Voyage au Village

Our training group is split into two very distinct groups: those of us who can speak French, and those of us who cannot speak French. The non-speakers, like myself, are mostly secondary education volunteers. We are learning French, which we will use in the classroom, and teaching techniques. The French speakers are all girls education and empowerment (GEE) volunteers; they are spending training learning local languages so that they can better communicate with families in the villages. These trainees are getting an extra dose of cultural assimilation by living in rural villages while the SE volunteers live in the relative luxury of the city.

Last night many of the SE volunteers visited GEE volunteers in their villages. We left for village K around 6pm. Despite the complaints from the “village people” as we lovingly call the GEE trainees, the bike ride was quite nice. We followed the main road (gravel) for about 15 minutes after leaving the city then turned off into the bush. Really, there are only two ways to know where to turn: a pole about 50m before the turn, and a large hill in the distance. Once you are on the road, you can tell that it is a path, but if you didn’t know it was a path, it would be very easy to miss. The next half hour took us towards and around the hill and into K. It’s really a beautiful ride. The landscape is well-populated with trees and brush. You can see forever but can make out no villages or huts. The sky was a mixture of purples and pinks with a perfectly circular setting sun and a lightening storm brewing in the distance.

K has a population of 285 people and is geographically composed of five or six groups of huts, about 5-10 minutes walk from each-other. C, my trainee hostess, lives in the group of huts furthest from the main road, so we had a 10 minute ride after saying goodbye to the other village people.

Once we arrived at her hut circle, we met C’s extended family. She had a dad, two moms, and a bunch of siblings/cousins/who knows what. They were all extremely excited to see me and M, C’s other guest for the night, and we were promptly ushered to meet the elders. Due to the looming storm, our introductions were cut short, and we ate a quick dinner. C’s brother makes all of her food, and I am surprised to say that dinner (rice with a sauce of cabbage, tomatoes, and onions) in the village was one of the best meals I’ve had since burgers and beer with my real family in Minneapolis. As we ate, we watched the storm come in. The wind picked up, and it started to drizzle. I felt completely at ease, completely peaceful in the serenity of the village- cows, goats, and chickens clucking all over. Donkeys next door.

Actually, the cows and goats made me a bit jittery. They practically ate dinner with us, and when I went to take a bucket bath, I had to chase three goats out of the shower. But I could get used to it.

M, C, and I hid in C’s hut as soon as the storm began. We were quickly joined by ten relatives and began a ridiculous game of “Go Fish” en francais. After “Go Fish”, the locals taught us a game similar to “Crazy Eights” or “Uno”. It went very well until the end of the first round when we were counting up points based on the cards we had left in our hand. C had an ace; they gave her 11 points. OK so far. I had a 5, 10, and 2. After much debate, the family decided my cards were worth 37 points. Huh? I told them that I am a math teacher and their point system makes no sense. They didn’t seem to care and just laughed it off without an explanation. After the second or third round, we decided that the white people were getting “nasara points” similar to the inflated prices we pay as foreigners in the market.

When the storm died down, we decided to make the trek to Y’s to enjoy the box of wine one of the trainees had purchased at the supermarket (don’t get too excited, the supermarket is about the size of my bedroom). C had been in the village for two weeks and knew the way to Y’s hut, right? Nope. She had it narrowed down to “somewhere over there…or over there”. Good. We set off into the pitch dark Sahel with our flashlights and goblets (for the wine, of course) after politely declining an escort. Sand. Trees. Bushes? Pretty soon we could see neither our starting point nor our destination. Luckily Y’s family saw our flashlights and came to get us. We weren’t too far off target…

We joined the rest of the nasara club sitting on straw mats in front of Y’s hut. The wine was decent, but the company was better. We were surrounded by 15-20 members of Y’s family, talking to each-other, laughing, and watching the crazy nasara. A little ways away cows, goats, and donkeys said their good nights. The wind blew, and lightening flashed in the distance. After a short visit, Y’s family told us that we must leave because the rain was coming. From what we could see it was still a beautiful night. However, when they told us a second and third time, we decided that they (the locals) have never been wrong about the weather. They have timing down to within minutes.

C, M, and I took off across the fields. We hadn’t gone more than 100m when Y’s family started yelling. Apparently we were drifting too far left. We corrected our course and walked uninterrupted for another few paces before cries of “Nasara, nasara, a DROIT” drifted across the fields, telling us to correct our trajectory yet again. Glad to know they’re looking out for us. C’s circle of huts magically appeared in front of us, and we made it inside with seconds to spare before the rain. Never question the locals.

