Now it's almost 2 months since I've been home and almost a month since I've been in school. Really, where does the time go? I can no longer tell where I am in the readjustment process. I've toned down the saluer-ing but I still greet ppl whenever I make eye contact. I've stopped expecting to see bush taxis piled high with luggage and goats, but I still think the fallen leaf I come across lying on the road is a flattened gecko. One day last week, a classmate of mine, who hails from Uganda, came over to say good morning and shook my hand. It made me so happy and I can't explain why. C'est bizarre, non?

I'm very glad that I got to start school so quickly after coming home. I think it prevented me from floundering around and feeling restless. However, I'm quickly realizing that I grossly underestimated what it means to slide back into academia after a six-year hiatus that included a little detour through Burkina, aka the slowest place on earth (I mean this as a good thing). To all those of you who told me that I'd be fine: um, yeah, no but thanks for the sentiment.

Let's just get it out there: I'm overwhelmed. Of course, I chose to take an intensive half-semester seminar course that's probably one of the more difficult classes at Fletcher. Great class, wonderful professors.... and a long long long reading list. There's so much reading that all I keep thinking is: I wish I'd gotten materials ahead of time so I could have gone through some of it while I was still chilling in my mud house in the Faso. Above and beyond the sheer amount of material is the type of material I'm reading. Being the awesomely rigorous school that Fletcher is, everything here - especially the class reading assignments - is about honing one's analytical and critical thinking skills. Unfortunately, I lost those along with my active reading and coherent speaking skills somewhere in the real world... maybe over the Atlantic.

In addition, what I've been reading is mostly about genocides, torture, massacres, etc. (I am studying humanitarian assistance in complex humanitarian emergencies after all.) Now, I've never considered myself a squeamish person but I've read some things already that made my stomach turn. I've learned that accounts of mass rape as a weapon of war will do that. As will accounts of other acts that I can't repeat b/c I don't want to inflict them on other ppl. Suffice it to say that each story set off an incredulous "How do human beings do these things to one another??" in my head every time. All of this is making me rethink my career path - not b/c I don't want to do what I think I want to do, but b/c I'm afraid I'll let ppl in the field down. No big decisions yet, but all these uncertainties are floating around in my mind.

So, I'm overwhelmed but nevertheless excited to be in school again. I wanted to be in an environment where I'd be thinking and researching and learning - at least I'm getting exactly what I asked for.

I'm a bad bad blogger. Luckily for me, I highly doubt that anyone's been following my life so closely that it's really a problem. (If you are, please stop web-stalking me already! jk)

So I've been home for about 6 weeks now. In the interim, I have found a great new apt, moved into it with one of my best friends, traveled to NYC to visit another RPCV, and started at a graduate school that I think I'll love. Oh right, and readjusting to life in the US on top of it all.

The first few weeks back were very difficult. Things just didn't feel right. My speech was still peppered with French/Moore, I couldn't stop saluer-ing ppl, and everything moved too damn fast. I had trouble sleeping, not because of jet-lag, but because I felt like that I had so much to do now that I was in a place where I could get things done. "Oh, I need to research this on the web... Oh let's see what new music's around... Oooh I can catch up on all the news from the past several months..."

On my aforementioned trip to NYC, my friend, who returned home a week before I did, and I decided to go to a West African restaurant for dinner one night, dragging along her boyfriend. The place was tiny, with a mounted television in the corner playing Malian or Ivorian music videos. There was no set menu. One fly circled our table incessantly. Her boyfriend was on just-this-side of horrified; my friend and I were charmed. As soon as our waiter took our orders (atchieke, alloco, and lamb shanks for me) and walked away, my friend turned to me and asked, "Oh my god, did it take all of your self-control to not speak to him in French??" "YES!" I answered.

Language was the least of it. Even in NYC, I couldn't stop saying hi to everyone on the streets. At bus stops, at train stations, in line at the supermarket, driving through parking lots - I was a raving, waving idiot. Most of the time, strangers ignored me, but the times when ppl responded, I felt briefly very happy. I was saluer-ing so much that my roommate walked a few steps ahead of me on our outings to apt search b/c she was so embarrassed by my 'FOB'-y (fresh-off-the-boat) behavior. The constant greeting of anybody and everybody has wained a bit now, partly due to my recent realization that some Bostonians are very rude ppl.

