although we wouldn't know it for another two weeks) and I hadn't slept for two nights. So when one friend asked me if I was feeling ok (why was he ALWAYS asking how I feel?!) I snapped: I'm freaking* FINE! -- now picture Jesse Spano from "Saved by the Bell" on the episode where she gets hooked on methamphetamines -- I'm just... soo... TIRED... sob... choke... oohh waa ha huh...
The way I remember it: when it was a reasonably late enough to go to sleep my host sister showed me to bed and shut the door. In retrospect: showed me how the door shut.
They gave me two sheets and a pillow so clearly I tucked my sheets, my mosquito net and myself into bed with sheet no. 2 draped over me. Because that's what sheets are for! In retrospect: what's with me and sheets? was I suicidal that night? or was it so genuinely hot that my brain had gone dead?
OOOOOOWWWHHHOOOOOAAAAOOOOOOOWWWWOOOOWWOOOW....
So I started to recall my research on Burkina Faso. What do I know about traditions in this country? They are Muslim, Christian and what was it - 30% Animist? Wait, did I not read somewhere that most everyone, despite their claimed religion, is an animist at heart? Could the family Tall be wailing about...ME? They are running in circles around my hut... Could this be some kind of freaky African welcoming blessing or worse - OMG - a curse??? Or maybe its a purifying ritual? But WAIT, OK -- maybe it is just an unrelated-to-me nightly household ritual. Oh God I hope not.
What do I do? Should I go outside? Should I call out something? Should I offer to participate and run the wailing circles alongside? What's culturally appropriate? No, I'm not moving. This is too wild. I've already had my door shut. But WHAT IS THIS??
When I first arrived in Burkina I had a lot of trouble sleeping. Why? Well, lots of reasons: heat, sickness, goats, baby goats, prayer-calls, cows, cockroaches, sheep, sheets, roof noises (thatched = creepy crunching and random rustling; tin = thunderous thumping and screechy scurrying) lumpy beds, hungry bed-bugs, itchy bug-bites, heat rash, and well, STRESS! So, ultimately, lack of sleep was my biggest challenge during training.
I distinctly remember the first time I cracked: It was about three weeks in and I had just fallen ill with the amoeba (although we wouldn't know it for another two weeks) and I hadn't slept for two nights. So when one friend asked me if I was feeling ok (why was he ALWAYS asking how I feel?!) I snapped: I'm freaking* FINE! -- now picture Jesse Spano from "Saved by the Bell" on the episode where she gets hooked on methamphetamines -- I'm just... soo... TIRED... sob... choke... oohh waa ha huh...
But let me rewind a bit first. Did I ever tell you about my first night in host village?
The way I remember it: when it was a reasonably late enough to go to sleep my host sister showed me to bed and shut the door. In retrospect: showed me how the door shut.
I left the door shut because clearly that was what I was supposed to do. In retrospect: NO ONE in Burkina ever sleeps inside unless it is raining. And with the door shut? Ha!
They gave me two sheets and a pillow so clearly I tucked my sheets, my mosquito net and myself into bed with sheet no. 2 draped over me. Because that's what sheets are for! In retrospect: what's with me and sheets? was I suicidal that night? or was it so genuinely hot that my brain had gone dead?
The rest of the night was a feverish bluuurr...I was losing water fast and those damn sheets were soaking wet. I kept sitting up to drink water from my nalgene until I actually had to go refill the thing. I slipped in and out of lucidity but did I ever really sleep? Then suddenly at about 11 pm or closer to midnight the wailing began.
WAAAAAAAAAAAAOOOOOHHHHHAAAAAAAhhhhhh... wwaaAAAAAAAAAAAaaaOOOOOOoohhhaaaaAAAAAAaaahhhhh..... WAAAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOWWAAAAAOOOOWWAAAAAOOOOOOOWAAAAAaaaaahhhh....
I sat straight up in bed.
AAAAAAIIIIIIIEEEEEEEOOOOOOO AAAAIIIEEEEE AIIEE AIIEEEeee aaaaaaahhh... AAAAAAIIIIIIIEEEEEEEOOOOOOO AAAAIIIEEEEE AIIEE AIIEEEeee aaaaaaahhh...
AAAAAAIIIIIIIEEEEEEEOOOOOOO AAAAIIIEEEEE AIIEE AIIEEEeee aaaaaaahhh...I even pulled the soaking sheet up to my neck. What the ....?
OOOOOOWWWHHHOOOOOAAAAOOOOOOOWWWWOOOOWWOOOW....
Then the voices starting getting closer... and louder if possible... and they were moving... wait a minute... I lept up to check the windows... (careful to illuminate my 6 foot path with a powerful flashlight)... and the voices were... OMG ... running in circles around my hut!!! AAH!!
