School Daze

Howdy howdy. The past few weeks have been all about school, so I thought I’d take a minute and tell you a little more about our school. Needless to say, it’s a little different than the typical American middle school.

The school day starts each morning at 7am. On Mondays one of the class presidents raises the national flag, while everyone else watches in respectful silence. Classes go from 7am to noon, with a 15 minute break at 10:00. Lunch lasts until 3pm, when everyone comes back to school for two more hours of class. Though each class’s schedule is different, no one has class Thursday afternoon- reserved for tests. The other popular test time is Saturday mornings; most weeks most classes have tests at either or both of those times. Saturday afternoon the kids who don’t live in our village can go home to visit their families for the rest of the weekend, before biking or walking back (sometimes as far as 20km) to my village for school on Monday morning.

Our school has about 600 students in six classes (two each of 6th and 7th grade, one 8th grade and one 9th grade). The smallest class is the 9th grade with about 85 students; eighth grade is the largest with 125 students. I polled the students in my 6th and 7th grade classes on the first day of school and found that their average ages were, respectively, 14 and 15 years. The challenge in teaching, however, comes from their age range: my youngest 8th grader is 11 years old, while the oldest is 19.

Our school administration consists of a school principal (who also teaches 25-30 hours per week), an accountant, a disciplinarian (who helps with everything from proctoring tests to handing out punishments), and a secretary. The secretary types all official school documents on her typewriter, and makes copies using an old-school carbon-copy machine whose name I don’t know…in French or English. It’s got a big crank on the side and is a very messy thing to use. But it gets the job done. We have four full-time teachers: me and one other math/science teacher, an English teacher and a history/civics teacher. We also have two part-time community members who come in to help with physical education classes and one English class. I’ve never done the math on the student-to-staff ratio, but I’m sure it’s a little on the high side.

One other big difference between our school and an American school comes at the end of the trimester, when we calculate grades. After the official end of classes and tests, there are still a couple of weeks of work left for the teachers. Once grading papers is finished, it’s time to face the students. Each teacher goes into each of his or her classes and reads off the grades of every student, verifying their marks and calculating their overall grade for the course. Then the teachers go back and fill in the report cards (manually you silly goose…MS Excel doesn’t exist in village). Once the report cards are filled out, the classes are divided up, with each teacher in charge of one class. Back to the classroom. Now we verify each student’s grades in each course, and calculate their overall grade point average for the trimester. And fill that in on their report card. With all the GPAs calculated, we can now rank the students, calculate a class average and write out a list of students- twice: once in alphabetical order, once by class rank. Finally, at the end of each trimester, we have a full staff meeting and give the statistiques for each class- how many kids passed, how many failed, etc. It’s a lot of work, but I don’t mind the math and have some sick fascination with calculating grades, ranking students, and filling out report cards. Call it the curse of being organizationally excitable.

And that’s school in a nutshell.

Happy Halloween to all.

PS Hi Mrs. C. Hope all is well in Maryland!

School St-St-St-Starts

School came to a stuttering start a couple of weeks ago. The official “rentrée scolaire” is October first, however, that was the day my village decided to celebrate the Muslim holiday Ramadan. Ramadan is the end of the month of fasting and is supposed to coincide with the new moon. The new moon was the last day of September, and so most of the world celebrated then. For some reason our village chief decided to wait a day.

The Ramadan celebration was pretty neat to see. Everyone dressed up in their finest traditional clothes- long, flowing dresses for the women and similar traditional outfits for the men. Even the kids got all snazzed up…it was weird to see some of them wearing any clothes at all, much less fancy ones. Everyone went out to the soccer field by the main road and had a prayer service, then went home to eat. I was invited to eat with one of my colleagues and one of my neighbors. Both families had chicken, and both meals were delicious. I did think it kind of strange, though: when I went over to my neighbor’s house, neither his wife (who clearly had prepared the meal) nor his kids were there. It was just him, me, and several of his male friends. I didn’t ask, but maybe celebrating Muslim holidays is like praying in that men and women do it separately. Anyone know?

