Contrary to my previous 24 years of life, my days in Burkina Faso end around 9:30pm and begin around 5:30am. If I sleep outside, as I do most nights, the resident rooster mercilessly wakes me around 3:30, two hours before sunrise.
Mornings, like much of my non-Peace Corps-run life, are quite relaxing given my early wake-up. I bring my bedding back to my bedroom and prepare for my bucket bath. This involves getting water from either a large basin or what appears to have formerly been an 80L gasoline barrel. We have a hose, but water rarely runs from it. I eat breakfast in silence with my host father while the kids watch from the patio or start their chores. Classes don’t start until 8:00, so I kill time by reading or writing in my journal.
The Peace Corps training headquarters is a conference facility five minutes by bike from my house. My immediate neighbors know my name and greet me with “Bon jour, Jacques” (close enough), but to the rest of the city, I’m just another “nasara” (foreigner) biking with a strange piece of plastic on his head.
We have four classes per day, a mixture of language, health, safety, cross-cultural, and technical training. Classes are in small (4-5) or large (all 26 of us) groups; the small language classes are often held at a group member’s home or a local restaurant. Full-group class topics from the past couple of weeks include survival Moore (one of Burkina’s 60 local languages), the Burkinabe education system, and how to make a MIF kit (for sending stool samples to the health offices in Ouaga). The heat forces the whole country to shut down from noon to 3pm for naps and lunch, so our 90 minute break seems brutally short, especially on the hot days.
After class, a variety of activities keep me busy until bedtime. Sometimes I go to the cybercafe or out for a beer with my fellow trainees. More often, though, I go home and practice my French or play soccer or Ludo with my host siblings. Ludo is a game similar to the American board game “Sorry”, except simpler, with a single die instead of elaborate cards. And, just like Sorry players, Ludo players take the game very seriously; games end with taunting and promises of future revenge.
I eat dinner with Mom and Dad while the kids and their aunt (who lives with us and does a lot of the housework) eat around the other side of the house. After dinner I watch TV, read, or help my oldest brother with his summer studies. Despite the problems with the Burkinabe education system, the students that manage to stay in school learn some very advanced material in their high school physics, chemistry, and math classes. Bedtime rolls around about 9:30, and I usually fall asleep under the stars listening to my family’s television or the neighbor’s radio, both of which play at full volume until well after midnight.
As I have experienced and observed it, life in Burkina is not particularly glamorous, complex, or technologically advanced. The Burkinabe live simple but happy lives. Unlike most Westerners, the approach daily tasks and problems in a manner that is both humbling and inspiring. A mother carries her child in a single cloth tied to her back. There are no flashy baby billionaire backpacks. Instead, this cloth (called a pagne) performs multiple duties, possibly serving as the next day’s clothing or that night’s towel. When something is dirty, you wash it with your own two hands. If you want to hear about a friend’s day, you walk over to their house. Things are personal and un-rushed.
None of this is to say that life here is perfect. Urban infrastructure, sanitation, health care, and education could all stand serious improvements. There is little industry, so money is scarce. This makes access to the existing social services even more difficult.
Most important is access to education. Nationally, 66 percent of primary school aged children attend classes; the attendance rate is down to 9 percent for high school students. While school is technically free, books, supplies, and household responsibilities all add up to a hefty price tag on a high school education, especially in rural communities. And especially especially for girls. Additionally, the education system is set up to ensure that only the brightest, most dedicated students pass from grade to grade. Unfortunately, there is no system in place that caters to the students who fail to meet the tough requirements. A student who fails twice is forced to attend a private school at substantial personal cost. More likely, however, is that s/he will drop out of school completely and end up working for the family kiosk or in the fields.
The desert-like climate forces life in Burkina to be both difficult and simple. As I adjust to lie here, I am humbled by its marvelous simplicity, and by the joy of its people, and deeply motivated to help provide basic human needs.
No comments:
Post a Comment