So I started to recall my research on Burkina Faso. What do I know about traditions in this country? They are Muslim, Christian and what was it - 30% Animist? Wait, did I not read somewhere that most everyone, despite their claimed religion, is an animist at heart? Could the family Tall be wailing about...ME? They are running in circles around my hut... Could this be some kind of freaky African welcoming blessing or worse - OMG - a curse??? Or maybe its a purifying ritual? But WAIT, OK -- maybe it is just an unrelated-to-me nightly household ritual. Oh God I hope not.
What do I do? Should I go outside? Should I call out something? Should I offer to participate and run the wailing circles alongside? What's culturally appropriate? No, I'm not moving. This is too wild. I've already had my door shut. But WHAT IS THIS??
BANG! BANG! BANG!
I ran to my door which simultaneously flung open to reveal my host sister's wild, wailing face.
FAUT-PAS-AVOIR-PEUR-QUELQU'UN-EST-MORT!
which means:
YOU-MUSN'T-HAVE-FEAR-SOMEONE-IS-DEAD!
and she slammed the door in my face.
Needless to say I did not sleep much that night though I did learn the next day that the person they thought had died actually hadn't. What did I do that next morning? Who knows, I probably just went around to shake hands with everyone just like they taught me to- Good morning. How did you sleep? And your family? Your courtyard? Peace only! Peace throughout the night. Ha.
Now where do I go from here? Why didn't I write this story when it happened? I think I was a bit lost for words at the time... heck, maybe I thought it was a hallucination? It wasn't. But my sleeping troubles didn't end there. I tried staying inside with the door open, I tried moving outside into my tent with Yaneth's yoga mat, we even moved the mattress outside from time to time and hung my mosquito net from the straw hangar above. But nonetheless:
Princess Christina
I was first inspired to write this post 21 months ago after successfully (!) sleeping one night on a cement floor. The only thing between me and anything that crawled the night or lurked within the cracks of this filthy floor was a cheap woven plastic mat and a thin pagne draped over me (still with a sheet (!) man, old habits die hard/my mother would be proud.) The theme of the post was to be how very far I had come in six short months to realizing sleep under the most uncomfortable conditions. I slept on a concrete floor!
Princess Christina six months later.
At the time I felt had come to the absolute pinnacle of tough-girl sleeping. But the thing about Peace Corps is that you are always exceeding your own expectations. Where I have slept since then: on a mattress on the floor of my house; on mattresses on the floors of other people's houses; on a mattress on the floor of my porch; on my yoga mat on the floor of my house; on my yoga mat on the floor of my porch; alone outside on my cot; alone outside in a tent on a silver of a mattress, on a yoga mat and on the ground; and ON TRANSPORT.
So lets fast forward to just the other day - I was in my house sleeping on a thin mattress on the cot when I awoke to utter darkness and a bit too much heat. I went outside to pee only to discover that the crescent moon had set and the May stars were as visible as they EVER could be. It was also cooler outside than inside and I decided to get a thick blanket to throw over a thin mattress to put down on my termite-ridden, collapsed and rotten, wooden lounge-bed. Yes. This sorry excuse for a piece of furniture has lived the past two years outside in the elements since I value it that much. Once, when I had a Burkinabe guest, I absolutely marveled that he could lay a thin mattress on this dilapidated, disgusting ol' thing; cover it with a mosquito net and simply fall asleep! But I too took that final step just the other day. First, I adjusted the thing's position so as to see the greatest portion of the sky and then when I laid down - exhausted, cooler and more comfortable in the starry breeze than inside my house - I remembered: I never EVER thought I could fall asleep on this!
So I looked up at the stars, reflected on my progress, imagined finally writing this blog post and I never fell asleep. Later I got up and moved back inside where the original cot was waiting for me and I was glad to still think of myself as The Princess with The Pea. I was glad to know I haven't made all my progress yet. The next night I did sleep on that makeshift bed. So what is next? I have my aspirations and dreams...
HAHAHA... JUST KIDDING!! Here's what I'm really going for:
And I lived happily ever after...
* I didn't say "freaking".
26 May 2009
Just Send A Kid
Need more credit for your phone card?
just send a kid
Suddenly have guests but no sugar for the tea?
just send a kid
Want to talk to your counterpart but can't find him?
just send a kid
For a year and a half I didn't have cell phone service in village. Every time my mother would call, someone would pick up the phone and babble away in local language.
Hadjara? Hadjaraaaa? I want to speak to Hadjaraaa!? my mom would yell into the receiver in the mean time until the call-recipient finally hung up. She'd always wait and call back in 10 or 15 minutes because by that time they would have sent a kid.