Wait, let me clarify before the hackling starts. I was raised a Bostonian and I've always been very proud to be a Yankee. However, several instances have occurred since I've been home that have made me re-categorize our reservedness and standoffish-ness as impoliteness and mild disdain for our fellow man. The worst of these took place in the downtown financial district one Sunday. An Asian woman with a child in a stroller was trying to enter a rather accessible-unfriendly building. The front entrance required visitors to mount two steps and open heavy double doors. As a friend and I walked by, we saw the woman struggling to get in, so I held open one door while my friend helped lift her stroller over the steps. Watching our entire undertaking were an older man and a boy (his son? grandson?) about 8 years old. They stood by a car, eating candy bars and staring at us the whole time. (They were already present when my friend and I came on the scene, so we can only assume that they had seen the woman in distress just before, or at the same moment, we did.) Truly, this incident made me sad to be a Bostonian - heck, even an American. Why would anyone not help someone else in need? Not the best beginning to readjustment, but ca va aller, n'est-ce pas?

Unfortunately, being in grad school doesn't allow more time for blogging than living in a village in the middle-of-nowhere did. I can only say that I'll try my best to keep you posted on how things continue here in the good ol' USA. Stay tuned.

Guess what?? I'll be home in the US by Thursday (July 24) night! I'm flying out of Ouagadougou to Accra, Ghana tomorrow afternoon. I'll spend the night there, then fly directly to NYC the next morning.

Sorry I have been such a lousy blogger these past few months, but I promise I'll catch up anyone who's interested in talking to me when I get home. I hope all's been well with you and I'll see you soon!

Ok, let me preface what I'm about to tell you with an enormous DO NOT WORRY advisement. On Friday morning, I had a small bike accident... a really pointless, silly accident. It was serious enough that the medical staff kept me in Ouaga for 4 days but not serious enough that they wanted me to stay in the infirmary at the bureau, if that tells you anything.

I was riding a community bike (one of many loaners that are available to PCVs who didn't bring their own bike into Ouaga) to the bureau from the Transit House. The trip only takes 5 minutes; I successfully made it through the first 90 seconds of it this time. I was getting ready to make a right turn and wanted to slow down. So I squeezed the left brakes... the front ones. They worked wonderfully well, causing the bike to stop immediately. Unfortunately, I didn't stop. Even as I was flying over the handlebars, I thought to myself, "Oh how stupid I am! Why did I ride one-handed... with the hand that would engage the front brakes??"

I hit the ground pretty hard, mostly with my left side. This meant scraping up and bruising my elbow very badly and giving both my wrists a good shock. I also banged my thighs into the handlebars of the bike and ended up with huge bruises on the fronts of both thighs. The one on my right leg was the size of my fist and swelled up, like a knot you'd get when you hit your head. I didn't even know that was possible, to get knots on other parts of your body! Of course, all this I realize later...

For the moment, I laid on the ground, trying to assess the damage. A passing motorist and a US Embassy guard (I was in front of a residence that housed an Embassy employee) came over to help me up. I was in a bit of shock and tried to act as nonchalant as possible, which meant to me in my muddled state that I should saluer ppl: "Merci! Bonjour, comment ca va? Et la matinee?" Both of them looked at me, stared down at my left arm, looked up again horrified, and asked, "Ca va?" I finally glanced down at my arm to see my entire elbow swollen and purple, with alot of blood and gravel down the side. I laughed a little, and replied, "Oui, ca va. Avez-vous un Lotus?" (Lotus is the Kleenex of Burkina.) The Embassy guard at this point got on his walkie-talkie and started urgently stating (in French): "Volunteer down! Volunteer down! Please send a vehicle." I stood there for another minute, called our medical officer, and asked whether I should just walk to the bureau since I was about 5 blocks away. She replied yes, so I left my bike with the Embassy guard, collected my stuff, and started walking.

