Sorry it’s been a while since I’ve written. It’s been a busy couple of months. Since the last time I wrote...

I attended a wedding party for my host sister and her fiancé. My good friend Jen came all the way over here to share Thanksgiving dinner with me. I killed the turkey. (Note for next time: Use a sharper machete...) We took a canoe out on a lake and saw hippos. I almost got gored by a bull. (Seriously, it was close. An old man who heard the story said the only reason the bull turned at the last second was that I was “in direct communication with God.”) I was stranded for 12 hours on the side of the road in the African bush when the driver of my bus could not produce his “papers” at a military checkpoint. I, for the first time since I began teaching in Burkina Faso almost 2 years ago, had to leave class in the middle of a lesson to take care of some very pressing “business.” (“Uh, I’m sorry class, but I forgot something at the office, and I need to go get it right now!” I don’t think I fooled anybody.) I had a Big Mac in Paris. I met up with my buddy Rob in Luxembourg. I ate kangaroo, emu, and crocodile in Germany. (All three dishes- better than sheep brains...) I connected with my brother Jeremy in London and met his girlfriend for the first time. Jeremy, Rob, and I saw every single tourist site in the city of London in 2 hours and 13 minutes. (We were a bit pressed for time...) Rob and I ate Christmas dinner in Paris a block from the Cathedral of Notre Dame. On the menu? Reheated Chinese food. I surprised my friend Erica (on her way to visit me in Burkina) in the airport in Paris. We hiked up, down, and along the beautiful cliff running through Dogon Country in Mali. I danced (uh, tried to dance) a traditional little jig accompanied by a chorus of djembe drums. I got peed on by a goat stuffed under my seat on public transport. I rang in the New Year with Erica on the roof of the Peace Corps house in the capital. First noteworthy event of 2007? On our way to dinner New Year’s Day, our truck ran out of gas in the middle of a busy intersection- not the best start to a new year I’ve ever had. (Though, to be fair, no the worst either...) I learned that while I was in Europe, the Burkina military basically declared war on the Burkina police. I said goodbye to my neighbor Dieudonné, one of my best friends in village (and captain of our neighborhood’s soccer team which he named- what else? - The Red Sox), who left for the Ivory Coast hoping to earn enough money there to be able to return to Bomborokuy and start his own business. I celebrated the birthday of my colleague and mentor, Bazie. I got sick from the wild rabbit meat Bazie prepared for said celebration. I held the 3-day-old baby daughter of a friend of mine in Nouna. I attended a horse festival in a neighboring village where over 50 horses and their riders competed for prizes and prestige. Oh yeah, and from time to time I taught math to my 200+ students (one of whom, after I scolded him for cheating on a test, apologized and wished me a long life).

Gobble Gobble Gobbaahk!

Just like I remember it

Jeremy and me being funny

The Mali Crew

So there you have it. Maybe you thought that was my blog entry for this time around. Actually, that was just my list of excuses for why it’s been so long since I’ve written. Now, for my actual entry...

Today was an amazing day. When I woke up this morning and started writing this blog entry, I was planning to reflect on a question that was posed to me a number of times by a few different people while I was in Europe: Is Peace Corps worth it? Am I wasting my expensive college education here in the African bush? Am I leaving thousands of dollars on the table- money that could go to help people in Burkina Faso if I were so inclined- by opting for a two-year volunteer gig instead of entering the workforce? I’ve thought a lot about those questions. And I had a really good plan for how I was going to lay out my argument in this blog entry for why Peace Corps is in fact worth it. It had to do with the three goals of the organization and how I believe we are better at achieving the second two goals (that other peoples learn about Americans and that Americans learn about other peoples) than we are the first (meeting the country’s need for trained men and women) but that’s ok because the second two goals are really important especially considering our increasingly interconnected world and the not-so-flattering image many in that world have of us as Americans. My argument was going to be phrased much more eloquently than that, and I was planning on breaking up that run-on sentence into at least 2 or 3 separate sentences. But then I had an amazing day today, and it entirely changed the way I now think about the question, “Is Peace Corps worth it?”

Last week, the father from the host family I lived with during my first 3 months of training gave me a call. We’ve stayed close ever since I was shipped off to begin my service in Bomborokuy; I’ve been back a number of times to visit, my host brother came out to my village to see me, we talk on the phone every now and then. My host dad was the one who gave me the name Wend Panga. So he called last week. He told me that Mama was very sick and that he could not afford the medicine she needed. I told him that I could come into the capital that weekend if he could meet me there. We made a plan to meet up in Ouagadougou.

I met with him this afternoon. We went out to lunch and talked about our families. He asked if my parents back in the States liked the gifts he sent them. I asked how his two little ones were faring in grade school. He asked about my time with my brother in London. I asked how his oldest son was doing at his new job. It was nice. Afterwards, we went back to the Peace Corps hostel to talk about what it would take to get Mama the exams and medicine she needed.

Papa was very uncomfortable asking for my help. He is very proud, and he seemed frustrated at himself for having to seek out help to care for his family. He showed me all the receipts for the different exams and medications Mama would need. As is the case with so many important goods and services in this country, while the costs were prohibitively high for my Papa, they were low when considered with a Western frame of reference. I gave him the money without a second thought.

I am not going to do a very good job capturing what happened after that. Papa tried to thank me, got choked up, and started crying. He kept trying to talk but couldn’t through his tears. I hugged him and started to tear up as well. When he could finally speak he thanked me and prayed for God to protect me always. I explained to him how small my gift to him was compared to all that he and his family had done for me during these two years. We each expressed how blest we were that God saw fit to put the other in our life. It was the most powerful moment I have experienced since arriving in Burkina Faso. It is not an exaggeration to say that it was one of the most powerful moments I have experienced in my life.

Is Peace Corps worth it? That gift to my host father would be called what, for many development workers, is a dirty word: unsustainable. It is a one-off gift that will hopefully help one family avoid one possible crisis this one time. But that money wasn’t what made today amazing. Today was amazing because I shared a moment I will never forget with a frail 60-year-old Burkinabe man who calls me son and who I call father. It was amazing because I felt like I caught a quick glimpse of a small part of God’s plan, and it overwhelmed me. I knew that my 2 years in Africa would have an effect on me. I never would’ve guessed that a single moment would touch me in such a powerful way.

So, yeah, this experience is worth it.

Last year, before my first day of school, I scripted out word-for-word (in French) exactly what I was going to say during my first class. I wrote down questions I was going to ask my students and, though it’s funny to think back on this now, I made note of several possible things with which I might reply depending on the students’ response to said questions. Needless to say, I didn’t have much confidence in my ability to communicate with my students. When I wasn’t worrying about having to teach in French, I was daydreaming about how nice it would be if it had been the British who colonized Burkina Faso at the beginning of the 20th Century… For the most part, my fears of going into a classroom filled with 120 students whom I could not understand and who could not understand me were never realized. I spent the first five minutes of my first class last year sticking to my carefully constructed script before I realized that maybe I didn’t need that crutch as much as I thought. Fortunately for my students, it turned out that the Peace Corps language teachers had worked some magic and were actually able to get through to this linguistically challenged English-speaker. What I had taken to be a flippant dismissal of very legitimate concerns (“Josh, would you just stop worrying?! Believe me, once you get up in front of the class, it will all come together for you…”) turned out to be an accurate description of exactly what took place that first day. And it just got easier from there. This year, my first day of classes was decidedly less stressful and infinitely more fun. Our first day happened to fall on Columbus Day, and a good deal of my classes was spent discussing Columbus and all things American in a laid-back, unstructured Q-and-A-type setting. Every once in a while, I’ll have these moments here in Africa when I feel like I’m in some sappy, feel-good advertisement promoting the Peace Corps and the things for which it stands. These moments don’t happen all the time; for sure, if the Peace Corps wanted to make a promotional ad based on my time here, they would have to edit out quite a bit of boredom, tedium, and frustration. But my first day of classes this year was a good one- not much editing required. In fact, that whole first week was pretty special. The day before school started was my birthday (thanks to all of you who sent cards and well-wishes). Weirdly enough, I share my birthday with my next-door neighbor, Dieudonne, one of my best friends in village and 15 years my elder. When we uncovered the coincidence last year, we immediately began making plans to celebrate the day together in 2006. While the Burkinabe are very much into celebrating religious and state holidays, birthdays generally pass by unrecognized. Many of my students do not even know what day their birthday is. Dieudonne hadn’t celebrated his birthday in over 10 years. We both decided that would change in 2006. The night of October 8, I cooked up a storm. Ok, well, actually, I added water to instant mashed potatoes, added water to instant stuffing, added water to instant gravy, heated up canned carrots, and, finally, added water to instant kool-aid. I made a trip to the butcher’s and picked up a couple of huge chunks of a freshly slaughtered sheep (electing to pass on the head and organs…). It was quite the feast and quite the party. Dieudonne brought his wife and newborn daughter, and I invited a couple of my coworkers from school to help us mark the occasion. After the meal, we talked soccer and baseball. Dieudonne is the coach of our neighborhood’s village-league soccer team. As coach, he got to name the team. His choice? The Red Sox. About a month into the school year, the powers that be had yet to name the replacement of our school director who passed away earlier this year. As a second-year teacher, I was the second-most senior member of the school’s staff of 6 teachers. One of the frustrating aspects of the school system here is how often teachers and administrators are moved from school to school and from village to village. Another frustrating aspect is how most of the transfers of teachers from one school to their next assignment occur during the school year. The first two months of classes are characterized by current teachers and staff leaving and new ones arriving. The government would wait for the dust of all these transfers to settle before officially naming our new director. Not that it mattered much to me. I had already childishly written off our new director as someone not as good as Marius Oueda, the man who served as our director last year before he passed away. Admittedly, this was not a very professional attitude to hold towards a man I had never met and who would soon become my boss. If I had entered into my relationship with my new boss carrying this chip on my shoulder, certainly I would become less effective as a member of the teaching staff in Bomborokuy and as a volunteer here in Burkina Faso. So it was quite a blessing (another one of those blessings that maybe I didn’t quite deserve) when the Minister named a man who was already a friend of mine, Noel Tienou, as our new director. Months earlier, I had randomly met Noel at a bar in Nouna and we had quickly become friends. He spoke English, and we ended up meeting a handful of times to hang out (he would speak English and I would reply in French). Noel is a good guy, and he’s a guy for whom I already have a great deal of respect. Bomborokuy will miss Marius Oueda. But I have little doubt that Noel Tienou will be able to serve our school in Bomborokuy with the same dedication and passion that Marius gave us when he was here.

Every year, Burkina Faso gets two new groups of Peace Corps trainees. Each of these groups serves two years. So at any given time there are usually four groups of volunteers in-country, each of which arrived on a different date. Every once in a while, you'll hear a volunteer make an analogy to the set-up in high school where you have freshmen just arriving up through seniors who are on their way out.

At Burkina Faso High, I just became a big, bad senior.

The group of volunteers who arrived immediately before me have begun to trickle out of country. Some are heading back to the US for grad school, others to France to continue working abroad. Some seem to have their post-Burkina lives all planned out, others aren't thinking much past the next few weeks when they will be able to reconnect with family and friends they haven't seen since leaving the States. As for me, I'm starting to struggle with the tricks that time has been playing on me. In Burkina Faso, life moves at a pace that suggests you have all the time in the world. Rarely is anyone in a hurry. Rarely do things need to happen by a specific date and time. Case in point: Classes begin next month. But what is the date of the first day of school? If any of you actually know the answer, please let me know immediately so I can inform the students, the other teachers, and the school administration. When do classes start? They'll start when they start.

And little by little, this culture where meetings are scheduled for a particular day, but not time, and where important events are scheduled for a particular season, but not day, little by little this culture has chipped away at my obsessive need to know exactly what I'll be doing when, to know exactly where I'm expected to be and how long it will take me to get there. I'm more patient. Time is less important. "In America, you have watches. In Africa, we have time." We have all the time in the world.