Many Firsts

Last night we ate dinner fairly late. After eating, Mom didn’t pull out a mango or an apple, so I was a tad disappointed. She said something about drinking, and I figured she was giving me the typical hard time about how much I drink at dinner. She doesn’t understand that I sweat it all out, so it doesn’t ruin my appetite. My novice French, however, missed one key word: bierre. Beer. She pulled out a beer (twice the size as they are in the US), and poured me a glass. Delicious. Refreshing. Tasty. Cool. Reminds me of home. I’ll take a Saturday night beer anytime.

As I left the table to go to bed, she told me that I could not sleep outside tonight. This was not good news. She said that it was going to storm and that I should go into my room and shut my doors and windows. Now the only thing worse than sleeping inside is sleeping with my door and window shut, so I was not a happy camper. She would hear none of my pleading, so I sulked off to bed like a disgruntled five year-old.

Barely had I shut my screen door when the sky broke loose. I heard the wind approaching as an oncoming freight train. Similar to my first earthquake, I didn’t know what to make of the situation until it was on top of me. Wind and sand are not a good combination. With no warning, the yard was transformed into the opening tornado scene from “The Wizard of Oz”. I closed my shutters and locked the door. Outside all I could hear was massive debris flying everywhere, and my tin roof amplified each sound ten-fold. After a minute, Dad came to my door and told me to bring my bike inside. Good thing. As soon as he left, the wind increased again. My electricity went out, and I was now getting dust in my room. What if my roof lifts off? It is only being held down by a few bricks. I could barely breathe and was covered in a layer of dust thickening by the second. I lay on the bed with a sheet covering my body; it was the only way I could avoid suffocation. I prayed for rain; at least then the dust would settle.

Finally the rain came. It makes a distinctly different, more pointed, sound on my roof. I still could not have had a conversation above the wind and rain, but at least I could breathe normally. I almost opened the door to wash the soot from my body, but I quickly thought better of that idea. The rain continued, and soon my fan came back to life. The storm lessened a bit, so I opened the shutters and my outside door. Cool breeze with the rain put me right to sleep.

After breakfast this morning I went to church for probably the first time since M’s wedding last summer. Mom and at least J and M are Catholic, so I went with the two kids to church. Biking through town, we got to survey the storm’s damage. Roofs were completely removed from homes. Branches were tossed about like toothpicks. But everyone was smiling; the temperature was 10-15 degrees cooler than yesterday.

Catholic mass is very similar to what it would have been in the US. The building is very large, shaped like a cross, and has high ceilings. There are no stained glass windows, but the existing windows and ceiling-to_floor doors allowed in plenty of light and outside air. There were well over 500 people, maybe close to 1000. Some were dressed in their Sunday best: women in colorful dresses made of fabric from the market; men in slacks and bright shirts. A choir occupied the first ten rows, and they sang frequently throughout the 90-minute service. Always behind the choir was the African drums. The band sat to the side of the choir and reminded me constantly that this was not Sunday morning mass in Minnesota. Off-beat drumming, singing, praying. The whole service was in Moore, so I understood not a word. I think that made it more interesting though.

We spent the afternoon lounging at the pool at the hotel. They have a pool and bar, so we treated ourselves to a day away from Africa. Unfortunately the pool had been trashed in last night’s storm. Dirt and dust everywhere, and the cleaning equipment was broken. No problem. We sat on the deck, talked in English, and drank a few beers. In there it is easy to forget the garbage on the streets, the half-clothed children, and the education statistics. In there we talked of cheeseburgers, banana splits, and margaritas. But we didn’t ask for the Hawaiian vacation or Peace Corps in Paris (sorry Grandma). So we had our break then biked back through Africa to our waiting families. A nice break, but paradise ain’t got nothin’ on Burkina Faso. Everyone in my neighborhood greets me now. The dogs in my courtyard bark knowingly at me when I return home. Dinner is good and much-appreciated. And I love falling asleep under the stars.

Mefloquine Dreaming

I don’t know if it was the mefloquine, the mango, the education statistics, or the burning trash, but I barely ate a delicious spaghetti dinner last night and was relieved to crawl into my outdoor bed at 8:30.