As I walked, the blood continued to run and congeal at the same time. The pain started setting in at this point and I was randomly cursing out loud whenever I felt a burst of it. Of course, I can't stop saluer-ing people as I walk. So awkward. A woman on a motocycle passed me and doubled back to ask if I needed a ride. I turned it down, because the last thing I need is to pull up in front of the bureau, on a moto, without a helmet, dripping blood.

I reached the med unit and we washed out my elbow. The med officer dressed my wounds and told me that I was going to have to stay in Ouaga all weekend. She had mentioned getting xrays on Monday, but when the time came, she decided that they weren't really warranted since nothing seemed broken. (Well I could've told her that!) So I'm on Day 5 now and, although I'm still sore, everything seems to be healing well. The big scrapes on my elbow are scabbing over already. The knot on my leg still hurts when I walk, but I think it'll stop with time. So, as I said, no worries.

[One more time, I apologize for the untimeliness of my blog postings. I've been traveling around Burkina and helping other PCVs with trainings so I have fallen behind in writing up entries. I still have a few I need to post for April and then I'll catch up on May. In fact, I'm heading back to village today and I'm going to stay there for at least 2 weeks (ok, maybe 10 days) straight. That should give me time to organize myself a little better. Again, check out the blog itself (http://h3snapshots.blogspot.com/) if you want a recent snapshot of my life here.]

Wow, I just realized I haven't posted any blog updates in 6 weeks! I do have things I want to share, but this month has been so busy that I've neglected to write things up before I get near a computer and an Internet connection. I promise I'll finish the posts I have in progress and I hope to put everything up in approximately 2 weeks. In the meanwhile, please take a look at the blog itself http://h3snapshots.blogspot.com for some new snapshots of my life and check out the new photo albums I've uploaded at http://picasaweb.google.com/snapshotsoflight. Enjoy! XOXO

There's a female PCV that I've been getting to know and I feel like we're kindred spirits. Y and I are both immigrants, having moved to the US around the same age. We grew up without our dads, who still live in our countries of birth and with whom we now have nascent relationships. We're both very close to our mothers, and had to handle alot for our families when we were younger. We both chose to do Peace Corps for reasons of career advancement and personal independence. We're also both a bit older than most of the other PCVs, with several years of non-profit work under our belts. Oh, most importantly, we've both recently decided that we're so fed up that we have to renounce men, dating, and all that jazz - at least temporarily. So we made this weekend (we were in town for a meeting of the AIDS Task Force) a total girls-out-on-the-town weekend. After my crazy week with the boys, it was fun to switch and hang out with another woman.On Friday, Y and I had one of the best lunch experiences EVER! [Ok, if we weren't in Burkina Faso, it probably would not have been so amazing, but seeing as how we are here, well, it was WONDERFUL!] We wanted to run errands downtown during repos so we picked a restaurant in the area: 4Saisons (Four Seasons). We had dressed up and we were still (relatively) clean by the time we arrived. [I know that may sound weird, but it's a real effort to not be covered in dust and grime when walking around anywhere at midday. The sweat just makes everything stick to you.] We sat and chatted in the lovely air-conditioned dining room, surrounded by other quiet lunchtime convos. We shared a salade nicoise, a vegetarian pizza, and a banana split. Everything was SO yummy! We really felt like we were back in the States.The next night, even as a rainstorm threatened, Y and I ventured out by ourselves to Le Verdoyant, where I haven't gone in over a year, since FESPACO last year. Another excellent 'date'! I was a tad disappointed in my lasagne sampler, but the great rose wine and the terrific coupe caramel (caramel ice cream topped with caramel - hallelujah!) we shared really made up for it.Finally, tonight, to cap off the weekend, we went to Paradisio with 6 other PCVs. Paradisio's the usual stand-by restaurant for PCVs b/c it's close to our Transit House so we've been there plenty of times. However, we decided that we would order something new and Y and I ended up sharing the veal cordon bleu with a salade paradisio and finished with a crepe. So so delicious.All in all, a hugely successful weekend in Ouaga: we worked, we ate, we bonded. I spent money like... well, a rich American in Africa. Oh I even bought a new purse made out of plastic woven mat material that I love love LOVE! If only all weekends always go so well...