But I don't have all the time in the world. Time has flown by and that which I have left is a very definite amount that will be gone in just a handful of months. I don't want to be sitting around my house in America in 9 months thinking to myself, "Man, I wish I had done this or that while I was in Africa. I wish I had visited this person or I wish I had hung out more with that person." In sports, people talk about "leaving it all on the court." If you gave it your absolute all, it's not possible to regret the level of your effort, regardless of the outcome of the game. I don't want to leave here thinking that I held something back.

Anything that I may have accomplished already in my service was possible because of all the help and support I received from you guys back home. I am so lucky in that I could go on for pages and pages talking about everyone who has found ways to let me know of their prayers and support. But as I wrap up this post, I wanted to thank a few people in particular who have been and continue to be a huge part of the reason I am still here feeling good about my work and about life. Thank you to Fr. Mike, for your constant support as a priest and as a friend. To Mr. and Mrs. Kotredes for feeding me and keeping my bookshelves stocked. To Dick Carroll and Aunt Judy, for your incredible generosity which will make such a positive difference in my village. To Awa, for sharing your experiences and perspective with me (and for the offer to cook for me when I return!). To Eitan, Jen, Erica, and Rob, for finding ways to get to me (or bring me to you) during these two years. To all of Tessa's friends who brought French books to her birthday party (and to Tessa for such a great idea!). And of course, to my folks and my brothers and sisters, for everything.

Sorry this post got a bit sappy. To balance that out: My birthday is next week, and I would like a big flat-screen TV, a very expensive stereo system, and a brand new car. If that doesn't work for you, I guess I will also accept a card in the mail and your continued prayers. In fact, I appreciate those things just as much as I would a new car. Although, if you were to pray for me AND give me a car, well then...

God bless,

josh

The top 3 questions asked when I first told people that I was headed to Burkina Faso for my Peace Corps service: 3. “Uh... where, exactly?” 2. “Are you kidding?”and the Number 1 Question: 1. “No, seriously, Josh. Where are you going?”But when I mentioned my assignment to Eitan, a college buddy of mine, he had a very different question for me:

“Alright, dude. When’s the best time for me to come and visit?”Despite his best efforts to convince me that he was serious about his plans to make his way out to West Africa, I was skeptical. And yet, a couple of false starts and scrapped itineraries later, at the end of July Eitan actually got on a plane bound for Ouagadougou (or, as many of you called it when I first got assigned here, “Oogabooga”) and eventually touched down in Burkina Faso. Did he know what he was getting himself into? Not a chance. Was he happy he made the trip? What do you think?This is Eitan being happy he made the trip...

Check out the denominations on those bills.Eitan’s visit spanned three countries in as many weeks. After arriving in Ouaga and taking a day to “plan” the rest of the trip, we hopped on bus. 24 hours (and many stops to pee and/or yell at the bus driver) later, we were in Accra, the capital city of Ghana. Unlike Ouagadougou, Accra is an actual, honest-to-goodness big city with tall buildings and many lanes of car traffic (as opposed to one lane of car traffic and 5 lanes for motorbikes...). Now, for you big-city folk back home, maybe this is no big deal for you, but, frankly, Accra was a bit overwhelming for me. We ended up spending most of the couple of days we had slated for Accra not actually in Accra but in its much calmer, more scenic outskirts. Highlights included a self-guided bike trip through the woods (we got lost), a pleasant stroll through a picturesque arboretum (that’s a place with a lot of trees), and a good-karma-building volunteer effort painting anthropomorphic healthy foods on the walls of a nutrition center in a Liberian refugee camp.From there, we moved west, down the coast to the small tourist beach town of Busua. We stayed at Elizabeth’s house- Elizabeth being the very kind, hospitable Ghanaian woman who makes great pancakes. Our time in Busua was spent mainly on two activities; the first of which was significantly more fun and exciting than the second. First, we decided it would be fun to rent kayaks and paddle out to a little tropical island a couple kilometers off the beach. It appeared that the only inhabitants of this island were two palm trees and (we hoped) any number of beautiful hula girls with grass skirts and coconut bras. After struggling mightily to fight past the surf on the sandy beach (and, on the other end, being tossed mightily by the surf onto the rocky shores of the island), we discovered that, yes, there were two palm trees on the island. However, instead of hula girls ready to greet us with luaus and pina coladas there were sea urchins ready to impale us with their needle-like spines. How did we end up with so many sea urchin spines broken off in our feet (I had over 25; Eitan easily had double that)? Well, when the ridiculously powerful surf tosses you and your big, fat, plastic kayak back on the nice, sandy beach, that’s one thing. When the same surf repeatedly tosses you and that sorry excuse for a kayak back on a bed of slick rocks surrounded by submerged urchins... Let’s just say I’m lucky that I only got stuck in my foot...That’s Urchin Island in the background.So what was the second activity that occupied our time in Busua (and every single stop on the trip after that)? Using needles and razor blades and palm oil (don’t ask) to dig those stupid spines out of our feet. After Busua, it was onto Kakum National Park where we walked the 40m high rainforest canopy walk , ate lunch next to a family of crocodiles , and met some cool Mormons. We discovered that there's a nasty rumor out there that Mormons are forbidden from having the floors carpetted in their houses. I am not making this up (I mean I didn't make up the fact that we discovered the rumor existed. The rumor itself is quite obviously made up. But not by me; by somebody else, I would assume). But please do not spread this awful rumor, because according to our new Mormon friends, it is far from the truth. Apparently, some Mormons even carpet certain rooms in their house with extra-plush carpetting. Go figure. *Editor's note: Paragraphs like this lead me to believe that Josh has been in Africa just a little too long...* At this point, our time in Ghana had come to an end. Well, that’s what we thought. Technically, it was about 2 days and 8 different broken-down, sorry-looking cars/buses/tro-tros later that our time in Ghana really came to an end and we actually made it across the Burkina border. Once back in Ouagadougou, we connected with some other volunteers to begin the trek out to Bomborokuy. This trip was a very special one for me as it was the first and probably would be the last time any of my fellow volunteers would make it out to my village. When I was first assigned to my village and I saw how far out it was, I knew that it would take a little more than just an invitation to get my buddies from Peace Corps to come out and see my place. So I started planning a small themed party to encourage everyone to make at least one visit. This was that one visit. When we arrived at my house in Bomborokuy, the tree was up, the “snow” was falling, and the stockings were hung by the chimney with care... Everything was set for... The First Only Annual Bomborokuy Christmas in July PartyDue to a scheduling error, the party actually took place in August, but we seemed to enjoy ourselves all the same. The neighborhood kids were thrilled by their new white visitors (I think they’re getting bored with me) and had a blast playing soccer and foursquare and some other games that I’m not very good at. We exchanged gifts and enjoyed a delicious, home-made (just add water!) Christmas dinner. We donned Santa caps while we sang carols and decorated the house and the tree. We got many strange looks from the neighbors.The final leg of our adventure took us westward to Mali and the beautiful Dogon Country. The Dogon people are known for their artwork, their sculpture and masks, but also for their architecture. Many Dogon villages are located along a giant sandstone escarpment, or cliff, where the Dogon have built granaries and dwellings right into the cliff itself. We hiked along the bottom edge of the cliff for a couple days, and then on Day 3, we made our move up the cliff to the top ledge. Unfortunately, Day 3 was also the day some bad water I drank back on Day 1 finally caught up with me. Yet even being terribly sick with little to no support from my supposed “friend” (Eitan made fun of me and took pictures of me in pain...); even that didn’t stop me from appreciating how awesome the scene was from the top of that cliff.

Best part of the trip, though? We made a new friend in Ghana. Despite the fact that they are 10+ games out of first and all but mathematically eliminated from the wild card, he stills wears it proud...

I figured once classes were over and the summer break got started I’d be able to do a lot better updating this thing. After a fun, tiring, exciting, disturbing, stressful, and emotionally charged roller coaster of a month, I realize that I figured wrong. This post will serve not only as an update to you all of what I’ve been up to, but also as a far-from-exhaustive list of excuses for why it’s taken me so long to get this post written. Let’s start things off with a feature of my blog that has been on the shelf collecting dust for some time now: Josh in Africa Trivia…

My parents visited me here in Burkina Faso for about 10 days last month. Which of the following near-disasters DID NOT take place while they were here?

a) We almost got into an accident while speeding along on a dirt road at night in a bus with no headlights.

b) We almost got roughed up by a gang of garden tool-wielding Burkina natives.

c) Dad almost got avian flu when he handled a live chicken in a country known to have infected birds.

d) Mom almost broke some bones when she fell off the camel she was riding.

e) Mom and Dad almost missed their flight back to the States which they thought left 3 hours later than it actually did.

A couple of these are actually pretty good stories, so I’ll go through them one by one:

a) This happened. Our bus from Dedougou to Nouna got a late start. The sun was starting to go down when we pulled out of the station in Dedougou. We spent the next hour flying down a dirt road in a headlight-less yellow school bus trying desperately to make it to Nouna before the night fell. It’s funny that the same Blue Bird yellow school bus that used to take me safely to and from kindergarten at St. Mary’s is now the same vehicle that is recklessly transporting me to and from small villages in the middle of West Africa. Who would have guessed?

b) This happened. We were down south near the town of Banfora, biking around visiting some neat sites: waterfalls, a hippo lake, and some cool rock formations that were a lot of fun to climb. On the way back into town, Mom stopped to take a few pictures of the sugar cane fields we were biking through. I was a ways up ahead, but I slowed down when I saw her stop. As I was watching her, I saw one of the men working in the fields slowing walking up towards the road. Some worries flashed through my head that I would later regret ignoring. The man held a daba- a cultivating tool with a wooden shaft and a metal blade on the end similar to the blade on a hoe. When he got to the road, he started pointing and yelling at Mom. I headed back towards them. Soon after I got there, a belligerent crowd of farmers armed with dabas had circled us. At one point, one of them reached over and grabbed Mom’s bike so she couldn’t leave.

So most of this was probably my fault. At one point during my training a year ago, I might have heard something about the importance of asking Burkinabé for permission before you take their picture. I’ve been here for a year and taken lots of pictures without incident. Most of the time, the subject of the photo is thrilled to be able to see himself on the digital display on the camera once you’ve taken the shot. This particular group did not seem so interested in seeing themselves on the camera display screen.

Instead, they were yelling at Mom, demanding that she hand over her camera and give them money for taking their pictures without permission. When I explained that I was the one who spoke French, the yelling turned to my direction. While I felt a bit nervous being in a situation like this with Mom and Dad there, I would be lying if I said it wasn’t a little fun for me. My French gets a lot better when I’m worked up and yelling, and for at least the first few minutes, I couldn’t help but feel appreciative that I had been given a chance to show off a bit.

As with most arguments I have had with Burkinabé from touristy areas, this argument boiled down to money. One of the more even-headed gang members explained to me that it is their belief that if someone takes your picture, that person is stealing your soul. Once they realized that Mom was not giving up the camera, they demanded money for all of the dozen farmers present- apparently to compensate them for the souls we had stolen. A snippet from the negotiations:

Me: How much money do you want?

Him: I need money for all 13 of the workers out there.

Me: Ok, how much do you want?

Him: You have to ask permission to take our pictures.

Me: Ok, sorry. How much do you want?

Him: You have to ask permission to take our pictures.

Me: Yeah, sorry about that. She didn’t know. How much do you want?

Him: I need money for all 13 of the workers out there.

Some may say this guy did not understand my question. Some may say he was just being stubborn. I think he was a shrewd negotiator. One of the few things I did learn in my management classes in college was that the first side to make an offer in a negotiation is at a big disadvantage. The other thing I know about negotiations (one that I didn’t learn in college)? The side that is not holding the sharp, menacing garden tools- also at a big disadvantage. The manner in which the rest of the negotiations played out support this:

Me: Ok, fine. Here is 2 dollars.