Over at the school, about half the kids had shown up, despite the holiday. They sat around for a while, then the Vice Principal installed them in their classrooms. This involved him reading roll, bringing them one-by-one into the classroom, and choosing the table they will sit at for the year. After he finished he had them stay in class for another hour or so, then he told them to go home. I’m not sure what the point of all that was. Due to the holiday, most kids hadn’t come, so he did the same exact thing the next day. That takes us to day number three, a Friday. Needless to say we did nothing. Classes finally started Monday, sort of. Since we don’t have copy services here, the first day of class is typically reserved for giving students the syllabus for the year. The teacher writes the list of chapters on the board, and the students write them down in their notebooks. So I gave my first real lessons the next day, almost a week after the official first day back. Thing is, after having seen the same thing last year, I knew exactly what to expect. I was in complete accordance with the other teachers in not wanting to do anything the previous Friday. I think I’m going to go into shock when I go back to America and something actually starts when it’s supposed to.

We just finished the second week of school. So far, I’m teaching a sixth grade math class and two seventh grade math classes. One of our other math/science teachers is leaving at the end of the month, so I’m probably going to be picking up one of his classes, which I’m excited about because he teaches the older students. There’s only so many times discussing properties of a line (”It goes on forever! It doesn’t even stop at the end of your piece of paper!”) with sixth graders is intellectually stimulating. That said, our next unit is about the order of operations; PMDAS returns. And wait ’til they find out that PMDAS is coming to village, live and in person. She’ll be the biggest celebrity this side of Michael Jackson.

One more quick thing. The US Election. I’m sure you are all sick to death of hearing about it, but I want to point out that everyone here is paying attention. Well, the educated people anyways. Even some of my students know who Barack Obama is. For the rest of them, when I tell them a black man might be the next POTUS, they pretty much think it’s a bad joke. Most of them don’t believe that black people can have money or a solid education, certainly not enough to be in charge of the US. I hope for nothing more than to be able to come into class the day after the election and tell them that America elected a president who is intelligent, cares about people, is willing to listen to viewpoints from around the world, who will continue to provide American aid to poor countries…and who happens to be black.

PS For those of you not in San Franciso…I sent in my absentee ballot recently, happily voting to change the name of the “SF Oceanside Water Treatment Facility” to the “George W. Bush Sewage Center”. Go Bears!

Benin and Togo

See the pictures!

Cross another two of Burkina’s neighbors off the list; our trip to Benin and Togo was wet, wild, and messy! Everything that a good time should be. (That’s dirty.)

We got our five-country VISA at the Burkinabe National Passport Office. I kid you not: it is a garage with two guys working at two desks, each with a fan and a large book of names.

We left Ouaga on a beautiful Sunday morning right around sun-up. Oh wait. After a bus reservation mix up, a flat tire (in downtown Ouaga), and a four hour delay at the Ouaga tollbooth, we actually got out of the city proper around noon. Good start.

If the border crossing into Ghana was like taking an elevator 10 floors up in the socioeconomic skyscraper, crossing into Benin was more like ascending in a slow moving escalator a few stories. The Beninese countryside is full of forests and hills (very different from the majority of Burkina), and I noticed a lot more permanent-looking buildings than I’m used to seeing- more concrete walls and metal roofs. Cotonou (Benin’s capital, located on the coast) is a busy, bustling city of almost a million people. It felt bigger, more active, and dirtier than Ouaga. The streets were clogged with motos with hardly a bike to be seen. We found a hotel and went out on the town for dinner. We found a place that grilled chicken, and, still in our Burkina mindsets, we each ordered a whole bird. Apparently Beninese chickens come with more meat on them than Burkinabe birds, so we ended up feeding a family of five hungry Beninese folks as well.