After the conclusion of our business training series, R, J, and I met up with R's Burkinabe colleagues and friends for dinner and drinks. Around 10:30pm, we watched as a wall of rain clouds came in. Really, it was like the world was ending! There was a very clear line of demarcation cutting north-south across the sky as the storm rolled in from the east. The pitch black clouds blocked out the stars, then the moon. Next came one of the huge dust storms that always precede rain in Burkina. We were covering our glasses and trying our fastest to finish our drinks; nevertheless I ended up with a mouth-full of sand. Everyone fled the scene before the rains started. Luckily R, J, and I made it back to R's (it was very close to the buvette) and spent the storm sitting under his hangar outside, enjoying the coolness and winds that the rain brings.

In the middle of last night's session, R received a phone call from Doug, the new CD, explaining that he wants to come to see tonight's class... and he wants to stay at R's house... with the three of us already there. Come again?? Um, ok.

I was the lead presenter tonight, covering bookkeeping 101, and things were going well until the electricity was cut - this was the exact moment Doug walked in. Coincidence? I think not. (jk) The group of 10 business people were great participants, asking good questions and even debating completely in French (without sliding into Moore at all). I probably talked too much, and I tried to defer to the participants' experiences when I could. Afterwards, Doug congratulated me on my French speaking ability and told us how impressive the training seemed. Then we all went to dinner at the buvette by R's place; this morning we had pre-ordered fresh beef tongue, liver, kidneys, and filet so we ate well... and gratuit, b/c Doug insisted on paying for it all.

After dinner, we headed back to R's and proceeded to make the sleeping arrangements. R and J took their usual places on the floor in R's living room, while I gave Doug the lipico (woven cot) and slept on the mattress on the floor in R's bedroom. Kinda awkward situation - sleepover with the new boss - but we made the best of things.

In my journal, I always try to note the little happenings, the non-sequiturs, that pop up throughout any given day. I find it's often those things that make me reflect or laugh or marvel - basically they help me to slow down and savor life. Today was just full of these that I call 'random moments'...

Sweet random moment: I got up early and went jogging around R's neighborhood this morning. As I was walking back toward R's courtyard, a beautiful little boy, who couldn't have been more than two, ran up to me and grabbed me by both hands. It was so sweet b/c he acted as if he hadn't seen me in forever and was so happy to find me again. He stood there for a full minute, not saying a word, just holding my hands and gazing into my face. Maybe he got me confused with some other 'white' person he's known in town. I've never been tempted to bring a kid back to the US with me, but for a second, I really considered picking up this child and keeping him.

Funny random moment: R, J, and I spent all day at the bureau of the Caisse Populaire preparing our presentation and enjoying air conditioning and DSL internet. On our way home to R's at the end of the day, J tried having R 'tow' him (carry him on the luggage rack on the back of his bike) b/c J didn't bring a bike and would have to walk otherwise. We'd gone about 1/5 mile when R called out, "Damn it, did I get a flat?" I was riding behind them, and noting how low the rear tire was, I told him, "Yeah, definitely. You must have hit something." Well, we stopped to assess the damage - and realised that it was only J! LOL The tire was in fact completely full! [Even now as I write, I'm laughing hysterically.] Adding to the funny was that J had been sitting on the back of the bike with a giant black Steve Madden tote bag hanging off his right shoulder and a cigarette dangling from his left hand! Why oh why did I not bring my camera on this trip?? I really wish I had a picture of this! I'm so grateful for the mental image alone b/c it is truly priceless.

Awkwardly cute random moment: So the three of us gave up on the towing idea and started walking home. On the way, we came across 4 older drunk Burkinabe women. One of them was the mother of a friend of R so we paused to saluer (greet) them. We were chatting a little in Moore - and all of a sudden, the oldest woman in the group took my helmet hanging off the handlebars of my bike, put it on, and danced around pretending to be a 'nasaara'! Wowsers. Luckily it did not take too much convincing for the woman to give me back my helmet. We told them it was getting dark and we had to get home. With a 'wend na kon nindaare' (see you someday), we were off.