Him: You stole our souls. 2 dollars is not enough.

Me: How much do you want?

Him: 10 dollars.

Me: I can give you 5.

Him: 10 dollars.

Me: I really only have 8.

Him: 10 dollars.

Me: Ok. Here is 10 dollars. Have a great day.

10 dollars for my family’s safety, a couple pictures, a great story, and 13 souls. Not bad.

c) This happened. Ok, so he didn’t almost get avian flu. While there are cases of bird die-offs in Burkina Faso from the disease, there have been no reports of bird to human transmission. And unless he started playing with the chicken’s droppings (which he didn’t to my knowledge), he would be absolutely fine. But he did handle the live chicken that was sent over to us as a gift from one of my village friends. He held it up for a picture and then had my neighbors do the killing, cleaning, and cooking.

d) This did not happen. There were no camel rides on this trip. Maybe next time.

e) This happened. For some reason, Mom thought it left at 11pm. At 5 or 6 that night, she decided to take one last look at the itinerary and verify the flight info. The plane was scheduled to leave at 8pm. As much as my parents enjoyed their stay in Africa, I don’t believe they were all that excited at the thought of extending that stay as the result of a missed flight. They made the flight with plenty of time to spare.

Having my parents here for that week and a half was great for a lot of reasons. Of course, after over a year apart, it was awesome just to see them again. I’m also really glad that they got to see where I’ve been living and working for the past year. All the stories that I have told and will tell them now have a context. So many times, I’ll get frustrated telling a story to someone back home- Many times, I just don’t have the words to be able to really explain the experience fully. My folks’ visit will help a lot with that. But what may be the most important consequence of their visit is the renewed sense of perspective they were able to give to me. There’s a tendency among Peace Corps volunteers to get overwhelmed with all the needs present in a country like this one. Many of us at times feel both powerless and useless. There are days when I feel like these people need so much more than I could ever give them- What is the point of me even trying? The following two quotes have always made sense to me, but it took my parents’ visit to remind me of just how important they are to keep at the front of my mind:

I am one; but still I am one. I cannot do everything, but still I can do something. I will not refuse to do the something I can do. -Helen Keller

They say my work is just a drop in the ocean. I say the ocean is made up of drops. -Mother Theresa

One of the most satisfying parts of the visit was the time we spent with my host families in Nouna and Yako. I’ve always been amazed by the generosity and the kindness of the people of this country- In welcoming my family from the US, my families in Burkina Faso took this generosity to a new level. Not only did they open up their homes, but they shared with us all that they had; they truly opened up their hearts to us. I feel very blessed to have been the interpreter when my parents talked to my Burkinabé parents. I am the only one who really knows the beautiful things that both sides were saying to the other. There is no way that I was able to adequately translate what was being said. At first this frustrated me. Then I realized what a great problem this was to have to deal with- My French vocabulary was not nearly large enough to be able to express all the powerful things being said by all these people who love me. I’ll take that problem any day.

The day my parents flew out, something happened near my village that would make it necessary for me to strive for the kind of perspective embodied in those two quotes I just mentioned. About 15 miles from Bomborokuy, boundary disputes resulted in fighting between farmers from Mali and Burkina over farming land. The Malians killed at least 9 Burkinabé and kidnapped two others. Reports on the murders were gruesome and disturbing. As a precaution, the Peace Corps evacuated me from my site and kept me in the capital until things calmed down. For those of you especially prone to worrying about me, please believe me that while these events are sad and unfortunate, my safety is not in jeopardy as a result of them.

Hearing about events like this- people killing their neighbors over the small plots of farm land they need to feed their families- really forces you to think. For the past month, I had worked with another volunteer to organize a big party for a group of 15 volunteers who are ending their service and returning to the States this summer. It was a lot of work, and through most of it, I felt good about doing it. A well-planned, well-run party could go a long ways not only in thanking those volunteers who had served their 2 years, but also in giving the rest of us a chance to take a break and get reenergized as we continue our service. During the party itself last weekend, there were a handful of times when I stopped running around long enough to sit down, take a break, and just watch people enjoying themselves. At first, it was deeply satisfying- seeing all the volunteers having fun, most of whom aren’t what you would call the “partying type.” But with that satisfaction came a good deal of guilt. This past month, I’ve mourned the death of my Director alongside his family and our entire community. I’ve been told of horrible things happening near my village that are the result of a lack of land to grow food. And here I am, enjoying myself at a party I planned for a bunch of (relatively) well-off Americans. I’m no martyr. And I don’t feel like I need to deprive myself of every earthly pleasure in order to live a good life. But it’s hard for someone who has so much not to think about these things in a country where the people need so much.

Now that classes are over for the year, many of my students will be going off to live with their families in nearby villages and the ones with families in my village will be spending most of their days with those families working in the fields. That leaves me back in village with all the old people and little kids. (I’ve been told that the three groups who are more a detriment than a help working in the fields are young children, elderly folks, and white people- or maybe it’s just this white person.) So it appears that I’ll be able to spend all kinds of quality time with my smallest African friends…

I certainly do not consider myself, and never have considered myself, a “kid-person.” It’s not that I don’t like children… I just don’t really understand these little people. They have weird senses of humor, bizarre ways of entertaining themselves, and they laugh/cry/shout/throw things at seemingly random times. It doesn’t matter where the kid is from- Burkina Faso, America, the Yardley family. Children from all cultures are equally mystifying to me. That said, over the past year, I have warmed up to a lot of the neighborhood kids in Bomborokuy.

At this point in my Peace Corps experience, I can boast quite the little army of little friends. While I’d like to think this has something to do with the kids’ opinion that I am just super-cool and tons of fun to hang out with, I think it may have more to do with the occasional candy (bon-bon) or small present (cadeau) I spoil them with. My attempts at teaching them some English words have not worked out so well and my efforts to show them how to juggle have been met with even less success. (Though they are pretty good at throwing rocks up in the air and running away before the rocks hit the ground.) It’s funny that of all the classes I took at MIT, the class that has been most important to me establishing a good rapport with these kids has been… Beginning Juggling (no joke). Something tells me I could have found a less expensive way to hone those juggling skills. In any case, despite the language barrier, the age gap, and the kids’ poor hand-eye coordination, it’s always a good time when my little buddies come over.

Stefan's one of my favorites. He is such a happy kid.

He's always smiling, except when the camera comes out.

Cute kids, huh?

A friendship that could never happen in the U.S.

One of my projects over the summer will be to help out with the training of the new crop of education volunteers that will be arriving in Burkina Faso next week. I'm pretty sure there had to have been some sort of mistake made here- I remember the volunteers that helped with my training, and from what I remember of them, I'm not in their league. I remember admiring how at ease they seemed in this incredibly different country. I remember being impressed by all the things they had done during their service. I remember being intimidated by how good their French was. And now I'm one of those volunteers who will be there for this next group. Every single day I make mistakes; every single day I struggle to come to terms with certain aspects of my experience here; every single day I learn something new. I am most definitely still the learner. But now the Peace Corps tells me it's time to be the teacher for this new group of wide-eyed volunteers. I'm excited for that opportunity. But I still identify myself more as the "naive, wide-eyed new kid" rather than the "old, wise, experienced veteran." I don't think that will ever change, and for better or worse, I've decided that that's a good thing.

Before I sign off, I’d like to ask you all a big favor. Last week was a tough one in Bomborokuy. The principal of my school, a well-loved, young father of three, unexpectedly passed away. He was a good friend to so many people in village, including myself. Friends and family from all over the country came to show their support last week at the funeral. What I’d like to ask of you is for your prayers for his family- specifically for his wife and kids. They will be well taken care of by friends and extended family; the incredible poverty of this country is nothing compared to the overwhelming generosity and selflessness of the people who live here. But he was a remarkable man- the type of man that this country just cannot afford to lose like this. The people here will need all the prayers they can get.

According to the African Safari Journal (and, really, what do they know?), the top five safari destinations are:

1. Tanzania

2. Kenya

3. South Africa

4. Botswana

5. Zambia

Now, they only listed the top five, but after my Spring Break trip out east, I have to imagine that Burkina Faso has got to be 6 or 7. Ok, so Eastern Burkina Faso is no Serengeti, but I was impressed nonetheless. The trip got off to a great start: In our search for someone to lead us on our quest for big game, we came across one local guide with a truck who insisted we call him "The Panther." The Panther had one arm in a sling- no doubt injured on a previous expedition while he was fighting off lions trying to protect his crew. The Panther was quite a character. This was going to be an adventure.

On our first trek away from base camp (ok, from our hotel), we got lucky right away. Not two minutes into the trip, The Panther motioned for those of us in the bed of the truck to quiet down. About 20 meters from the truck, an elephant was stretching out its trunk to get at some leaves.

During the next couple of hours, we spotted monkeys, antelope, hippos, antelope cheval (don't know what these are called in English, but they're big guys), warthogs, more elephants, and plenty of guinea fowl. Of course, I get woken up every morning by the screeching guinea fowl that live all around me back in my village, so forgive me for not being all that excited to see the wild ones up close in their natural habitat. I was impressed, however, by many of the non-guinea fowl birds we saw. The colors- the bright reds and greens and blues- were amazing. All in all, it was a good day. But I could not call it a total success. There remained one elusive animal that I had my heart set on seeing- the great king of the jungle. No worries, we would rise before dawn the next day and get an early start tracking down my lion.

The next morning, we saw some of the same animals as we did the day before, but not nearly as many. We stopped at the site of a small fishing operation on the stream that forms the border between Burkina Faso and Benin. Aided by The Panther's no-nonsense negotiating skills, we convinced one of the fishermen to row us across to Benin. We spent about 1.5 minutes exploring Benin. Then we rowed back. Fun stuff.

As our safari was coming to an end, I was trying not to be too disappointed that we hadn't spotted the great cat. Look on the bright side, I told myself. You were very lucky to see all those other animals. You need to get over the fact that you're not going to see a... But, wait! Oh my, what is this? Why, those are lion tracks!!

After his sharp eye had identified the fresh tracks, our fearless leader, The Panther, led us deep into the African bush, following the lion's trail. Just before we were about to give up hope and call it a day, I spot something move off in the distance. We press on, getting dangerously close to where I thought I had seen the motion. Just then, it jumps out at us! We were scared out of our minds! But then, it apologized and started singing "Hakuna Matata" and everyone calmed down.

No, we didn't see any lions on our safari (though we really did see those tracks). As if to make up for that letdown, there was a party of monkeys hanging out at our hotel when we got back that day.