From Cotonou we made our way to Ganvie, a village built in 1717 when Beninese natives rode on a crocodile’s back to the middle of Lake Nokoue to escape the slave traders. Think Venice in Africa. All the buildings are built on stilts a couple of meters above the water level, and the locals use pirogues (like canoes) powered by oar, sail (made out of rice sacks) or motor to get around. They even have a floating market! The village is gorgeous, but I got mixed feelings being there- there were several kids whose sole job seemed to be paddling after tourists and demanding presents. I didn’t like paying a tour company to exploit their lifestyle. We almost created an international incident when we refused to pay for the overpriced food (3500cfa for a plate of rice that normally costs 200cfa), but luckily we were able to escape with only a few bruised egos.

The next day we took a cab 150km or so north to the city of Abomey, ancient capital of the Dahomey kingdom. I’ll get to the Dahomeys in a second, but first, the trip up. An hour into the trip, we came across a police check point. When the driver turned around, pulled over, and told us to get out, we were a little nervous. No problem, though, he explained. The police were just checking for working headlights, so he was going to replace one of his. Well it turns out he replaced both headlights…and both tail lights. The delay gave us time, however, to check out the local hardware shack and sample some palm wine in the midst of its distillation process. Tasted like the strongest tequila I’ve ever had. Back on the road, we immediately pulled off the road and onto a detour around the police checkpoint. (You might ask why we replaced the lights in the middle of the morning if we were just going to go around anyways. That’s a stupid question. Don’t ask questions.) The detour was through the cornfields, and we almost got stuck going through a neighboring village (which just appeared from the fields) as they had decided to put a local tax on their village detour- apparently a lot of people were using their road that morning. No problems, though, and a few hours later we were in Abomey.

As I mentioned, Abomey was the capital of the Dahomey kingdom. The Dahomeys were a tribe of natives who waged war on their neighbors then sold their POWs to the Europeans and into the slave trade. One of their king’s throne is mounted on the skulls of four of his enemies. Enticing jobs in the Dahomey palaces include spinning the king’s umbrella (for which you could be decapitated if you spun counterclockwise), guarding his 3000 wives (castration required), and burying the king after his death (requiring decapitation after completing the job). Nice folks. But the city is cute now- they’re building a gorgeous new marketplace, and there’s even a couple of town parks- and we had a good time relaxing in our hotel with some French friends.

From Abomey, we headed to the beach. Again, our cab was…let’s say well-used. The car had no shocks, and the glove compartment fell into Julia’s lap every time we went over a bump. It had no internal paneling, you could see the road through the floorboards, they kept the extra gas in a plastic bottle on the floor, and the door opened if sneezed on. To top it off, I don’t think we hit 20mph at any point in the 100 mile journey. At least we each had our own seats- a point we insisted upon for the long journey, and which we almost didn’t get. (The car had exactly enough seats for us plus the driver. We made the driver’s friend sit on his lap. He could have stayed home if he wanted.) But the beach was worth it! We stayed at a place in Grand Popo called Lion Bar, a hotel/restaurant/bar owned by a rasta man and located right on the beach. The whole place was rasta themed- the rooms were named after Bob Marley and other icons, the play list was strictly reggae, and there were quotes on every wall. I loved it! I only wish I had had my rasta wig. We spent the next few days in the hammocks, playing in the sand, reading books (I finished Harry Potter 5!), and playing poker. We met the PCV stationed there and probably wore her ears off with site jealousy. We also met a guy who lived literally two blocks from me in San Francisco. “It’s a small world after all…” Good times!

We dragged ourselves from the beach for an afternoon trip to Ouidah, the historical home of the voodoo religion. We didn’t see a whole lot of voodoo stuff, but we did get a neat tour of the old fort the Portuguese then French had used during the 18th-20th centuries.

Sadly, all beach time must come to an end. We made our way into Togo and spent a night in its capital, Lome. It’s going to sound crazy, but Lome kind of reminds me of Los Angeles. There’s a gorgeous beach running the length of the city- wide, white sand, palm trees. If you add white people, volleyballs, and Rollerblades, you could be in Santa Monica or Malibou. Until you look on the other side of the street- the slums of Lome. That part of the city is more South Central LA: wide boulevards, tons of cars, dilapidated old buildings. But despite this homey, LA feeling, I really liked the city. The market sprawls out over most of downtown, and the place is very walkable.