Today I traveled to Koupela, a city (in Burkina terms) in the center southeast of the country to help a PCV friend R with his business skills training, like the one I had helped with in the Bobo region back in January. Another PCV J joined us from Mogtedo and so we each planned to present for one night of the 3 night seminar.

Now, I haven't hung out with only guys in a long time, so it was enlightening to hear the comments they made over dinner! There was alot of random stuff about women, and also some slightly macho "show-each-other-up" things. I know it sounds like I'm stereotyping, but I feel pretty validated in this case b/c... well, it's what they were saying!

Another note: Guy PCVs here do not have balanced diets, to say the least. Ok, this one may be a gross generalisation... but I have to say I had more beer, meat, and cookies in the 6 days I stayed with R and J than I usually eat in a month! Oh, boys.

At almost 21h, the teenage girl next door M came over with her friend and asked me to write for them the essay portion of a take-home English test due Saturday morning! Darn Burkinabe kids with their darn rampant cheating! M tried to tell me that her professor had told them to find someone who knows enough English to write the essay for them. [What, are you serious??] The problem is that this is not as unlikely as it would be in the US so I wasn't sure whether or not I should believe her.

I was even more annoyed b/c M said that she couldn't figure out the 1-page English article on which this test was based. (The take-home was essentially a reading comprehension test.) Only days ago, I had translated the entire text for her! [Really, you couldn't compare the English and the French versions and manage to understand any of it??] After trying to politely placate her, I finally had to say, "No, I'm not going to write it b/c I just don't want to do it. At least try to write something on your own and then I'll help you correct it." Sheesh.

So I woke up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom and the goddamn kittens in my courtyard scared the sh*t out of me for the second time this week! I was walking toward my WC/shower area and I could see the white one hanging out in my WC. It darted out by me as soon as it saw me coming. Fine. Then I kept walking in further and the black one shot out and treaded on my right foot in the process! Damn it! I screamed, though fortunately not too loudly.

One of the things you have to get used to hearing in Burkina is "c'est fini" (it's finished). There is no just-in-time system of supply. If a boutique or restaurant is out of something you want, they're out. Oh Burkina, let's talk about stock control! This means you usually need to go everywhere with few expectations b/c you're so often stuck settling for a second or third choice, or in many cases, nothing. It's so disheartening when all you want is a brochette (shish kebab) or some yogurt, only to be told they've sold out or they just didn't feel like making it that day. I've lost count of how many restaurants I've been to in Ouaga where I find out half the menu is actually unavailable; I try and order, just to be told that one dish after another isn't available. Um, then why the hell is the item still on the menu??

Sorry, I know I'm ranting. But I really really REALLY wanted peanut butter today and my vegetable lady said 'c'est fini' and told me to come back tomorrow. I bet you never knew that something so small as peanut butter could be the line between a rant-free day and a non-rant-free day.

A mission from Ouaga came to visit our project today and I FINALLY got to go out en brousse and see the women in action with their trainings. We arrived in Taffogo to a mob of children. (Seriously, why aren't these kids in school??) So I was walking behind our animatrice when I realized that the kids following us were trying to figure out if I was a man or a woman! I turned around and said, "Hey! C'est quoi??" Then one of the responsables from Ouaga told me that the children are confused because I'm wearing pants. Oh right. Women wear skirts, men wear pants. Oops.

Anyway, it seems that the trainings are going very well. The only thing left to do is to make sure the women know to keep carrying on these activities and gain the practical experience needed so they won't forget how to do them over the rainy season, when they'll all be cultivating in the fields.

This afternooon, after I'd washed the veggies I bought at the marche and while I was snacking on a grilled cob of (un-sweet) corn, a lizard crash landed from my roof! All I saw was a blur of something flying diagonally from my ceiling and I heard it land on my floor. It wasn't a gecko but a little silver thing with a blue streak down its back. The poor thing tried climbing up my walls but it couldn't get any traction. I thought about leaving it be but decided that I didn't want it sneaking into some nook somewhere and making himself at home. So I chased it all over with my little dustpan and finally coaxed it off my screen door. I flung it outside - but apparently not far enough. After a couple seconds of astonishment at finding itself outdoors and free, it made a beeline for my house again! Of course it had no problems climbing up the outside of my walls. For all I know, it's still hanging out up on my roof.