It was a fun trip. Before the safari, I got a chance to visit the villages of a couple of the other volunteers, Tyler and Cary. Tyler, a misguided fan of both the St. Louis Cardinals and the North Carolina Tar Heels, lives in a big house that has electricity (he's the only one in our group with that luxury), and there's a pool he can swim in just a few minutes walk from his place. Cary, neither a fan of the Cardinals nor of the Tar Heels, lives in the equivalent of a walk-in closet (no lights, no pool). Sometimes life's just not fair. After the safari, I was able to check in on my host family from my training in Yako. That's always such an uplifting trip- As I turn the corner onto the street where they live, all the kids playing in the road run up to me to shake my hand or give me a hug. A couple of them grabbed rocks and demonstrated how much their practicing over the past few months has improved their juggling skills (that is to say, not at all). When I walk into the courtyard, my host mom screams something in Moore (the local language in these parts), gives me a great big hug, and does that European thing where she kisses my right cheek then my left then my right then my left. My uncle also tries to give me a big hug, but something goes wrong with the embrace and we end up banging heads. Of course, in all the excitement, no one cares, but I'd have a sore spot on my head for the next couple of days. And when my host dad gets back from wherever he was, he's all, "Wend Panga! Wend Panga!" More hugs. More smiles. It's like I'm the prodigal son returning back home. Except instead of killing the fatted calf, they make me rice with grease sauce.Happy Easter, all!josh

One year ago today, I stepped off the plane and into the wall of stifling, sticky heat that indicated to me that, in case I wasn't positive of this before, the weather in Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso was not going to be very comparable to the weather in Bangor, Maine. It was about 9 o'clock in the evening- the sun had gone down many hours before- and yet the temperature was still pushing 100. The 15 of us new volunteers who arrived that day were greeted by a horde of "veteran" volunteers who forced chocolate chip cookies on us. No doubt they were amused by the sight of 15 smiling, perky, fresh recruits who insisted on bombarding them with a slew of naive, silly questions about life here in Burkina Faso as a Peace Corps Volunteer. But pretty soon, Peace Corps higher-ups whisked us away in air-conditioned SUV's and led us through the heart of the capital city to our hotel. That ride from the airport to the hotel was intense. The main streets of the city were lined with broken down shacks and the ragged-looking people who called these shacks home. I got a look into one of these run-down shacks. It was totally empty, save two people lying asleep on a bare dirt floor. When we checked into the hotel, I couldn't help but feel a bit guilty at the fact that I was annoyed with our accommodations- noisy, broken fan, ripped window screens, busted plumbing, rock hard bed and pillow. Hey, at least I HAD a bed and pillow.

I have learned much since March 16, 2005. I have learned that you have to savor the days when the temperature is "pushing 100," because the next day will most certainly be a day that blows past 100 and pushes 110, 120, or 130. The thermometers that I brought all max out at 120; I honestly didn't know it was possible to be hotter than that. And those of you from down south who are reading this and saying, "Whatever, Josh, you're from Maine. You're just wimpy when it comes to the heat. It gets that hot down here all the time, and we all deal fine with it."- I have just two things to say to you. First, 120 degrees in the Southern US and 120 degrees in Burkina Faso are totally different. Why? Two words: Air Conditioning. We don't know what that is here. Second, yes, you are right, I am a wimp.

I have learned that I should have been more thankful for those cookies the other volunteers made for us. Turns out cooking in this country isn't all that easy, especially if you had no idea how to do it back in the States where there exists these magical places called Shaw's, Star Market, Kroger's, IGA, and Shop 'n' Save. (Read: Thank you to all of you who have sent this helpless, culinarily-challenged guy packages of food. Every packet of tuna or box of mac-and-cheese you send means one less night of playing Amoeba Roulette with rice and grease sauce, beans with grease sauce, or sheep-head soup... with grease sauce.)

I have learned that those naive, silly questions I asked when I first got here were both naive and silly. I remember one of my biggest concerns when I arrived was to find out what sort of subject matter I'd be teaching. I was preparing to work teaching classes of 100+ kids for two years in a foreign, developing country where I don't speak the language or know the culture, and I was worried about whether I'd be teaching long division or the quadratic equation. It turns out the actual teaching thing is just about the most straightforward and easiest part of my service over here. The whole "bridging the culture gap, learning the language, coming to terms with the poverty and misfortune all around you" thing is much more challenging. Go figure.

I have learned that I don't know what poverty is. My first night here, on that drive from the airport to the hotel, I thought I saw poverty. It made a huge impression on me, and I thought I was that much closer to understanding what it means to be poor in a country like Burkina Faso. Then I had my couple of months of training in a smaller town, and I saw and met people whose situations made the people I had seen on that drive seem fortunate in many ways. I realized that having a shack for a house and wearing ragged clothes are things very far down on the list of complaints of people really affected by poverty. Disease, malnutrition, and starvation are much further up on that list. Nine months ago, I was assigned to my small village and I have met and gotten to know people who continue to challenge the extent of my understanding of poverty. People who are burdened with severe mental and physical illnesses; hard-working kids who get sick or pregnant and are forced out of school; parents who have suffered through the deaths of multiple children. Deep down, I've always believed that when a kid is born, no matter what situation he is born into, there is always hope that he can "beat the odds" and lead a life that he considers to be successful and fulfilling. The things I see here challenge that belief every day. Maybe my belief still holds. Maybe every kid, even a baby girl born with AIDS to a mother whose husband abandoned her and who already has trouble feeding her other 6 children, maybe even she can beat the odds. But living here has forced me to admit how ridiculously tiny those odds often are. (Think Southern U. coming up with the upset over Duke in the first round.)

I have learned that I was an idiot to criticize my accomodations at the hotel that first night. Busted plumbing? You mean it actually had plumbing?!! I've returned to that hotel a few times for meetings and conferences over the past year; every time I stay there, I feel like I am in the lap of luxury. Electricity, plumbing, multiple floors, AC in some rooms, no rats, no mice, no bats! I laugh when I remember how I thought I was roughing it (or as close as I could be to "roughing it" in something claiming to be a hotel) that first night. Let's be honest, there were weekends in college when the Zeta Psi house was in worse shape than this developing world hotel.

I've always known that I've been blessed. I have learned just how blessed I really am. I've always known that my family is important to me. I have learned just how special they are to me and how much I appreciate and love every one of them. I've always known that the world isn't perfect and that someone should probably go ahead and try to do something about that. I have learned that, far from being perfect, parts of this world are actually really very messed up. And I've learned that I should probably go ahead and try to do something about that.

That one year flew by. It doesn't seem like it's been a whole year since I was in Philadelphia, scrambling to jot my NCAA tournament picks on a bracket torn from a USA Today and mail it off before boarding the plane to Paris en route to Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso. I'm glad that my time here in Burkina so far has been more successful than my brackets turned out to be last year. As long as J.J. Redick holds up and I stay away from the bird feces that litter this entire country (next-door Niger has reports of avian flu, but don't worry- we're being take care of well over here), both my brackets and my second year in Africa should be very successful.

Regards,

josh

Addenda:

1. I'm heading east for Spring Break to go on a "safari" (if you can call it that here in Burkina Faso). I've been promised lion sightings. Hopefully, there will be some wicked cool pictures on my blog next week when I return.

2. Finals Prediction: Duke 74 - UConn 70

3. Aren't I so very cool? I think the kickstand being down really adds something...

The situation has been righted. Papa (or "Little Papi," if you will) is back on the good guys’ side of the rivalry.

Yankees? What was I thinking?!!

We can fix that.

Papa becomes a citizen of Red Sox Nation.

Big Papi, meet Little Papa.

I think I’ve mentioned this before, but it needs repeating: There are so many people all over this country walking around in Yankees t-shirts. It’s really sad. Thankfully, I’m able to deal with it all by realizing that they have absolutely no idea of what those shirts represent. In fact, there are many t-shirts people wear over here where the wearer has no idea of the meaning behind the shirt. You could entertain yourself for a whole day just walking around town looking at the different t-shirts. I’ll try to give you an idea of what I mean: Presenting the 2006 Crazy Burkinabe T-Shirts Awards…

The Most Infuriating T-Shirt Award:

Anything with a Yankees logo on it

The Most Ridiculously Hilarious T-Shirt Award:

A huge, muscular man wearing a tight, yellow t-shirt with purple, cursive writing across the chest that reads: “Cancel my Subscription, because I don’t need your Issues!”

Most Hilarious Runner-Up:

A huge, muscular man wearing a tight, pink Powderpuff Girls t-shirt

The Most Offensive T-Shirt Award (also The “T-Shirt Most Likely to Get You Beat Up if You Were to Wear it in the U.S.” Award):

Osama Bin Laden T-Shirts (there are a ton of these around; I do not know why)

The Most Creative Avoidance of Copyright Laws Award (multiple recipients):

Shirts with the “NEKO” swoosh

Shirts with the “PLIMA” puma

Shirts with the “ADIBAS” stripes

A shirt with a picture of “Mickey and Mimi”

A Bulls jersey- No. 23- “Jorkan”

The “I Didn’t Know They Made So Many T-Shirts With a Big Picture of Mandy Moore Screen Printed on the Front of Them” Award:

All the t-shirts with a big picture of Mandy Moore screen printed on the front of them

The Way Life Should Be T-Shirt Award:

A Camden, Maine t-shirt that a kid in my youngest class wears (Note: My pink Maine shirt was not eligible for this award)

The Most Nerdy T-Shirt Award:

MathCounts T-Shirt (Hey, I did Bangor High’s Math Team, not MathCounts. Math Team == cool. MathCounts == nerdy.)

Speaking of nerdy… uh, I mean, speaking of cool math-related events, Bomborokuy High had its first “Math Meet” last weekend. I presented it as an optional after-school thing for all the kids in my older two classes. Out of 130 kids, only 5 didn’t make it (and I think they were out sick). While I know the lure of prizes sent from America (thanks to Joe B.’s class and the St. Mary’s Action Group) definitely helped our numbers, some of the kids seemed very psyched to have the chance to spend their entire Saturday morning taking math tests. It was a ton of fun. The kids got divided up into teams and chose team names: Once I convinced them that I really wouldn’t accept “Team 1” and “Team 2” as their team names (creativity is not something that is stressed for kids over here), they started getting a bit more original. Some teams went with names in the local language (Benkadi, Brigyte, Pagasi). Others chose French names (Groupe d’Union, Toujours Courageux, Les Fourmies, Les Garagistres d’Amerique; translations: Group of Unity, Always Brave, The Ants, The Mechanics of America). Still others tried to impress me with their English (Cowboys, Best Boys, Young Boys, Strong Club). I had a blast writing the updated scores up on the board in between grading each round. The level of competitiveness in these kids rivals that of the Yardley family. Despite a strong showing by all, a late surge capped off by a solid team round propelled the team “Supermen” to a first place finish with 111 points. Mr. Godsoe, you and your Bangor High Red Team name the time and place. The Supermen are ready for you. (All questions will be written in French, of course…)

The kids after the meet. Notice the lack of girls in this picture. Out of the

130 kids there that day, 40 were female students. When I brought out the camera,

all the guys rushed in front of it, striking poses and donning big, silly grins.

The girls are all off to the left of this shot, rolling their eyes.

For prizes, I let the kids choose between items like crayons and markers and little backpacks. After the meet, there was one backpack that went unclaimed: a small, bright-colored bag with a big picture of Mickey Mouse on it. Less than an hour after I had returned to my house for a bit of a repose, a kid wandered by to check out my Red Sox painting. A lot of kids come by my house during the course of each day, but I don’t ever remember seeing this one. Nevertheless, when I saw him, I knew where that last, overlooked backpack was going.

The first kid I ever met in Bomborokuy was Papa. Papa is probably about 10 years olds- too young to be one of my students, but he goes to the primary school in town. He's a quiet kid; he usually doesn't talk unless he has something important and/or profound to say. That's something I admire about him. He's also really good at chasing the chickens away when they wander into my courtyard.

I met Papa in April. The day I met him, he was wearing a blue t-shirt with a picture of Nelly (the rapper) on it. Every single day since then, Papa has worn the exact same blue Nelly t-shirt. Papa can get a bit smelly at times, but here in Africa, I can get a bit smelly at times, so I don't give him too hard a time about it.

When I was in the process of painting my Red Sox logo, Papa, wearing his Nelly shirt, came over to my house and told me what a huge Sox fan he was. He wanted me to take all kinds of pictures of him with the logo (see the photo of Papa in my entry for November 13 ). I think Papa was almost as excited as I was when the Red Sox signed Josh Beckett.