The next day we packed up and went north a bit to Kpalime, a large town in the mountains. The place is amazing. Mac decided the ride was probably the most beautiful transport he’s had in West Africa, and I agree. We were traveling through dense greenery that often came right up to the edge of the road. When we hit the hills, the greenery turned into jungle, and the villages we drove past seemed like they could be in the Caribbean. Dirt paths cut into the trees, disappearing from sight after just a few meters. Kpalime itself is a thriving town with a plentiful market and tropical fruits everywhere. We had pineapple, guava, papaya, star fruit, oranges, bananas, some green thing we had never seen before, and more.

Friday morning we took a hike to the waterfalls. Our driver took us out of town a ways, and just after the turn off from the main road, a group of early 20’s young men were hanging around. We slowed down, and two guys jumped into the van, welcoming us to the waterfalls and announcing that they would be our guides. We explained that we didn’t want guides, and that we wouldn’t pay them, and they promptly told us we could not enter the park. We pointed out that they weren’t officials, had no papers, and that there was no sign. They showed us some graffitti on the entrance which said, in German supposedly, that we had to pay to enter. Ha! They insisted that they were legit, but when we mentioned going back to the authorities, their prices started falling like bricks. Go figure. In the end, we ended up paying the price we had heard was legitimately required to get into park (directly to our new guides though) in exchange for them to take us to the second, hidden, natural waterfalls. Turned out to be well worth the money. The first falls, visible from the road, were neat, but not all that exciting, especially since they are man-made. The second falls, however, were beautiful, and we even got to take a dip in the cold, clear mountain water. And I need to say it again: gorgeous countryside!

With heavy hearts, we made our way up through Togo the next day. Of all the countries I’ve been to in West Africa (OK, only four), this was definitely my favorite. Forests, rivers, trees, villages with electricity, stocked markets. Even the corner convenience stores were full of merchandise. Additionally, the Togolese government seems to be spending a ton of money on public awareness campaigns. Our hotel room had a informational flier about the transmission of and protection against HIV. Billboards with pictures depicting proper condom techniques were everywhere. As were billboards with messages against having sex with minors: “You wouldn’t let this old man sleep with your daughter, so why are you sleeping with his?” was my favorite. Trash cans lined the streets of Lome and every other town we stopped in. There were signs every 20 meters along the river in Kpalime warning against littering and public defecation. There were even public bathrooms along the roadside. What a country!

What a trip!

Burkina in the News

Burkina Faso has been in US and world news several times recently. While not all of the news is positive, it does serve to remind that Burkina is moving in the right direction.

The Millennium Challenge Corporation is a United States Government organization that provides poor countries with funds for roads, sanitation, energy, agriculture, education, and healthcare. In order to be eligible to receive these funds, a country must demonstrate just governance, investment in their people, and the encouragement of economic freedom. Burkina recently became eligible for the MCC Threshold Programs, which are smaller grants intended for use in specific sectors. In Burkina, the money will be used for much needed development in primary school education of girls. 132 schools have already been constructed, and this summer a Compact agreement was signed for up to $520 million in additional education and infrastructure aid.

On a less serious note, as many of you may have seen, the popular television show “The Amazing Race” was filmed in Burkina Faso last winter. Participants milked camels, taught Moore (the main tribal language), and had some adventures in the marketplace. If Burkina while you’re awake isn’t enough, you can now cover yourself in Burkina while you sleep! Yup, Victoria’s Secret recently signed on for an order of 600 tons of Burkinabe organic cotton. Aside from that “soft, cozy and warm” feel you’ve always loved from your Vicky’s unmentionables, this fair trade deal has the added benefit of directly benefiting village women. Now there’s something to think about the next time you “slip into something a little more comfortable!”