I woke up to the most terrifying real-life nightmare I have ever experienced. All the dogs in the neighborhood were going bananas. Barking. Growling. Jumping at fences. I knew the dogs in my courtyard know my now; so I was definitely not the source of their anger. I felt like I was in the “101 Dalmatians” movie, when the dogs are barking messages around the world. Except it was pitch dark and I was in Africa. I froze and my mind raced. My first, and only, thought: a lion. There is a lion in the neighborhood. I wanted to run into my bedroom and close and lock the door, but I was frozen solid in my bed. This went on for about fifteen minutes with no interruption from the dogs’ owners. Back to a restless sleep until sunrise. Needless to say, thankfully, the lion did not materialize.

Today was much happier than yesterday. Pleasure of the day: I discovered the small bags of cool, refreshing yogurt sold at the stand on the main road. Bonus: they agree with my stomach!

Now I am sitting on my front porch. The mosque on the far side of the soccer field just broadcast the call to prayer. I can’t see the people on the outside of my walls, but I know they are kneeling. There is a breeze tonight, and in the far distance lightening dances across the nighttime sky. At times it is in skinny streaks. At times the cloud cover causes a single bright flash that turns the dark night to day. I see the tree outlines. More singing from somewhere on the left. Inside the family watches cartoons on TV. Outside the day’s garbage burns beyond the courtyard walls. The dogs sleep on the patio. A five-year old car is in the courtyard. Dad rides in on his moto. The smell of the exhaust mixes with the burning plastic. Behind the house somewhere cows and goats greet each-other. So many worlds, all within an arm’s reach.

Dinner time. Purrell time. I haven’t given it up yet.

Tough Day

Today I had my first…not bad, but difficult day.

We had tech training in the morning. Aside from learning about the Burkinabe education system, we were given some of the educational statistics. The most sobering: for the 2007-2008 school year, the Burkinabe government is projecting a 1700-teacher deficit. 1700 teachers. And here we are, 17 of us. Are we really going to change anything? We’re barely a drop in the bucket. Nothing. I know, I know. We mean something to that one kid, or even two kids, or with a little luck a whole classroom. But really, am I just wasting my time here? 1700 teachers: how is that even possible?

After class this evening I played soccer with my brothers and their friends. I started to put on my shoes- brand new Nikes with bleach clean white Nike socks- and immediately felt awkward. The boys stared at me as I realized that they were going to play in the same 350Fcfa (0.75 US dollars) sandals that they wear around the courtyard and in which they bucket bath. There’s at least a patch of grass, right? Nope. The soccer field is more of a very large, five- or six-way intersection. The terrain is the same as everywhere else: red clay dirt, gravel, rocks, and garbage. Most of the larger pieces of debris had been pushed off the field due to many seasons of games. Garbage piles burn on the “sidelines”. Half-naked children play near the fires, barefoot and running through it all. I look towards the horizon and the setting sun. If I close my eyes and listen to the laughter, the teenagers playing their game, just as they play it in San Francisco, Boston, Madrid, and London, I can almost pretend I’m at home. But this is Africa, and I’m playing soccer in one of the poorest countries in the world. Somehow the worlds of the rich- cars drive through the field- and the poor- garbage burns on the sidelines- collide and coexist here. And everyone is happy. And the sun sets over the African Sahel.

I’m not sure how I feel right now. It is hard to hear and see evidence of people needing so much without feeling bad for them. Yet their lives aren’t all that bad. They have food, water, and family; and they enjoy life without all the modern American conveniences. So I guess I feel good. I’ll do what I can here, give it my best, and that’s all I can say. At the end of the day I’ll play soccer.

Homestay Begins

Today we begin our homestay program in Ouagihouya. I was adopted into a family with four kids; the oldest, J, is going to be my new best friend. He speaks English very well but is extremely patient with my French. As he showed my my bedroom, he made sure to point out the different parts of the room and tell me what they are called in French.

The family is very well off. They have electricity, a car, and I have my own room separate from the house. Having all the kids around (ages 8-16) is fun as well, but it makes me miss my own family a lot. I am very excited to learn the Burkinabe culture from them and to share a bit of American culture with them (read: these kids will be ultimate Frisbee experts by the time I’m done with them). Tonight it is hot, so I will sleep in a bed in the courtyard; the family sleeps there when it’s very hot (most nights, I’d imagine). The dogs, chickens, cat, and rooster sleep there as well. Ah, life in Burkina.

Going to Ouahigouya

Today we made the trip from Ouaga to Ouahigouya. Before leaving Ouaga, M took me to remedy my passport situation (misspelled name). The photo place was bustling with excitement. People were selling all sorts of things throughout town: portraits of President Compaore, Catholic jewelry, phone cards… I’m still amazed that more people don’t die here on a daily basis in moto crashes. Cars seem to generally obey traffic laws with respect to each-other, but interaction between cars and motos or cars and bikes is completely at random.