Fast forward to last week. Papa, for the first time in at least nine months, is wearing a new shirt. It's new and shiny, and it broke my heart:

Maybe he was a big Johnny Damon fan. Maybe he wasn't as excited about the Beckett signing as I thought, I don't know. But when I saw him wearing the shirt, I just laid into him. I spent about half an hour explaining to the poor, confused child why his shirt was bad and why he couldn't wear it anymore. I couldn't give him all the history of the rivalry, but I tried to inform him of the highlights. From what I can tell, it was an honest mistake on his part and not actually a sign of defection to the Evil Empire.The next day, Papa was wearing his Nelly shirt. You can be sure, however: He'll be getting a new, shiny Red Sox shirt soon enough.

After spending two care-free weeks splashing around at the beach and traveling throughout Ghana, I returned to my village only to be met by some sobering news. Dakio Ruth, a girl in my youngest class, died over Christmas break. One of the few girls in the class, she was one of my best students, girl or boy. She had just turned 14 years old.

Ever since I got here - in fact, since well before I got here - I have been bombarded with numbers: poverty levels, AIDS rates, life expectancy figures. This many million people die of malaria every year. This many million are starving and suffering from malnutrition. This many million children won’t live to adulthood. The numbers all start to sound the same. Even having lived here for as long as I have, even having worked and played and talked and laughed with the same people whose very lives make up those numbers, I can’t say that all the statistics have had any great effect on me. I hear the numbers, I “feel concern,” then I go back to doing whatever I was doing.

This changes things. Those numbers just took one of my students. Which number it was, I’m not sure. “She was bad in the throat,” my director explained. Another teacher claimed it was malaria. The thing is, whenever anyone is sick with anything, the first diagnosis is always malaria. I guess it doesn’t matter a whole lot. I’m sure it doesn’t make a difference to Ruth’s family whether it was malaria or AIDS or malnutrition that caused their daughter’s death. In some sense, I’d like to know so that I could recognize which statistic just got much more real for me. But the truth is, all of those statistics just got much more real for me. All of those overwhelmingly large, impersonal numbers now have a face.

I have to say, during those few days leading up to Christmas, I was getting nervous. This was going to be the first Christmas I'd ever spent away from my family and friends. Instead of brushing the snow out of my hair in Maine, I'd be wiping the sweat from my face in Ghana. I am not a big fan of the cold and snow, and I never could understand those silly people who said it "just doesn't feel like Christmas without snow." Until now. Honestly, I think I'm going to miss having the white stuff around this Christmas. One day when I was especially worried about being away from home for the holidays, I met two different Ghanaians named Ebenezer. That can't be a good sign... I'm happy to report that my worries were for nothing. I got to talk to my family Christmas morning. They even let me say a prayer with them before they hung up on me to go open all their presents. And apparently, warm sand and palm trees are actually a decent Christmas substitute for cold snow and evergreens. Even my fears as to what it meant to have met two people named Ebenezer so close to Christmas were aleviated when I met the guy who ran the call center I used to call my family. His name was Emmanuel.

Christmas in Ghana was great. There were nine of us total on the trip (7 volunteers, 1 visiting sister, 1 visiting boyfriend), and everyone was psyched to make our first Christmas away from home a memorable one. Christmas Eve, we hung our stockings that Patrice had made each of us and hoped that Santa would find us by the time we awoke the next morning. Fortunately, thanks to a $5 purchase I made at a supermarket in Ouagadougou, we were not disappointed.

Even after Santa got hot and cranky and had to take off his suit, Christmas morning continued gloriously. We all tore through our stockings admiring all the random trinkets and candies with which the others had stuffed our stockings. We ate Christmas lunch at a place called "The Lobster Man." We ate Christmas dinner at a place called "Dan the Pancake Man." That night, Stephanie treated us all to a small celebration of the first night of Hanakuh. Later in the evening, for the third night in a row, everyone fell asleep watching "It's a Wonderful Life."

All in all, good Christmas. One part of this Christmas I was really looking forward to was to be able to go to a Mass in English for the first time since I left home. You see, Ghana was colonized by the British, so they speak a version of English that, while interesting and often very amusing, is quite understable to any native English speaker. Oh, how easy a life I would have if only the British could have beat the French to Burkina Faso! In any case, Mass on Christmas morning was not quite what I expected. It was held in a small classroom, even smaller than my classrooms in Bomborokuy. By the end of the Mass, there were about 20 of us there, mostly older women and a few small children. The priest was very old and very nice. He spoke very little English. At the beginning of Mass he went off talking to all of us for about ten minutes in a local Ashante dialect. After he was done, he turned to me and did his best to translate:

"I have just said, 'This is our Christmas.'"

He tried to translate for me a few other times, and for the readings he would put the Mass on hold while he dug through an old beaten-up English bible he had in order that I might follow along. I wanted a Mass in English. I needed a Mass in which I felt like I was a member of the same Church as all the other Catholics here in West Africa, even those who don't speak my language. God, of course, gave me the latter.

After Christmas, most of our group headed back to Burkina Faso. There were two of us who were not ready just yet to say goodbye to these Anglophones and their amazing beaches. We continued on along the coast to Cape Coast and after that to Elmina. Both of these bustling cities are home to absolutely beautiful forts which tell absolutely revolting stories. These castles were an integral part of the slave trade. Africans would be captured in Ghana and nearby land-locked countries (like Burkina Faso) and sent to waste away in the dungeons of these forts. If they didn't die in the dungeons themselves, they were likely to die packed like sardines in the ships that would transport them to America. And if they were lucky enough to survive that, they have the life of a slave to look forward to. In one of the dungeons, you could still see the marks where people had tried to claw through the walls and floors with their fingernails, delirious from a lack of food and sleep. One of the dungeons was used for the sole purpose of killing. A "slave" that was getting out of hand would be sent to this dungeon and forgotten about. Every few weeks, the soldiers would clean out this dungeon, dumping all the dead bodies into the sea. It's hard to imagine, but important to realize, how disgustingly inhumane and cruel one man can be to another man.

While at the forts, we met a couple of American marines who were working for the United Nations in Liberia. We caught a ride with them up to the rainforest at Kakum National Park, home to a large canopy walk some 100 feet up in the air. You walk from tree to tree on this suspended bridge of sorts. You are actually walking on a plank of wood set on an extension ladder which sways quite a bit- Sorry Mom, not something you'd be able to do.

In talking to our marine friends, it turns out that if you want to make a lot of money as a civilian, you should work abroad for the UN, not for the Peace Corps. If only I had known that 12 months ago...

We finished up our vacation where we had started it, on a secluded beach near the town of Busua. The British owners of the place call it "The Green Turtle Lodge." I call it "Paradise." Good food, good waves, good British people... Good times. We spent our New Year's there playing board games, drinking by the bonfire, and setting off fireworks (though not necessarily in that order).

Now the only part of the vacation left was the trip home. I try to keep these posts positive, so let me just say this: It was supposed to take 12 hours. It took 30. 'Nuf said.

But now I'm back and ready to get going on the teaching thing. This term I'm going to try to reign in some of that competitive energy my students seem to have and start up a little Bomborokuy Math League. So many of my kids who just seem not to care at all about learning light up when we play a game or have a little competition in class. I'm hoping I can work out an after-school math competition that will motivate some of those kids. Plus it will give me a chance to distribute all the goodies you guys have all sent to me (rulers, pens, backpacks, markers) in a meaningful way. I'll let you know how it goes.

Quick trivia before I sign off:Which of these presents did I NOT receive from my kind, compassionate parents?

a) A shirt with a bat on it

b) A rubber bat

c) Batman playing cards

d) A battery-operated bat that really flies

e) The car I've been asking for every Christmas for the past 10 years...

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, everyone!

Regards, josh

I have a great deal to be thankful for today. My family, my friends, my health… It used to be that I would say I was thankful for “familyfriendshealth” without thinking much about it. After being over here over eight months, I am starting to truly realize how incredibly important you all are to me. I couldn’t do this if it weren’t for all your prayers and your well wishes and your support. And health… well, let’s just say that any day I wake up and have a normal bowel movement is a good day. I’ve been fortunate to have stayed as healthy as I have, but I certainly know first-hand how fragile that health is. I am very thankful for my health.

You know another thing I’m thankful for? I’m thankful for my tough times here. Honestly, I have it pretty easy (good coworkers, welcoming neighbors, cold drinks), so there aren’t many of those tough times, but sure, there are some. Those tough times can be divided into two categories, and I’m thankful for both of them:

1) I get frustrated or bent out of shape about something that is not going my way in this country. My language skills are failing me, my kids are acting up, the heat’s getting to me, my health is wavering, bats have invaded my house… Why am thankful for those times? Well, it should be obvious just reading through that partial list: When I stop and think about what’s bothering me, I figure out pretty fast that it’s not even close to being a big deal. In a world where 1.3 billion people live in extreme poverty, if I’m getting worked up because I have a day when my students are misbehaving, I must have it pretty good.

2) I miss home. I miss my parents. I miss my brothers and sisters. I miss my friends. I miss my dog. I miss the food I could eat back home, the television I could watch, the porcelain facilities I could use... Why am I thankful for these times when I get a bit homesick? When I stop and think about all those good things I miss, all those important people who I love and all those comforts that come with living in the US, I realize pretty fast how incredibly lucky I am. In a world where 800 million people are hungry, if I’m feeling sorry for myself because I have to eat rice and sauce instead of Mom’s spaghetti casserole, I must have it pretty good.

There’s no way I can mention everything I’m thankful for today, but I want to add just a few more things:

I’m thankful for all the excellent teachers I had growing up.

I’m thankful for all of the friends I have who I consider family.

I’m thankful for all the people I’m working with over here in Africa- both Americans and Burkinabé.

I’m thankful for all of you who have sent encouraging letters and packages to me. (See sidebar for address… hint, hint…)

I’m thankful for all your prayers.

Also, I’m thankful that the Red Sox are going after Josh Beckett (I always liked that guy) and that my Fantasy Football team has a chance to make the playoffs if we can get W’s these next couple of weeks.

Finally, I’m thankful to have been given the opportunity to see how incredibly blessed I have truly been. I don't deserve all the great family and friends I have, but I'll certainly take 'em.

Happy Thanksgiving,

josh

In Africa, no matter who you are, no matter what you do for work, you ALWAYS have free time. You could be a student, a teacher, a shop owner, an electrician, a police officer, a barber- you could be the president of the country and you’d still have to come up with random things to do to keep you occupied during all that free time of yours. Many of the people in my village drink green tea with family and friends. It takes half an hour to make four shot glasses full of tea: a great time-waster. One time-wasting technique with which I am more familiar is napping. At all hours of the day you can find people around village stretched out on benches or lawn chairs under a tree catching a few z’s before it’s time to drink more tea. Then of course, there’s my favorite time-waster: Going over to the white guy’s house and sitting in his courtyard in complete silence while he fidgets awkwardly and wonders if he’s supposed to say something.

Well, I don’t particularly care for tea, and it’s always too darn hot to nap during the day even in the shade. And, needless to say, I’m not a big fan of the awkward silence. So a few months back, I sat down and came up with a list of ways to spend all of my free time and keep myself from going crazy with boredom. At the top of the list was this:

I need to work on that tan.

Oops... already out of paint...

Papa knows what he's talking about.

Number One.

It only took me a few weeks and a handful of trips to the “big city” for supplies, so it actually didn’t end up being that effective as a method of wasting time, but it was a lot of fun to work on nonetheless. Since I started the project, the amount of traffic in and around my house has gone up quite a bit. I had one man wearing a Yankee’s cap come by to admire my handiwork. Despite my efforts to explain, his confused look told me the irony of the situation was lost on him. The neighborhood kids have started drawing with chalk all over the walls to my courtyard- “Hey, I hear that weird white guy draws on his house. Let’s go!!” And at least half of the villagers in Bomborokuy now claim that the Red Sox as their favorite team. Red Sox Nation just went international. It’s been fun.