During this same period, whenever someone wanted to find me for any reason - from asking me a question to informing me that the school inspector had come - they'd send a kid.
If anyone ever wants to give you something - like prepared food or freshly harvested crops - they invariably send it with a kid.
Water?
send a kid
Sand?
send a kid
Cigarettes? Hot coals? Machete?
send a kid
I was in a car in the States in January, explaining this system to my mother, when it occurred to me that at any given daytime moment in rural Burkina Faso there must be something like 20% of the child-teenage population running petty errands for adults.
Burkina Faso has one of the worst adult literacy rates in the world: about 12%. Out-of-school youth abound in small villages and so do men who drink (and purchase the materials for) tea more than once a day as well as women who buy bullion cubes one by one each time they cook a meal among other things. Everybody really does pay (or not pay) everything as they go. Potential errands are endless. So sure enough, when you look around, the to-and-fro flow of youth circulating on bikes; walking with small change; carrying plates, plastic bags, sticks, motorcycle parts, cultivating tools, animals, calabashes, babies, other small children, chickens, cakes, mangos, hay...
Just to have tea, for example, one needs the following supplies: tea leaves, sugar, water, one-two little teapots, a plate, one-three shot glasses, burning coals or wood, a fournier (where you put the burning coals or wood), mint - if available, peanuts - if one has the money and the list goes on if you consider such things as guests! One might need to send a kid to invite other relevant men to the tea party!
Women have plenty of kid-errands to orchestrate as well. Take this baby while I go away, fetch me water from the pump, carry this wedding-rice to my cousins’ across-town, go buy me some fried dough to feed my baby, go sell this fried dough I prepared (so I can buy something for my baby), bring Hadjara the plate she lent us yesterday or bring back this baby to its mother wherever she may be. It is not at all uncommon to see a child not even twice the height of an infant carrying such an infant on her back.
Just send a kid is something I have come to take completely for granted. I had to stop to think don't we do this in the States? When I get home and meet your 6 year old for the first time, you wouldn't mind if I sent him down the road to buy me a new chapstick, would you? Its not like I'm sending him for cigarettes...* oh wait. People can't do that chez nous. You couldn't even send your 15 year old for liquor or smokes. Would you have your 8 year old start the living-room fire on Christmas? Here the 1st-6th grade students supervise schoolyard bush fires where students collect and burn all the school courtyard rainy season growth and weeds. You wouldn't mind if I interrupted your 11 year old girl's homework time to have her prepare a simple meal for the family? I guess I can't. I guess if I want to speak to my neighbors down the road I can't pick up a child who I do not know on the street and ask him to deliver a verbal message or a written note. Of course a child in the States wouldn't refuse to do something, would he?
While I was home I visited a friend's third grade classroom. Her students were insatiably curious and it was great. Every littlest bit of information I provided was met with ten new questions. I felt like I couldn't talk fast enough to give them all the knowledge they wanted... Pictures and demonstrations helped. Yet when I got to the point where I described children's roles - their utter and non-negotiable submission - in Burkinabe society, the students were shocked into disbelief. You mean, a child has to do ANYTHING an adult tells them to do? Even if its not their parent? Even if they don't know the person? Even if they are busy doing something else? Even if they don't WANT to?
Yes. I explained that, in reality here, young people need to do anything anyone older tells them to do because that's just the way things work in Burkina Faso. I discussed with the students how Burkinabe children are expected to address adults. They should never look adults in the eyes when greeting them. They should never offer their hands to be shook. They should never even speak, actually, until spoken to. They should never offer their opinions and they may never ever refuse what they are told to do. Burkinabe students should address all teachers and minor authorities by approaching the adult, crossing their arms over their chests, putting their heads down, averting their eyes and mumbling preferably inaudible bonjours before shuffling away. The students were incredulous that some kids don't go to school; that many men have multiple wives; that chores can sometimes be so consuming so as to leave no time for play or even school; that children aren't paid for work; that in Burkinabe society, men rule.
These are things I've come to take for granted. Need anything? Just send a kid. So don't hold it against me if I come home and start bossing your little ones all around town. They'll listen, of course? I'm sure I'll be fine when re-entering the United States... I won't treat your boy like he's West African. But, if I tell him to do something, well of course, he'll never say no.
Will he?
*I don't smoke, fyi. I wanted to use this example though because I always see little kids running to buy men cigarettes.
just send a kid
Suddenly have guests but no sugar for the tea?
just send a kid
Want to talk to your counterpart but can't find him?
just send a kid
For a year and a half I didn't have cell phone service in village. Every time my mother would call, someone would pick up the phone and babble away in local language.
