Affectation

Our swear-in ceremony was a very formal affair held at a hotel near our training facility in Ouahigouya. The regional director of education, some national government officials, our training staff, and of course our families were all there. As custom dictated, the last person to arrive was the US Ambassador, who had been escorted into the city by the Mayor and the PC Country Director. Multiple speeches were given, including remarks of gratitude by trainees in four local languages (none of which I understood) and French (which I did understand). At the end of the Ambassador’s speech, she asked the trainees to rise, and together we took the oath of Peace Corps service. Presto! I was officially a Peace Corps Volunteer. The months (and years) of waiting, planning, and training had finally resulted in my ultimate goal realized. Instantly my daily salary nearly tripled, and I became a sworn defender of the Constitution of the United States of America, “against all enemies, foreign and domestic”. Unfortunately we are not given diplomatic immunity.

After the ceremony there was time for a quick “mingle and eat” session. As a going away present my host family had given me a traditional Burkinabe outfit made from fabric hand woven by my host mother’s deceased grandmother. It’s a beautiful outfit, and I look pretty snazzy in it (I’ll get you pictures soon). It’s going to be hard to resist wearing it for a night on the town once I get back to America. I enjoyed the outfit even more once I discovered the exact angle to hold my arms for a full air-conditioning affect. Also, due to the thick fabric, sweat stains don’t show. Double bonus! Unfortunately we had to cut our time at the party short so we could get to the station to catch our bus down to Ouaga.

Since we were all traveling together, the bus company had made arrangements for us to have a private coach. This does not mean we enjoyed a nice spacious ride to Ouaga in the lap of luxury. The bus had six or seven rows of seats. When you fold down the aisle seat, there is enough room to fit four people, shoulder to shoulder, per row. With all the rows full, there was just enough space for the 26 of us, our three adopted kittens, and Jon’s electrical equipment. Plus two Burkinabe stowaways. About an hour outside of Ouaga we started having problems with the rooftop luggage rack. I didn’t see anything fall off, but the driver had to stop to make adjustments three or four times within the span of half an hour.

As we were driving down, I thought back to my first impressions of Ouaga, Burkina, and the Burkinabe three months ago. Ouaga seemed like a nightmarish war zone with loiterers lining the streets and no legal order. The Burkina landscape was barren, the closest thing this side of a desert I’ve ever experienced. And the Burkinabe seemed nice, but in desperate need of outside help. Three months later some of those perceptions hold, but others need serious amendments. Yes, stop lights are largely suggestions; yes, the majority of Burkinabe people are subsistence farmers; and yes, the temperature can be “hot as Sahel”. But now I’m also compelled to notice signs of hope. The HIV/AIDS infection rates are low, and people are talking about malaria prevention. Girls, especially in big cities, attend school almost as regularly as boys. Not only are the people nice, but they are also hard-working, uncomplaining, and generous. There are definitely problems- access to education, health care, and sanitation- but the situation is not without hope. It seems like just a few simple things would go a long ways, and I guess that’s why I’m here.

Our Ouaga weekend was full of all the good things in life. We had a pool party; consumed cheeseburgers, milkshakes, and pizza; and topped it all off at the wine and cheese bar. Saturday afternoon I was able to shop at the Marina Market, an Ex-Pat grocery store that feeds American. It even stocks M&M’s and Twix Bars.

Sunday was “go day”. Because we had all our luggage, Peace Corps vans were fanning out over the country and taking most of us directly to our sites. My van left the transit house around 7:30 and reached the outskirts of Ouaga about an hour later- after visiting several gas stations looking for air for the tires and stopping for a coffee break for the driver. We dropped Garrett off in his village then made our way along the back roads to mine. Along the way we drove right past Julia moving into her new house. We stopped to say hi, and Julia and I hugged like we were old friends who hadn’t seen each other in decades. In actuality it had been barely two hours. Just imagine the scene when we all get back together in three months for our In-Service Training.

After leaving Julia’s the road got noticeably worse. We were on an unpaved path, and the rainy season had taken its toll. Potholes and puddles were everywhere. And when I say potholes and puddles, I mean canyons and lakes. It was a very bumpy 70km ride, but we finally saw the sign for my village.

The saying that some things “hit you like a ton of bricks” has never been more appropriate in my life. As we approached my new house, I thought back to the last time I drove home to a new home. It was almost two years ago. I was with Amy and Jordan. We had just dropped off my U-Haul in Berkeley and had picked up some things from the Ikea in Emeryville. Driving across the Bay Bridge, Amy and I noted how weird it was to be traveling west towards home in San Francisco, after so many years of crossing the Bridge in the other direction to get home to Berkeley. Fast forward two years. Now I was driving towards my new home through a remote region of Africa in one of the poorest countries in the world. It was then that it hit me, and it hit me hard. I suddenly felt very alone.

After the driver left, I quickly realized that I had to get out of the house. I went to visit my counterpart, a teacher at my school. Then I stopped at the telecenter to call my mom and let her know that I had made it safely. And because I needed to hear a familiar voice. Back at the house, I made it through the rest of the afternoon thanks to two saving graces. One, cleaning. I am an admitted Type A, organizationally-excitable person, so I started cleaning the house. After sweeping and mopping my bedroom I felt much better. Still alone, but better. Then, after dinner, I used my second lifeline. Before leaving San Francisco, my friends had given me a photo album, complete with notes of encouragement, friendship, and memories. I had kept the book locked up in storage throughout training, wanting to save it for a special occasion. If ever there was going to be a special occasion, I knew that this, my first night in village, was it. I opened the book and was immediately overwhelmed with happy “Mmmmmmmmmm-emories”: Bay to Breakers, skydiving, New Orleans, Yosemite, Point Reyes, the beach, birthdays, San Diego, Half Dome, cake fights, Burger Shack, Cal Band…I felt like everyone was here with me, and I realized that I’m not that far away. I can do this. Then I fell asleep.