One of my coworkers invited me to dinner at his house last night. He had made sheep soup. Soup here is basically a bowl of grease with a big lump of meat thrown in. One of the dangers of accepting a dinner invitation in this country is that you are going to end up eating outside in the dark- you have no chance to examine your food before you eat it. (Though some would argue that is a good thing…) The soup itself was decent, but the couple of lumps of meat I got were very difficult to eat. There were a lot of bones and very little of what I considered “meat;” mostly just fat and skin. I ate as much as I could (it would be rude to completely avoid that part of the meal), but I just couldn’t force myself to really dig in and finish. My host asked me if there was something wrong with the meat. “No, no, I’m just not hungry.” He wasn’t buying that. So he pushed further. “Ok, well, I don’t really like all the fat on the bone- there’s just not much meat there.” He took out his flashlight and illuminated my meal. “There’s no fat on those pieces at all,” he explained.

I just stared at my plate. The bone I had been digging around searching for meat was, in fact, half a sheep’s skull. The “fat” I complained about was actually brain. The piece that I had been chewing on unsuccessfully about 5 minutes earlier was an ear. A slightly nibbled-on foot rounded out the assortment of sheep body parts that lay in front of me.

I can’t decide which was the bigger mistake: Eating the mystery meat in the first place or allowing my coworker to shine his light on my food after I had eaten it. Oh well, nothing to do but laugh and add “eating sheep brain” to the list of firsts I’ve experienced here in Africa.

I want to change gears for just a minute. A lot of what I write in my posts here and in my emails home is just me messing around. Sometimes I get to thinking that, while living in a place where my neighbors may or may not have enough food to eat, it’s in pretty poor taste for me to be cracking jokes about the weird stuff I’ve eaten or coming up with trivia questions about things like how many times I’ve realized after a class that my fly had been unzipped (3). Usually, I lighten up a bit when I remind myself how important a sense of humor is to the people here as they struggle through life’s challenges day in and day out. In fact, after faith and family, humor may be that most important thing for a lot of Burkina be (and me, too), helping them (us) deal with conditions and hardships that might otherwise be unbearable. I will never know the physical hardships- the hunger, disease, and poverty- that my neighbors here in Bomborokuy deal with every day. The “hardships” I face here don’t even deserve to be called by that word. The people around me are getting ripped apart by lions (not really- there’s actually not much in the way of big wildlife here in Burkina) and I’m complaining about a bothersome fly. At the risk of exposing my naïve, probably juvenile ideas of how I think the world should work, I’m going to take a break from the jokes and the trivia to talk a little bit about one of my hardships bothersome flies.

I was born in Bangor, Maine USA into a great family. For the next 2+ decades, I was given every advantage of education, health, friends, family, and faith. I have never been hungry. No matter how many times I mess up between now and the day I die, I will never be hungry. That is a fact.

But it didn’t have to work out like that. Over the past few months, I’ve seen kids come into this world under very different conditions than those under which I got here. I’ve visited orphanages and met kids abandoned by their families. I’ve been to a hospital run by missionaries where dozens of babies born with AIDS were being treated. On a happier note, my neighbor just gave birth to a healthy baby boy. Yet, even in that case, her husband had talked to me a couple months before the birth about needing financial help to feed his pregnant wife.

Call it “the luck of the draw” or call it “part of God’s plan,” but one thing is clear: I certainly did nothing before I was conceived to deserve all I got on October 8, 1982. And not one of those babies in that hospital did anything to deserve the awful disease they were saddled with before they were even born. I mean, come on, they’re already coming into a hostile world where widespread poverty and disease have stacked the deck against them. It’s like asking a guy with a broken leg to climb a mountain. “Oh, but before you go, we’re going to go ahead and break the other leg, tie your hands behind your back, and blindfold you.” It’s not fair.

Yeah, well tough. Life’s not fair.

I don’t accept that as an intelligent response. Of course life’s not fair. I just described one of many examples of how life is anything but fair. So saying “Life’s not fair” isn’t a response; it is simply echoing what I’ve already said. A more acceptable response might be “Life shouldn’t be fair” or “Life can’t be fair.” I definitely think life should be fair. And maybe life can’t be perfectly fair, but it can certainly be a great deal more fair than it is right now. “Life’s not fair” should be something you tell a kid when his brother gets two cookies and he only gets one- not something you tell a kid born with AIDS whose dad left him after his mother died of malaria.

You know you’ve been truly blessed in your life when your “hardship” is nothing more than your conscience bugging you to do something about all those people in this world who actually know what real hardship is.

There are now 115 African sixth-graders who think I am the funniest person alive. And all it took was turning the greater-than sign into a crocodile. I keep forgetting that there is no cable television here.

School is going very well. Admittedly, the first couple weeks of class were incredibly boring. I even started to get bored at the sound of my own voice. Honestly, I was afraid to be the least bit entertaining or let the kids have even have a little fun. There are 115 of them! I figured they would eat me alive at my first show of leniency. But I’ve eased up a bit, and there haven’t been any belligerent student uprisings yet, so I think things are going to go just fine.

I really lucked out with the guys I get to work with at the school. There are five of us- the director (like the principal), the surveillant (like the vice principal, the discipline guy), the econome (the money man), and then one teacher plus me. Just real good guys. Most of them are the only members of their families with real substantial incomes, and they provide not only for their immediate family, but for the families of their brothers and cousins as well. That’s just the way it is here- you look out for your family. It’s very admirable. But don’t get any ideas, Jeremy and Shane; I love you very much, but I expect you both to have jobs by the time I get home.

Last week, all the teachers and school administrators across the country took Wednesday and Thursday off, striking for a 25% increase in wages. Except for us here in Bomborokuy. We literally did not get the memo. We only found out about the strike on Thursday afternoon. Apparently, there were a few reports of the strike on the radio that all my coworkers missed and a notice that had been sent to them a few weeks earlier that they never received. Oh well. I hear the strike went well even without the critical support of the five of us here way out here in the African bush. Though it’s unlikely, I certainly hope they get the raise. Of course, my pay will stay the same. I don’t think raising my seven dollar a day living allowance is at the top of George Bush’s to-do list.

Next month, Burkina Faso will hold its presidential election. I’m interested to see how that goes. Unfortunately, I can’t say anything more about that because discussing Burkina politics is one of the big Peace Corps no-no’s. Sorry.

Instead, let’s move on to a little Man vs. Nature Trivia:

Which of the following strange animal encounters did I NOT experience in the past two weeks?

(a) A donkey walked in on me as I was giving myself a bucket bath.

(b) I went on a murderous rampage, killing four bats, a mouse, and a scorpion about 2.5 inches long- all which I found inside my house.

(c) A bird pooped on me one morning as I was walking to class.

(d) I became distracted while writing out the prime factorization of 60 by two flies who were being intimate on my chalkboard.

(e) A rooster laid an egg right outside the front door to my house.

Well, I’ll tell you right now: The answer is not (b). That absolutely did happen. An abbreviated excerpt from a journal entry recorded shortly after that terrifying day:

WARNING: The following content may be disturbing for small children and for those of you who, like me, have a thing with bats.

On October 8, 2005, I turned 23.

On October 9, I became a man.

It was a Sunday morning and I had just biked back to Bombo from Nouna. My neighbors had already started working on my house- closing up all the holes in the outside walls and waterproofing it with a coat of banco (basically semi-waterproof mud). I opened my front door. I swallowed hard.

There, in the entryway to my house, lay two bats, still alive, but obviously sick and weakened. A fear that had momentarily flitted through my head on my way to Nouna two days earlier had come true: The bats were living IN my walls. By sealing the holes on the outside of my house, my neighbors had actually trapped all the bats inside.

I was terrified, but I had to think fast. I grabbed a big stick. With the same sickeningly detached ruthlessness I had seen my neighbor exhibit doing this same thing last week, I stabbed the bat on the left in the skull and twisted until I was sure the limp body had absolutely no life left in it. Of course, the bat on the right didn’t just stick around and wait its turn- it scurried off. The fact that it didn’t fly told me it was weak and hungry after being trapped in my house one or two days. That meant that despite my near-paralyzing fear, I had a chance. In my search for the renegade “bat on the right,” I came across another little beady-eyed beast under my cot. It is quite possible that this one was already dead, but I stabbed at its motionless head all the same. Within minutes, the “bat on the right” let out a little squeal from across the room. It would be his last. I tracked him down and disposed of him with the same brutal efficiency that characterized my first two kills.

Josh: 3

Bats: 0

Physically and psychologically exhausted, I enlisted the help of my neighbors to search out the rest. That led to two more enemy kills.

That night, sleep was near impossible. Though we had searched every corner of the house, I had very little confidence in the idea that we managed to get them all. Sure enough, long after the car battery-powered fluorescent light was spent, my flashlight caught a little critter scurrying near the door. I grabbed for one of my sandals and with a shriek the bat opened his wings. It got about a meter off the ground before I smacked it down and was beating it with my Teva. I kicked it out the door into my courtyard. The next day, it was covered with ants which had successfully eaten away most of the scalp, exposing a bloodied skull.

Needless to say, I’ve been a bit jumpy for the past few days, especially at night. It turns out there is at least one mouse in my house; my first attempts to rid myself of it have been unsuccessful. Also, the handful of lizards in my house have been torture on the nerves- every time I hear them shuffling about at night, I flick on my flashlight and raise my trusty sandal in the air. So, yeah, I haven’t gotten much sleep this week.

I think I’m going to start sleeping outside in my tent.

Well, in the end, I got that mouse and I also took care of a good-sized scorpion. But I have to say, those first few bat kills will stick with me for the rest of my life. Anyone know a good therapist?

I miss you all. Thanks to all for your emails, letters, and packages. Except for the one of you who sent that awful email where you click on something and a bat jumps out at you. That’s just not funny.

Regards,

josh

And, of course, the answer to trivia is (e). Roosters don’t lay eggs.

List of really cool places in which I've spent my birthday:

· Bangor, Maine (Fond memories include my carnival party, sleepovers, mini-golfing)

· Boston, Massachusetts (Fond memories include Zeta Psi, Libby's, The Big Easy)

And to that list, I now add:

· Bomborokuy, Burkina Faso (Fond memories include tomatoes now being in season for my market!)

Wow. To think that 18 years ago today, I was getting my face painted and trying to throw a beanbag through a hole in a box. 10 years ago today, I was on my way to soundly beating my buddy Jon on the mini-golf course. Just 2 years ago today, I was enjoying my first few alcoholic beverages at a number of fine establishments across the river in Boston. And here I am today, celebrating my big day by treating myself to the intermittent electricity and superior latrines offered here in my regional capital. As far as birthday presents go, this year's clean latrine might not rank up there with the stereo I got from my folks in middle school or the car Aunt Rie gave me for my 16th, but it sure beats the erasers I got from my sister one year. (I love you, Megs!)

I joke, but in all seriousness, I did get a great birthday gift this week. My first day of class was Tuesday, and somehow, despite the fact that I can't speak the language I'm expected to teach in, everything went great. I'd hold off a bit before you start comparing me to Mrs. Smith, Mrs. Jones, or Mr. Godsoe, but, nevertheless, it was an encouraging first week for me. Quick mini-trivia:

Q: When does having 87 kids in your second period math class not seem so bad?

A: When you had 115 for first period.

Thankfully, third period is a much more reasonable 42 kids. It'll be interesting- In the bigger classes there are some kids who can't be much older than 10 (if that), and there are others who, if I've shaved that morning, look older than me. I'm just crossing my fingers and hoping that if there is a trouble-maker in the class, he's one of the little guys.

I've got a lot more to share with you all, but it's going to have to wait- Internet time here is pricey, and the stubborn manager refuses to give me a birthday discount. Please keep up those prayers (that I stay healthy, that I figure out the French language, that the trouble-maker is smaller than me). I've been in this country going on seven months now; no way could I have lasted this long without your prayers and support.