We took at chartered bus from Ouaga to Ouahigouya. Four people to a row, no room to move, but we had air conditioning! The landscape is barren but beautiful. There are more trees than I expected, but all the ground is red and brown and very dry. We drove past small villages that are little more than a few clusters of circles of huts. Everywhere people. Walking between villages. Biking. Carrying water, food, babies. Men in the fields. I don’t know what they are farming. What can grow in these conditions?

There was a huge celebration waiting for us when we reached Ouahgiouya. We drank water, a symbolic gesture of welcome. Women danced, and a band played: conga drums and a flute-like instrument. Women in red tops and blue skirts. This is Africa.

Before dinner we explored the city a bit. There are many buildings that are either half built or half destroyed. People lining the streets. Children running up to shake our hands. Most people were quick to return a smile and “Bon soir”. Garbage all over the streets with children running barefoot on the broken glass.

The temperature was 95 degrees F at 8:00pm, well after sunset.

Ouaga Fun

This afternoon we had interviews with the medical and language staff. My French interview was terrible. I know a total of seven verbs…but I don’t remember how to conjugate them. Looks like I’ll be in the beginner class, but that’s OK.

Dinner tonight was at M’s (the country director) house, in a very nice neighborhood in Ouaga. She and her neighbors all have gated yards with 24 hour security surveillance. The rest of the city is not nearly as nice. Caleb, Liz, and I went for a walk this afternoon. Garbage is strewn all over the streets, ground into the Earth by cars, motos, and feet. People on the sides of each street selling things, doing laundry, or just sitting. They have bikes, motos, and cell phones but no clean water. There are adorable kids everywhere. What kind of life will they lead? What kind of life did their parents lead?

The in-country staff (native Burkinabé) is incredibly inspirational. Z, the Girls Education qnd Empowerment Director was educated in Burkina and Europe. Yet she came back here because she understands that the Burkinabé people must help themselves. She spoke eloquently about giving girls the self-confidence to run their personal and professional lives.

This is exactly where I should be right now, despite the heat.

Welcome to Ouaga

After an eight hour layover in Paris- involving cards and much iPod craziness- we took a larger than expected plane to Ouaga. I'm in Africa!

I love it. We met the in-country staff on the tarmac and took a bus to the airport. The airport is a single room split into pre- and post- security sections that receives five flights per day. There were many employees in red coats who helped us with our bags. All the locals returning from their trips stood around chatting and patiently waiting for their bags. No stress; no impatience.

We all piled into vans and drove through Ouaga to the SIL, a hostel-like place where we'd be staying for the next two nights. Several observations:
-Stopping at red lights is completely optional.
-There are motos everywhere.
-Little shops/shacks/homes line the streets, which are wide paved roads (two lanes) that abruptly turn into a dirt shoulder.

Our turn off was a dirt road with no noticeable markings. SIL is very nice and even has bathrooms and electricity. It is very similar to living in an outdoors dorm. Not bad at all.

Staging in Philadelphia

Staging was a huge success. I arrived in rainy Philadelphia on Sunday morning with some time to kill before registration. Our hotel is about three blocks from the historic district of Philly. I was able to see the Liberty Bell, Independence Hall, and the Korean and Vietnam War Memorials. I felt like I was in a European city: brick buildings built close to the narrow streets. When William Penn planned the city, he made sure to include places for public recreation; several of these squares are now luxurious green parks whose trees offered shelter from the rain. For lunch, the obvious; Philly cheese steak.

Back at the hotel I began to meet my fellow trainees. (Aside: wow, the government pulled out all the stops for our hotel. Beautiful. I later realized that this was all an attempt to ease us into the Burkinabe villages gradually.) Despite the rain, everyone jumped into introductions and our orientation sessions with energy and enthusiasm. The trainees are a mostly young crowd with a few people out of school for only a couple of weeks and no one over age 31 or so. We are from all over the US, so listening to introductions was a lesson in great American accents, with an emphasis on the South. My favorite person so far is L, a 2007 UW Madison graduate originally from Lafayette, CA. Right away we have my two favorite cities in common: Madison and San Francisco.

Tuesday-Wednesday blurred into one long day of travel. We got to New York around noon but didn’t arrive at JFK airport until after 2:30. Our bus driver must have been a New York native because he took us on all sorts of crazy side roads through Brooklyn with great ease. In fact, I think we were only a fez blocks from A & J’s apartment. After a nice airport lunch with B & P, I boarded the plane: first stop, Paris; then on to Ouagadougou!