I was supposed to go out en brousse this morning to help finish up the chats I've been having with the women in our microfinance project about what activities they'd like to learn. I was also supposed to go see one of those technical trainings in action. [I may have already mentioned this, but: Plan Burkina had received funding to find trainers to go out and teach the women how to produce different marketable goods, like oil, soap, pottery, etc.] I had been looking forward to this outing for the past week. However, my counterpart informed me yesterday afternoon that he can't bring me after all because he was going to have to transport a formatrice (trainer) from one village to another. He just can't fit both of us on the back of his moto. I told him no problem, as long as the rest of the consultations get done. What else was I gonna do? Ask him to make an extra 1hr trip there and back just bc i wanted to feel involved??

So I didn't even bother going to the office today. I wanted to take a ''Kakuro Day'', which is aholiday I made up on which I take the day off and do Kakuro puzzles...but I couldn't even focus on those! Instead I listened to music and sang all morning, then napped for 2 hours after lunch. (Sorry, fellow American taxpayers. I hate getting paid for not doing work.)

Around 11h, the winds picked up and dust was blown everywhere - it was a genuine dust storm, yippee! I could barely see from my office courtyard across the goudron (the paved main road running through town). A colleague asked me, "You see now why we [Burkinabe] die early?? We're breathing in all this dirt all the time!! C'est dure!" Um, ok. Let's just ignore the sub-par levels of personal hygiene and national health system, shall we?

Things cleared for a little while, but by 17h, the sky turned light brown. It stayed that way until dark. The duststorm certainly brought all the insects out of the woodwork, so to speak. In my house, I saw lots and lots of spiders, a scorpion, and a couple of these centipede/millipede things that I hate. Ugh.

When I woke up the next morning, I saw my house by the light of day and realized that my floor is completely covered in a layer of sand! Oh life in the Sahel.

Have I mentioned that I've been getting my own water fairly frequently in the past month? This involves taking my empty bidon (aka bright yellow plastic oil container), ignoring the 'do not refill with anything but so-and-so-brand oil' warning on the front, biking to my closest functioning pump about 1/4 mile away, working the pump (the lever moves in an up and down see-saw motion), strapping the bidon filled with 20L d'eau onto the back of my bike, and then biking home, all the while hoping that my bidon doesn't fall off the back.

Since I'm a fonctionnaire (salaried gov't/NGO worker) and a foreigner, I'm not really supposed to be getting my own water, so maybe it's the illicit nature of the act that makes me enjoy it. Getting water falls into the task domaine of women and children, though sometimes the fonctionnaire men who are single will get water themselves. For the past year, I've relied on my courtyard family to supply me with water, though this was getting more and more haphazard as my landlord and his wife traveled more and more for work. When I first arrived, I had asked my landlord about finding me someone that I can pay to bring me water but he dismissed the idea, saying that they'll take care of me. I didn't press the issue and I've been all right for most of the year. During the last rainy season, I was able to collect enough rainwater for my own use that I didn't really need anyone to bring me water. Then the rains stopped and it got to the point where sometimes I didn't have water for drinking or bucket bathing. So I broke down and bought a bidon.

Oftentimes I get to the pump when there are other ppl around and no one will let me pump my own water. Once, this little boy ordered his younger sister to work the pump for me. The girl was so small that she had to jump to reach the pump lever that was left in the up position, only to be unable to pull it down at all and so ended up dangling from the lever with her little feet kicking in mid-air! (I did decide to take over the pumping at this point.)