God Bless,

josh

Rice and Sauce (that chipped Adam's tooth)... 150 francs

Goat Meat (that gave Kelly E. Coli)... 300 francs

Fried Caterpillars (that Stephanie couldn't keep down)... 200 francs

Care Package from Home (full of food guaranteed not to make me sick)... Priceless

Thanks Mom and Dad.

That's right- with a little help from those packages you've all been good enough to send me, I've managed to stay relatively healthy for the past couple of months. No matter what else happens, any day that I'm not physically ill is a good day in my book.

I've tried to take advantage of this run of good health by doing a bit of traveling. I've visited Burkina Faso's Second City, Bobo Dioulasso, a couple of times. Bobo is a neat city known for its talented artisans and musicians as well as for its Grand Mosque- a magnificent structure built entirely from wood and dried mud. More importantly, Bobo's got great ice cream and a decent Internet connection.

South of Bobo is the city of Banfora. If anything in Burkina Faso can be considered a tourist attraction, it would have to be the waterfalls in Banfora. The hike up along the falls was nice, and the view once we got to the top was alright. The deep greens of all the trees and plant life around the falls were definitely a nice change of pace from the browns of the mud and sand typical to much of the country. I have to say, though, my favorite part of Banfora was a burger joint name "McDonald's." In a creative mixing of American icons, the restaurant has a big painting of Donald Duck on the wall near the entrance. Copyright laws aside, this McDonald's has the best burgers in Burkina Faso.

Nearer to my village is the town of Dedougou. The last time I was in Dedougou, I was in the market picking up some sugar. The wind started to pick up and the dark clouds started moving in, so I knew I had to book it if I was going to beat the rain back to the house. I grabbed my sugar and took off. Now, one of the staples of a market here are booths selling second-hand clothes that different charity groups sent over from the US. As I was running past one of these booths, I saw something hanging up that I knew I just had to buy:

A bright pink shirt with large white letters which read: "Maine, The Way Life Should Be".

My new favorite shirt (though a little small and a lot pink) only cost me 60 cents. Not bad.

The only problem with traveling away from my village is that when I return to my house, I'm always scared to see what creatures have decided to move in while I was away. I can deal with the heat and the bad food and the hole-in-the-ground toilet, but bugs and critters living in my house are something else entirely. Trivia time:

Which of the following creatures are NOT among my roommates in my house here in Bomborokuy? (Rooming with Rob, Matthew, and Bryan doesn't seem so bad anymore...)

(a) Crickets (loud ones)

(b) Cockroaches (big ones)

(c) Lizards (fast ones)

(d) Mice (fat ones)

(e) Bats (scary ones, but aren't they all)

Until a few weeks ago, I would have been happy to report that there were two correct answers to this trivia. Alas, recently I have discovered that I share my house with the object of my second-greatest fear (after needles)- bats.

Chauves-souris (literally "bald mice") in French, bats have stayed out of my way most of my life. Two notable exceptions:

Encounter 1 - Five Years Ago, Night of my High School Senior Prom. I bring my date home to say hi to the folks before heading off to a party. Enter: bat. Lots of screaming, lots of running around. We finally get it confined to my sister's second-story room. In a thinly-veiled effort to impress my date while at the same time ensuring a safe distance between me and the bat, I volunteer to climb out onto the roof, open my sister's window, and get the bat to fly out of the house through the window. Of course, that didn't come close to working. At that point, all the commotion had woken my father, and he went into the room and smacked the bat out the open window with a tennis racquet. Shortly after, my date and I are leaving the house en route to the party, and I open the back door- There is the bat, still barely alive, writhing on the back steps. My date screams. Ok, maybe I do, too.

Bat 1, Josh 0

Encounter 2 - 2 Years Ago. I'm home on break from college, and it's just Mom and me in the house. Enter: bat. Cue: screaming, running. We barricade ourselves in a room and call the neighbor. Our neighbor comes over equipped with a big, circular net attached to a wooden pole- something you'd use to fish or catch butterflies. But by the time our neighbor had arrived, the bat had stopped flying around and had perched himself somewhere in the house. We ran around yelling and making a lot of noise to try to bring the bat out of hiding, but to no avail. After a while, our neighbor left, leaving us the net. A couple hours later, the bat emerged, and, after getting myself sufficiently psyched up, I grabbed the net. Seven or eight ugly-looking swings later, the bat was dead and on his way to being tossed outside.

Bat 1, Josh 1

And so it appears that the rubber match will take place at a neutral site, here in Bomborokuy. For now, I have ceded my bedroom to the little beasts in order to maintain the peace. But that will only last so long...

I'm working on posting some pictures online so any who is interested can get a glimpse of Bomborokuy, my house, and my new favorite shirt. I'll be sure to send a quick email out with the link once it's ready. I moved my trip to Ghana to December, so I might be able to use this time before school starts (in October) to get some pictures up there.

I miss all of you. Good luck to everyone who starts school this month, be it kindergarten or graduate school.

God Bless,

josh

Oh, right, and there are no (d) Mice in my house. But what does it matter? Didn't you hear me?! There are bats!

Hey everyone,

It's me again. Before I get into my update, I want to take this chance to

thank all of you who have sent letters, pictures, packages, or emails, or

in some other way let me know that I'm in your thoughts. While things

here are going really well, there are a number of factors that make

these first few months in my village a tough stretch. During this time

(and always!) it's very good for me to be reminded of all my great

family and friends back home. There are a lot of things that I miss

about America (electricity, real toilets, cable, Wendy's Bacon

Cheeseburgers), but it's definitely all of you that I miss the most. Um,

and I also miss being able to follow the Red Sox a lot. Ok, so all of you

and the Red Sox are tied for most-missed. Seriously, though, thank

you all for your support and for your prayers. It makes all the

difference for me. And now, onto your update...

Here in Burkina Faso, just like in the U.S., the kids have school off for

summer vacation. Actually, there really isn't any summer season

here (it's ALWAYS summer), so I guess you would call it "rainy

season vacation." In any case, they of course speak French here

(much to my chagrin) and call it simply "vacances" (pronounced

vah-CONS or something like that). During the vacances, most of the

staff at my school relocate to one of the big cities, leaving me in

village with not a whole lot to do (no movie theaters, bowling alleys,

and, as we've already established, no Red Sox to follow). So I've taken

up a few hobbies- activities that never really interested me that

much back in the States, but ones that I'm having a great time with

now. In fact, let's go ahead and make that the subject of this update's

trivia:

Which of the following is NOT a new way I've found to pass the

time here in Africa?

(a) Reading- Though not much of a reader back home, in the

past few weeks, I've torn through everything from books on

the history of the U.S. and that of the universe to biographies

of Stephen Hawking and Michael J. Fox.

(b) Cleaning- I can say with absolute certainty that no one has

ever referred to me as "Mr. Organized" or a "neat freak." But

here, with so much time on my hands, I've taken to keeping my

house as organized and spotless as I can get it in this country

of mud and dust.

(c) Cooking- I was no Emeril back in the States (think hot dogs

and Easy Mac), and that hasn't changed here in Burkina Faso,

but I am cooking a lot for myself. I've been experimenting a

bunch making pasta sauces from scratch. I even used my

home-made Dutch oven to bake myself some banana bread

and a pizza.

(d) Exercising- Hey, stop laughing! Seriously though, the last

time I exercised this consistently for over a month was during

tennis season my senior year in high school (and even then,

we would cut through the school building during our runs).

(e) Pondering Life's Great Questions- Why are we here? How

did it all begin? Why is it that some of us are lucky enough to

be born in America and have all the advantages which that

affords us while others will never know what that is like? I

told you, I have a lot of time on my hands.

Unfortunately, I'm going to have to apologize for this edition of trivia.

Shortly after I came up with the idea for this trivia and jotted down a

first draft of the possible choices, I realized that the correct answer of

"(b) Cleaning" was actually a really good idea for a way to spend some

of my time. So for the next few days, braving jumbo-sized crickets,

cockroaches, and spiders, I tore into my house and cleaned it top to

bottom. Of course, the next day the rains came and covered

everything in my house with a layer of mud and dust, but my house

was clean for a good 12 hours! In any case, everyone can give

themselves a point for this update's trivia.

So even though I've tried to keep my mind sharp through my language

studies, my reading, and my pondering of life's great questions (Hey,

by the time I get back, Jeremy and Shane will have equalled or passed

me in education, and Megan will be on her way there. If I'm not

careful, they'll all be smarter than me when I return.), here I'm often

reminded just how ignorant I still am of many things, not least of

which is what it means to be poor. The other day, when I was doing

my house cleaning, I was tossing random garbage out in front of my

house like ripped plastic bags, broken containers, and half-used

notebooks- stuff I planned to burn later on. After I'd finished cleaning

the house, my neighbor came by and yelled something (in French) to

me while pointing at the garbage. I did feel a bit guilty just throwing

my trash on the ground like that right in front of this guys house, and

I assumed he was asking me to deal with it. I explained to him that I

would take care of it by the end of the day. I'm sure on the inside, this

man was shaking his head and saying, "Stupid American," but on the

outside, he very patiently repeated his request: "Can I have these

things?" (Despite frequent misunderstandings such as this, my French

is getting better, really it is!) He explained that he could use the plastic

bags to cover things when it rained and that his kids would enjoy

playing with the broken containers. A couple days later, I had cooked

up some pasta for myself and had misjudged how much sauce I needed.

After I had finished the pasta, without even thinking I threw some

water on the plate and dumped the sauce outside my courtyard for the

pigs. A woman across the way noticed and yelled to me (in Bwamu, a

local language), putting her hand to her mouth as if to say, "Hey, send

some of that my way." It's clear that I still have a lot of learning to do.

Again, everyone, thanks for all you're doing for me. I love hearing

from you all. I'm planning a trip to Ghana for the middle of September

before schools starts, so if you don't hear from me before then, you can

be sure that my next update will be packed with fun stories of my

adventures in Ghana. In the meantime, take care of yourselves.

God bless.

Regards,

josh

Hello family and friends!

I'm sorry it's been so long since you last heard from me- The Internet

in my training village has been out for the last month, and, in any

case, the Peace Corps had been keeping us pretty busy. This last

month of training was a combination of language classes and practice

school- I actually got to go into a real class room and teach an hour

or two every day. While I'm probably going to have to wait a few

years before I can be competitive for that Teacher of the Year Award,

my classes went fairly well, and I had fun up there in front of the

kids. I'm really looking forward to continuing my French studies

after training so I can go into my first school year with a bit more

confidence in my language skills. But what I've got is serving me OK

for right now. As they say here (all the time, I might add), "Ca va

aller," or, basically, "Everything's gonna work out OK."

On Friday, June 3, training came to a close as the 13 remaining

trainees (out of an original 15) swore in at the US Ambassador's house

in the capital, Ouagadougou. Don't ask me how exactly, as a Peace

Corps volunteer, I'm supposed to "defend the Constitution from all

enemies, foreign and domestic," but apparently, that's what I agreed

to as I raised my right hand and officially became a member of the

Peace Corps. Good stuff.

Also, not that you had any doubt about this, but I was looking pretty

sharp at that Swear-In Ceremony. Before I left my training village, I

went to the market and picked out some fancy African fabric, and I

visited a tailor who made me a nice looking boubou (sp?) and pants.

But I never ended up wearing that outfit. My last day with my host

family, my host dad went on and on about how he and his family will

always keep me in their prayers and in their hearts. After that, he

and my host mom presented me with an African outfit made out of

traditional African cloth. "So you can remember us every time you put

it on," my dad explained to me. Now, I don't know when I'm ever going

to get a chance to wear my fancy-schmancy outfit, but I was sure that,

come my Swear-In Ceremony, I'd be wearing something that means a

heck of a lot more to me. And, I have to say, I looked pretty good.