Finally, two articles (here and here) recently appeared in the Wall Street Journal regarding the affects the rising cost of food has had on Burkina’s poorest people. Specifically, they outline the ways and reasons women have been hit hardest by the ever-increasing cost of feeding a family. After living amongst the well-off in Ouaga for the past month, reading these articles was a reminder about the average Burkinabe’s life. To be sure, the articles’ content was not surprising or new to me: I see the “Green Brigade” of women street sweepers every morning; I stopped asking my village students how lunch was once I realized the most common answer was “I didn’t eat”; and I play card games on Sunday afternoons with my male students while my female students are doing their housework. Thing is, all that has become normal in the past year. The meals of “bland cornmeal mush” aren’t nutritious, but they don’t taste that bad. My garbage may not make the most sanitary toys for my kid neighbors, but at least they are reusing. While some of these aspects of life are certainly not life-threatening, the articles were a good reminder that “normal” sometimes needs to change.

Well, there you have it. Burkina may not be beating China or India (or Sarah Palin’s pregnant daughter?!) to the top of the newscast everyday, but look closely. Every once in a while we’re there, plugging away one step at a time.

English Camp Winds Down

My time in Ouaga is quickly coming to an end. Last week was the final week of English Camp/Classes at the Embassy, and I’m going back to village tomorrow. It was a great experience teaching at the Embassy and living in Ouaga, but I’m excited to get back home…even though I’ll only be there for three days.

The last week of English Camp was quite exciting. One of the Peace Corps senior staff members got her start speaking English a number of years ago at the camp. She’s now a doctor, and we invited her to the Language Center to talk about HIV/AIDS with the students. She gave one presentation in French for the beginning students, and one presentation in English for the advanced students. Though both sessions were well-received, the highlight of the week was definitely our Olympic-style track and field day. Think elementary school field day meets Beijing meets family reunion. We had an egg race, 3-legged race, and water balloon toss. The kids were a little hesitant at first, but by the end even the older ones were cheering and having a great time. Yesterday we had a closing ceremony and open house for the parents. Each class got to do a performance, and they sang songs and performed skits. All in English. It was great to see their confidence and creativity coming out in their second…actually third or fourth language. Pictures from the month are here.

Tomorrow I’m headed back to village for the first time in two months. I loved living in Ouaga with electricity and running water, but I’m excited to go home. Excited and nervous. I hope no animals have moved into my house! It’ll be a quick stay in village- just enough time to say hi- then I’ll be back in Ouaga next weekend. We leave for Benin and Togo a week from today, and I can’t wait for the beach!

Cheers!

Ouagadougou Love

Ouagadougou…knows how to party.
We keep it rockin’! We keep it rockin’!

OK, so maybe that’s not quite how the song goes, but I feel it’s pretty applicable to my life for the past couple of weeks. I’ve been in Ouaga teaching English, and have definitely grown accustomed to the city lifestyle. Ouaga maybe isn’t the flashy, cosmopolitan city of New York or Paris, but as far as I’m concerned it is definitely not bad.

Every summer the American Language Center puts on two month-long sessions of English classes for middle and high school students in Ouaga. In an effort to make things a little spicy (”Kick it up a notch!”…Emeril, anyone?), they’ve organized the schedule so that the students have two hours of classroom learning, followed by two hours of fun activities. And that’s where I come in. The ALC wants the fun activity time to be a little like a day camp, and they brought in PCV “experts” to help out with that. My application listed my numerous qualifications from my days at the Lair, including (but certainly not limited to): marshmallow snot rockets, Capture the Flag, whale hunting, and inner tube water polo. I don’t like to brag, but I can see how they couldn’t pass me up. There’s unfortunately no pool at the ALC, but together with three other PCV friends, we’ve planned four weeks of arts and crafts, class competitions, music, and athletic events that should keep the students at least mildly entertained. Either that or they’ll go home thinking we’re nuts.

The most interesting aspect of camp is the contrast between these students and my students in village. These kids, the older ones at least, drive to class on motos. They are well-informed about national and international events, and they have a good grasp on pop life and culture outside of Burkina. My village students walk up to 10km to get to school (the lucky ones bike); a few of them have a battery-powered light bulb at home; almost none have ever used a computer. Tellingly, one class at the ALC got in an argument over some routine aspect of life in village, and it was my PCV friend who had to step in and correct them as none of them truly knew what goes on in small villages. It’s reassuring to know that it is possible to get an education and lead a healthy life in Burkina, but it’s very frustrating to see more evidence of the enormous education, financial, and lifestyle differences that exist here. As Burkina is by no means alone on the list of countries combating poverty, I know I could see the same gap (if not a bigger one) between rich and poor students in America, but it has been eye-opening to work with the other half after living in village for the past year.