Ppl also make me cut in line. This is not so grave so much as awkward. Now I always try to blend into the crowd lining the pump, waiting for their turn to get water...even though this is impossible. (It's like the easiest game of 'Where's Waldo?' EVER! Burkinabe, Burkinabe, Burkinabe - oh there she is!) Usually I'll get singled out by whoever's up next to go in front of him/her. As I bypass 20 others who've been waiting for lord knows how long, I try to assess the level of resentment and I act as gratefully apologetic as I can. (Thanks for letting me cut! Sorry for cutting!) Sometimes ppl will even take my bidon and start filling it when I'm not looking. Then they'll giggle and ask "Nasaara, yamb bidou be ye?" (Nasaara, where's your bidon?)

To me, there's just something so un-"1st World" about giving someone with no obvious conditions or status special privilege. If I were an older woman or pregnant or one of the chef's wives, then maybe I can see it. Really, what do they think I need to rush home with my water for?? I'm not the one with 6 children to look after and firewood to chop and dinner to cook! Oy.

Anyway, after all the background, the story I wanted to share is this: this afternoon, my caoutchou (rubber strap) holding down my full bidon broke as I was pedalling home from the pump. I stopped to try and fix the thing. A woman with a baby on her back, who was walking in the opposite direction from which I was heading, paused to help me. When we realized that the strap was completely useless and I'd have to hold the bidon while pushing my bike back, she accompanied me! As soon as we got to my house and took down the bidon, she left, retracing her steps. Just one of many instances of how ppl here will stop whatever they're in the middle of doing to help someone else.

I took a sieste at midday but it was so hot that I kept waking up b/c the sweat from my head was dripping into my ears! Oh my god, this is ridiculous! Why is it SO HOT?? I H-A-T-E hot season.

All right, it's now HOT season. At noon, a friend texted me to say that his thermometer read 126deg in the sun! Holy moly. On a completely unrelated note (ha!), I finally decided for sure that I will be attending grad school in the fall. So that's done. I'll definitely be going home some time this summer. Start planning the party, people!

After lunch, Lisa and I decided to do some shirt shopping at the marche. We picked out 2 cute shirts each and told the seller that we'd pay 1000F for all 4 of them. He said, "No, it's 300F each." We assumed he was bluffing so we just gave him a 1000F bill and left. He actually chased after us and asked for more money! We told him, "We're not paying more than 1000F so do you want that or nothing?" By this point, we've attracted a crowd. The guy said again that he really can't take less than 300F each so we tossed him back the shirts and walked away.

Now, this didn't occur to me til much later: you know you've been living in Burkina too long when 1. you're buying your clothes at the marche, and 2. you're haggling over 50F (10 cents) for a shirt!

I got a phone call this morning from a really good friend who was a PCV in Burkina with me, who left Burkina and moved to South Korea to teach English, and who may be coming to Boston to attend law school this fall! How random is this?? As much as I complain about not having much to do here, I have to say that I'm still very happy that I decided to serve in the Peace Corps. I've certainly grown leaps and bounds personally, and I've met many people that I love. It's really unbelievable how I now know people all over the US and the world.

Today Becca and I held a meeting for our girls' club. The theme? Avoir Conscience de Votre Fecondite! (Be Aware of Your Fertility!) Basically, we wanted to teach the girls the rhythm method. This entails explaining menstruation, ovulation, and how a woman can track her cycles so she'll know when she's most fertile - which is when she should avoid sex if she doesn't want to get pregnant. We knew that they've already been sensibilised enough that they know they're supposed to use condoms if they have sex. However, realistically, we also knew that they will have boyfriends or husbands who won't want to use condoms and we wanted them to at least know when they shouldn't have sex if that's the case. (I know, I know. What are the chances that guys who don't care enough to use condoms will be ok with a girl saying she doesn't want to have sex b/c she's ovulating? You can only try, right?)

Even though I tried to go into the meeting with no expectations, I was very surprised by what these girls didn't know. They had absolutely no comprehension of 'fecondite' or ovulation. They didn't understand at all the concept of menstruation so I had to explain it a couple of times. [I was technically the presenter and Becca was there for support.] Other interesting questions I got:

Is there something you can take to stop your periods? [I realised later they meant birth control...]

What age is 'normal' to start your period? [The girls were very concerned with what is normal. Becca and I tried to explain that every woman's different but they still seem unsatisfied when we gave them an age range (9-15) rather than specifying a particular age.]