Alright, enough of my ego. This past month has also humbled me at

times. My fellow trainees were getting quite tired hearing about how

glad I was that I hadn't gotten sick yet even though everyone else

had. I don't know how many of you played the computer game "Oregon

Trail" back when Apple IIE's were in style, but this next trivia is

for you folks:

Which affliction featured in the game "Oregon Trail" did I suffer

from at some point during the last month?

(a) Typhoid Fever

(b) Amoebic Dysentery

(c) Cholera

(d) I almost drowned trying to ford the river

Ok, make your guesses, because here comes the answer...

I experienced an unfortunate case of (b) Amoebic Dysentery. So, I'm

not going to go into the details of exactly what is involved with this

particular ailment, but I will tell you that I had parasitic,

invasive, single-celled critters making a meal of my insides. But

don't worry, I showed those little guys who's boss. A couple of doses

of some magic medication cleared up the problem almost immediately.

Also, I would be remiss if I did not share with you a couple of

corrections of past trivia responses that have been brought to my

attention. Thank you to my Burkinabe host father for pointing out

that the "birds" that flew out of my latrine were not actually birds,

but bats. Sorry about that; my bad. Also, thanks to Mr. Beale for

pointing out the real reason African men grow their pinky fingernails

long- It's so they can show they don't do manual labor. It's utility

in nose-picking is just a side benefit.

So, for about the past week, I have been living in Bomborokuy, my

place of residence for the next two years. I will be there for about

four months "integrating into the community" before I actually start

teaching. There's not a whole lot to do in Bomborokuy (besides of

course "integrating"), so every once in a while, I'll be making small

trips to the "big city" down the road where I can use email and get

cell phone reception. (That's right; it took me coming all the way to

West Africa to cave in and get a cell phone.) Thank you all so much

for the letters and pictures- Please keep sending them. You have no

idea how much they help. Especially during these next few months

when I'll be by myself in village for the first time with a whole lot of

downtime- letters will be incredibly appreciated. And keep those

prayers coming, too. You are all in mine.

Regards,

josh

Hey everyone!

Sorry this update has been so long in coming. A freak hail storm

(yes, it never gets below 100 degrees outside, but one night ice fell

from the sky- crazy stuff) knocked out the internet to the one place

in town with a modem. In any case, before I give you the goods on

what I've been up to the past month or so, I have a very important

request. Before I left everyone was asking what kind of things I

would want sent to me when I got here, and I had no idea. Now I know-

I would like you all to send pictures. Pictures of us hanging out or

a funny picture of you or your family or whatever- just pictures I can

put up on my wall to make it feel a bit more like home. If you could

just slip them in a normal envelope and jot down a quick note; it

would mean a great deal to me. For those of you who forgot:

Joshua Yardley, PCT

S/c Corps de la Paix

01 B.P. 6031

Ouagadougou 01, Burkina Faso, Africa

Alright, so I hope this email finds all of you doing well and, for

those of you in school, passing all of your classes. The African bush

continues to treat me well: while many of my fellow trainees have

fallen ill with one thing or another, I have managed to be one of the

lucky few who has yet to get sick... Keep up the good work with those

prayers.

A couple of weeks ago, Peace Corps announced our permanent site

assignments for our two years here. For the next two years, I will be

living it up in the fabulous village of... (drumroll, please)...

BOMBOROKUY!!!

Bomborokuy is a very small village near the Mali border at the very

west of Burkina Faso. Before I was told my site, I made a list of

things I wanted my village to have. Here's how that turned out:

-Electricity- Nope

-Running water- Nope

-Cold drinks- Not so much; I'd say more lukewarm.

-Public phone- Check! We have one!

-Cell phone reception- Not exactly, though you can bike to a hill

where you can get some reception. I'm excited to be the first

American ever to get his first cell phone in West Africa.

-Meat available- Check! And if you only eat the meat at night when

you can't see what you're eating, it actually tastes pretty good.

-Church- Check! There is a huge, beautiful church run by missionaries

about two football fields from my house.

-Near other volunteers- Uh, no. Of my training group, I am the most

isolated. My closest neighbor is about 100 km away. You know what

that means- Roadtrips!!

-Near Timbuktu- Check! Apparently, Timbuktu is a real city in Mali.

If any of you are up for it, I'm already planning Spring Break

Timbuktu 2006. Let me know if you're in.

For the sake of being thorough, here were my hopes for my physical

house at my site:

-Kitchen- Check!

-Guest room- Check! The guest room is this huge, completely furnished

room, fully carpetted with beautifully carved oak walls. It has its

own attatched bathroom and a modest patio where you can barbeque

or just relax. Of course, the room is air-conditioned and always smells

like freshly cut flowers. It's available to any of you who come to

visit.

-My own courtyard- Check!

-Indoor shower stall for bucket baths- Nope, outdoors.

-Latrine in my courtyard- Nope, it's a short walk for me every time my

bladder fills up.

-Made of mud- Check!

-Tin roof- Check!

-Furnished- Check! The volunteer I am replacing is leaving me everything.

-Satellite TV- Only in the crazy dreams I have on the nights I take my

weekly malaria medication.

So that's where I'll be for the next two years. It's not much, but it

is definitely what I signed up for. I visited the site a couple weeks

ago, and everyone I met seemed great. The director of my school is a

good guy, and the other teacher at the school (that's right, there are

only two teachers for 200 kids) also seems nice. It will be 4 or 5

weeks before I finish my training and report to my site, but I'm

already excited.

Before I sign off, I want to give all of you who got the last trivia

wrong a chance to redeem yourselves. Same format this time-

pick out which one of the choices is not something that I really

experienced. (Warning- the theme of this trivia is "Unsettling

things I've discovered in the past few weeks")

(a) I discovered what happens when you don't iron your clothes

after you wash them. The volunteer I'm replacing made that

mistake and ended up with the larva of a fly growing under the

skin of his back.

(b) I discovered that the people of the town about 20km from

my site practice cannibalism.

(c) I discovered why so many Burkinabe men have long

fingernails on the pinky of their left hand. It's so they can more

effectively pick their nose.

(d) I discovered what it feels like to cut the head off a chicken.

After decapitating it (and holding it while its headless, bloody

body flung itself around for about 30 seconds), I plucked it,

cleaned it, cooked it, and ate it.

(e) I discovered what it's like to be up to my ankles in poop.

Within five minutes of arriving at my site, I (wearing sandals)

stepped in a cow pie about 3 inches deep. Welcome to Bomborokuy!

Before I give you the answer, I want to let you all know that the

French is finally starting to come along. However, in my village,

only the very educated speak any French. So, I have to also learn a

local African language, Jula. The thing is, my Jula teacher doesn't

speak English. If there is anything harder than learning a foreign

language, it's learning a foreign language in a foreign language. The

following is an actual conversation that took place between me and my

Jula teacher:

Teacher (in Jula): Blah blah nonsense blah

Me (in French): I do not comprehend. What does that mean?

Teacher (in French): It means, "Blah blah nonsense blah."

Me (in English): Well, this is going to be interesting...

Remember, everyone, please send pictures! If you send them soon, I

should get them before I finish training. Like always, thanks for

continuing to keep me in your prayers.

Regards,

josh

P.S.: (e) is not true. Although Bomborokuy is a massive poop mine

field, I managed to sidestep all the mines on my first visit.

Just call me "Wend Panga"...

That is the African name given to me by my host family here in Yako,

Burkina Faso. In Moore (the most common of the many local languages

of BF), "Wend Panga" means "The Force of God." In my awful (but

improving) French, I managed to tell my family how honored I was to

be given such a name. It seems appropriate given how good God has

been to me, especially for the past couple of weeks. I've seen plenty of

God's forces at work through the people of this country as well as

through those of the Peace Corps.

There have been very few times in my life (if any at all) when I have

been, demographically, in the minority. Along with the desperate

poverty and the substancial language barrier, being so physically

different from everyone has taken some getting used to. I can't walk

down the street without at least five or ten kids shouting "Nasara!"

(Foreigner!) or "Nasara, Bon Bon!" (Foreigner, Give me candy!).

Bartering at the market is quite the challenge- Despite my best

efforts, I don't think I've yet paid the "vrai prix" (real price) for

an item. It's not difficult for vendors to tell that I'm not from

around here and give me the "Nasara prix."

Ok, it's time for some "Josh in Africa" trivia. One of the following

statements is false. Which one is it?

(a) My host father's brother (my uncle) is buried in our

courtyard.

(b) I received a marriage proposal from a girl in the

neighboring courtyard on my third day in Yako.

(c) One morning, while I was peeing in the latrine, two birds

flew up out of the hole.

(d) A goat walked into a high school statistics class I was

observing and started drinking the water used to wash the

blackboard.

(e) Last week, I went to a restaurant that had the show '24'

playing on the TV. (This is the same restaurant where they

had to kill the chickens right when you order them.)

I will give you the correct answer at the end of the email. Remember,

four of these are true!

I got my first letters a couple days ago, and I can't tell you how

excited I was. I know I already gave you all my address, but here it

is again, just in case:

Joshua Yardley, PCT

S/c Corps de la Paix

01 B.P. 6031

Ouagadougou 01, Burkina Faso

I'd love to hear from you. Also, please continue to keep me in your

prayers. They've been working great so far.

love,

josh 'wend panga' yardley

P.S.: (b) is not true. Though marriage proposals to American guys

are not uncommon, I have yet to receive one. Maybe I need to start

shaving more often...

Man, is it hot here... Who would've thought that a pale white boy

from Maine would be able to survive a day in the sweltering West

African heat? Well, I've survived three days, and I only have another

800 to go...

So far, I couldn't have asked for a better experience. Even though we

have only had the most basic introduction to this country and the

culture, I have already learned so much. My first priority is to

learn how not to offend the people of Burkina Faso, which at times can

be tricky. Don't wear shorts (even if it is 110 degrees out like it

was today), don't pass things with your left hand, and never refer to

the chief by his name. I think I may have already offended a priest I

met when I declined his offer to give me a sip of water when I entered

his house. Let's hope he doesn't hold a grudge. Much of our training

thus far has been medical-related; I've already told the nurse that I

fully intend to go the distance without ever getting sick. We'll see

how that goes... I've been going through so much water here.

Sometimes I feel as if the water I drink goes directly from my mouth

out through the sweat glands in my forehead.

There are 15 of us here all training to be math and science teachers;

most of us straight out of college. I'll be spending the next 11

weeks training with these guys, so I'm very fortunate that at this

point, they seem like a good group of kids. During these 11 weeks, I

will live with a host family in the town of Yako where I will attempt

to become somewhat competent speaking French. If I can't figure out

this crazy language by then, they'll kick me out of the Peace Corps,

so I expect all of you to be pulling for me! After training is up,

all 15 volunteers will split up and leave for our assigned villages

throughout the country. I will find out which village I am assigned

in about 5 weeks.

I can't tell you all how very excited I am to really start living this

adventure. The people of Burkina Faso seem like absolutely wonderful

people. There's no doubt that I miss my family and friends back home,

but with your prayers and God's help I feel I am truly ready to begin

my Peace Corps journey. Everyday, I grow more and more confident

that this is where God wants me right now.

I will try to send updates as often as I can- believe it or not, the

internet here isn't nearly as accessible as it was at MIT. If any of

you get a chance, I'd love to here from you. I'll check email every

now and again, but getting a letter from you would be awesome. My

address is:

Joshua Yardley, PCT

S/c Corps de la Paix

01 B.P. 6031

Ouagadougou 01, Burkina Faso

Even though things are going great over here, please continue to keep

me in your prayers. For my part, I thank God every night for family

and friends like all of you.

love,

josh

PS: If there are any typos in my letter (especially 'q's instead of

'a's or commas instead of 'm's) please blame this slightly different

and incredibly annoying keyboard I am using. The French not only

had to make their language difficult, they also decided to make their

keyboards difficult for us as well.