Hadjara? Hadjaraaaa? I want to speak to Hadjaraaa!? my mom would yell into the receiver in the mean time until the call-recipient finally hung up. She'd always wait and call back in 10 or 15 minutes because by that time they would have sent a kid.
During this same period, whenever someone wanted to find me for any reason - from asking me a question to informing me that the school inspector had come - they'd send a kid.
If anyone ever wants to give you something - like prepared food or freshly harvested crops - they invariably send it with a kid.
Water?
send a kid
Sand?
send a kid
Cigarettes? Hot coals? Machete?
send a kid
I was in a car in the States in January, explaining this system to my mother, when it occurred to me that at any given daytime moment in rural Burkina Faso there must be something like 20% of the child-teenage population running petty errands for adults.
Burkina Faso has one of the worst adult literacy rates in the world: about 12%. Out-of-school youth abound in small villages and so do men who drink (and purchase the materials for) tea more than once a day as well as women who buy bullion cubes one by one each time they cook a meal among other things. Everybody really does pay (or not pay) everything as they go. Potential errands are endless. So sure enough, when you look around, the to-and-fro flow of youth circulating on bikes; walking with small change; carrying plates, plastic bags, sticks, motorcycle parts, cultivating tools, animals, calabashes, babies, other small children, chickens, cakes, mangos, hay...
Just to have tea, for example, one needs the following supplies: tea leaves, sugar, water, one-two little teapots, a plate, one-three shot glasses, burning coals or wood, a fournier (where you put the burning coals or wood), mint - if available, peanuts - if one has the money and the list goes on if you consider such things as guests! One might need to send a kid to invite other relevant men to the tea party!
Women have plenty of kid-errands to orchestrate as well. Take this baby while I go away, fetch me water from the pump, carry this wedding-rice to my cousins’ across-town, go buy me some fried dough to feed my baby, go sell this fried dough I prepared (so I can buy something for my baby), bring Hadjara the plate she lent us yesterday or bring back this baby to its mother wherever she may be. It is not at all uncommon to see a child not even twice the height of an infant carrying such an infant on her back.
Just send a kid is something I have come to take completely for granted. I had to stop to think don't we do this in the States? When I get home and meet your 6 year old for the first time, you wouldn't mind if I sent him down the road to buy me a new chapstick, would you? Its not like I'm sending him for cigarettes...* oh wait. People can't do that chez nous. You couldn't even send your 15 year old for liquor or smokes. Would you have your 8 year old start the living-room fire on Christmas? Here the 1st-6th grade students supervise schoolyard bush fires where students collect and burn all the school courtyard rainy season growth and weeds. You wouldn't mind if I interrupted your 11 year old girl's homework time to have her prepare a simple meal for the family? I guess I can't. I guess if I want to speak to my neighbors down the road I can't pick up a child who I do not know on the street and ask him to deliver a verbal message or a written note. Of course a child in the States wouldn't refuse to do something, would he?
While I was home I visited a friend's third grade classroom. Her students were insatiably curious and it was great. Every littlest bit of information I provided was met with ten new questions. I felt like I couldn't talk fast enough to give them all the knowledge they wanted... Pictures and demonstrations helped. Yet when I got to the point where I described children's roles - their utter and non-negotiable submission - in Burkinabe society, the students were shocked into disbelief. You mean, a child has to do ANYTHING an adult tells them to do? Even if its not their parent? Even if they don't know the person? Even if they are busy doing something else? Even if they don't WANT to?
Yes. I explained that, in reality here, young people need to do anything anyone older tells them to do because that's just the way things work in Burkina Faso. I discussed with the students how Burkinabe children are expected to address adults. They should never look adults in the eyes when greeting them. They should never offer their hands to be shook. They should never even speak, actually, until spoken to. They should never offer their opinions and they may never ever refuse what they are told to do. Burkinabe students should address all teachers and minor authorities by approaching the adult, crossing their arms over their chests, putting their heads down, averting their eyes and mumbling preferably inaudible bonjours before shuffling away. The students were incredulous that some kids don't go to school; that many men have multiple wives; that chores can sometimes be so consuming so as to leave no time for play or even school; that children aren't paid for work; that in Burkinabe society, men rule.
These are things I've come to take for granted. Need anything? Just send a kid. So don't hold it against me if I come home and start bossing your little ones all around town. They'll listen, of course? I'm sure I'll be fine when re-entering the United States... I won't treat your boy like he's West African. But, if I tell him to do something, well of course, he'll never say no.
Will he?
*I don't smoke, fyi. I wanted to use this example though because I always see little kids running to buy men cigarettes.
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