As for myself, I’ve more or less re-adapted to city life. Running water. Toilets. Electricity. Air conditioning. There are several small grocery stores near the PCV house; internet is everywhere; and restaurants serve cold drinks. I’ve also enjoyed feeling caught up with the rest of the world. (Brett Favre is in New York?!) I saw pictures from the Opening Ceremonies, and we got to watch the US soccer and basketball games yesterday. Being here has also highlighted the changes I’ve undergone having lived in village the past year. Despite the cool weather, I can’t force myself to take a hot shower. It feels weird and steamy and I don’t like it, so I leave the water cold. The other night we went down the street to get dinner. When describing the source of food to my friend, I explained that “It’s a little alleyway where four or five women set up carts every night at dusk. They have rice (good for carbs), beans (for protein), and spaghetti (for oil). If you mix them all together, it’s a really good meal.” She heartily agreed. Even better: the cost of meal was 25 cents. Beat that, Paris!

Old Places; New Faces

I’ve spent the last two weeks helping to train the group of new volunteers who arrived last month. Their training is in the same city mine was last year, so it was fun to see my host family and re-visit old hang-out spots. It was also neat to see how much the city has grown in the past year, and after hanging out with the new arrivals, how much I’ve grown as well.

My host family is hosting another volunteer this summer. I must admit that my first reaction upon hearing that news was, “Oh no! What if they like him more than me?” It was a very made-for-TV moment- when the only child finds out that Mom is pregnant- but I think I handled it pretty well. No temper tantrums, screaming, or reverting to baby behavior. I met their new volunteer (who seems pretty cool and will coincidentally be my closest new neighbor), and went home with him for dinner one night. My host siblings (two brothers and a sister) were very excited to see me, and we chatted about school and soccer. The younger brother shared with me his newfound obsession with the game of marbles, and the older brother showed me last year’s report cards. Bragging moment: he’s entering his senior year in high school ranked number one in his class! He wants to go to University and study science. I’m crazy excited for him.

The big news from their neighborhood is the continued keenness for Ultimate Frisbee. I introduced my host siblings to Frisbee last summer. They seemed to really like it, so I gave them a disc as a going away/thank you present. Fast forward a year. My 13 year-old host brother invited me to play with him before dinner one night. Him and all the kids in the neighborhood! We went down to the field by their house, and I quickly found out he wasn’t exaggerating. The disc I had given them was…well-loved, to say the least. And we had a group of kids at the field that could really play well. They told me they play every morning and are thinking of organizing a tournament before school starts! Frisbee hasn’t yet replaced soccer as their sport of choice (they still play soccer in the evenings), but morning games? A possible tournament? How’s that for cultural integration?

It was also very fun to meet the new trainees. They’re in the middle of their training now, have just found out where they’ll be living for the next two years, and are about to start teaching in summer school. They’re all excited about being here, but a little nervous about moving into their villages in a couple of weeks. Hearing their thoughts on training, their questions, and their excitements really put the last year in perspective for me. I look back and see the same thoughts, anxieties, and excitements in myself a year ago. But hey: my French is more-or-less passable; I’ve successfully kept a class of 95 students under control (OK…sort of); and I’ve gotten used to not having ice cold drinks in 110 degree village heat. Not bad! However, my time with the trainees also reminded me of the things I still want to accomplish in my service- I’m hoping to do HIV/AIDS sensibilisations before Christmas, strengthen my math/science club, and possibly collaborate with a Girls’ Education volunteer for a girls’ camp in my village next spring.

I think the best thing I’ve realized this summer is that I’ve been here just over a year, and I love my life. And that’s a pretty satisfying thing to be able to say.