Won't the birth control pill kill you? [Whoa! I tried to explain that the pill controls hormones so that you can't get pregnant. I emphasized that the pill shouldn't kill you!]

If you start having sex at 9 or 10, does that make your period come earlier? [Ok, I had to keep my jaw from hitting the floor on this one. I said, "No, not at all. The two aren't related!" Then I added, "Listen, your body's not really ready for sex if you haven't gotten your period yet. 9 or 10's very early to start having sex." I tried to say it in as non-judgmental a way as I could b/c I knew it was very very likely that at least half of the girls there have had sex at that age. Still, it was hard to address.]

Does the boy give the girl 'la grossesse' (pregnancy)? [Say what?? Apparently the girls did not understand that making a baby takes the combination of sperm and egg. They really didn't know how a pregnancy starts! Some of the girls insisted that the grossesse's already in the woman's body and sex just provokes the growth. Others suggested that the boy 'gives' it to the girl. Again, I tried explaining but wasn't sure how well I did.]

Seriously, I'd be willing to do this full-time if it were possible to just go around telling women (and men) how their bodies work! It's mindblowing the amount of stuff these kids don't know - and they're the 'edu-ma-cated' ones!

This afternoon, Becca and I went to saluer Doug, the new CD (country director) of Peace Corps Burkina Faso who arrived at the beginning of March. He came upstairs from his office to say hi to PCVs in the computer area and said we should all drop by his office when we had a chance. So we did. [Side story: I met him for the first time yesterday... and he already knew my name! He apparently had been studying our pictures and he actually recognized me. Ok, I know there are only 4 East Asians in PCBF, but I was still impressed.]

Anyway Becca and I chatted with Doug for about 20min. I told him I'm from Boston and went to Bentley College. (Doug lived a number of years in New Hampshire and was born in Cambridge.) Right away he asked, "Oh so how's Jerry Bookin-Weiner doing?" I replied, "Oh my gosh, you know Jerry??" Jerome Bookin-Weiner was an international studies professor at Bentley and he was the advisor for the Model United Nations club my freshman year. I told him Jerry left Bentley at the end of my 1st year there so I didn't get to know him very well. It turns out Doug and Jerry served in the Peace Corps together - I didn't even know Jerry had done Peace Corps!

Holy cow, the world is SO small!

No joke: My first full thought when I woke up this morning was 'why's everything so sticky??' Then I walked outside, saw all the clouds in the sky, and realized it's the humidity that comes before the rain. But it's only mid-March - much too early for rain, n'est-ce pas?Nope, it's not, as I found out by the afternoon. The rain fell at about 2 notches below a drizzle, kinda like multiple faucets dripping. There was also a decent breeze, which helped lighten up the humidity. And oh boy, it's not even hot season yet. I hope this bodes well for the rainy season.[Update: it actually rained around 11pm! Holy cow, I'm still stunned. But I asked a Burkinabe about the timeliness of the rain and he replied, "Oui, c'est normal." All righty then.]

Today a responsable came from the capital to meet with my project team; he wanted to lay out with us the program for the next several months. I still feel fairly useless, but I've been so down that anything resembling work, i.e. a meeting, was bound to make me feel better. Just how much better? Well, let me tell you what happened this afternoon:After our repos (lunch break), just before we restarted the 2nd half of our meeting, a co-worker pulled me aside and said, "You seem much happier today than you've been in a while. Did you get some good news?" I was surprised that he'd even thought to ask and laughed out loud, all the while shaking my head. He persevered, "Come on, you can tell me. Did something happen? You even look prettier than you did yesterday! [Hey! What??] Something's going on..." At this point, I was just laughing uproariously. Finally I composed myself enough to say, "Nothing's going on! It must be the work. I'm always happier when I have something to do." We'd previously talked about how I dislike not working every day, so he understood what I meant.Now I actually feel kinda bad that my negative mood has been so obvious around the office. I hate being transparent as glass and unable to hide it when I'm not d'accord with something. However, I do love that, since I've been stagnating for so long, work has on me the effect of, say, winning the lottery or a day at the spa.