"Did it rain by you? Yes we got a lot of rain, did it rain by you? Yes it rained well!"

That would be a typical conversation you hear nowadays since the rainy season has officially begun. It feels like life has been breathed into everyone and they can move freely without the oppressive heat. For me I know I can sure sleep better as Andrea exclaimed one morning, "It was so cold last night!" I emphatically agreed before remembering we slept outside in shorts and tank tops and did not sweat, this for us is the new definition of "cold". After the rains the landscape has changed dramatically. It literally looks like I just ended up on the other side of the rainbow and I am not complaining. I forgot just how many shades of green existed.

In business related news the president of the COGES came over and we held a sensibilization together in one of my neighbor's courtyards. He told me he only had 45 minutes before he had to go to prayer but that was plenty of time. We sat down with our audience, a grandmother of about 65 years and had a great information session about malaria. The president asked her how she thought one got malaria and she replied that from the cold, a strong wind, not eating enough, drinking dirty water or eating dirty food that one could get malaria. This was all translated from sonhrai to french for my benefit so then I asked the president what he thought the real modes of transmission were (keep in mind I gave a presentation on this information about 3 weeks earlier) He told me that from drinking dirty water, from not eating enough or from sleeping outside without a bednet. Well 1 out of 3, I'll take it. So I did a quick recap of the appropriate modes of transmission for him to correct our audiences' response. And in that way we went through the modes of transmission, treatment, vulnerable groups and methods of prevention. After 40 minutes we were done and I genuinely thanked the president for his hard work, as he was the only member of the COGES to approach me about giving a sensibilizationn I thought positive reinforcement was the way to go. I reasoned that when we held our monthly COGES meetings then the rest of the group would hear what I thought of their performance. Well the monthly meeting came and went and because it was raining apparently people thought attendance was optional since no one showed up. There's always next month.

Today was my graduation from my four week course in Sonhrai, my local language. I am constantly berated or congratulated in village for my level of understanding depending on who I am talking to or what they ask me. If a woman I have never met greets me and I respond perfectly then she will laugh and exclaim, Ah you know Sonhrai very well! On the other hand when I go to the market and see the same men who sit and drink tea every day they will chastise me for not understanding more when they ask me where I'm coming from, what day I arrived, where I am going and other very introspective questions of the like. So as part of my in service training I recieve language training with a doctor from Gorom named Altine who just happens to be our 'go to' guy for anything we need whether it be advice, support, guidance or just to have tea and chat. All the volunteers around Gorom feel that he understands our work and our frusterations better than anyone sitting in their airconditioned office in Ouaga who are supposedly employed to have our best interest in mind. Altine tells us that he understands that change does not come easily or quickly here but he never fails to thank us for continuing to try and encouraging even the smallest efforts. So I was very gald to hear that he would be my sonhrai instructor and we spent the last few weeks accomplishing so much and I loved to be able to practice what I know in village. Although I do not aspire to be fluent in the local language it can certainly be helpful in clearing up a few misunderstandings. For example my neighbors have an adorable little girl that is one of my favorites and who for the past few months I have apparently been calling, "cow." As in, hey cow, hows my favorite cow, does cow want a cookie, and so forth. Her name being Hoowa and the word for cow being howa I really can't blame anyone for the mistake but it does make sense that her mom would always repeat her name after I said it, I thought for encouragment but really for correction. Similar things have come to light such as marriage proposals and my water boy asking for a hat when i just thought he liked mine. But it has felt good to be in a structured learning environment and making progress even if it is just for my benefit.

Well thats about all Ive got for now but keep in touch as always and hope you had a happy fourth o' july. Love y'all!

Take care,

Caitlin

God it feels good to laugh out loud. My water boy yelled "Koko!" and I came out of my house to collect my water jugs. Originally they were 20L oil bins but they have a convenient handle on top and are the primary tool for water transportation. As Burema is unloading my water off the back of the donkey cart I notice his donkey has a new accessory. They've put a string through the end of a flashlight and attached the string around the donkey's head so the flashlight hangs down his nose. It looks like Eyeore is about to go spelunking and I just stand there and laugh. Donkeys have such a complacent look bordering indifference. The donkey turns awayas if to say well I like my headlamp anyway, and shines his light elsewhere.

As my amusement subsides I pick up my two water jugs (thats right I can carry two now) and wobble into my house. I have a bucket of sudsy washed laundry that's waiting to be rinsed and whole slew of uses for my new found wealth of H2o. Water has become harder and harder to come by considering the rainy season is now 3 weeks late and the pump next to my house is recently broken. I asked my water boy, Burema whether they were going to fix it because I know it is his family that is responsible for it. "Ah! But there is no money!" he cries throwing up his hands. "What about the 5cfa they charge for every water jug?" "Ah yes, there is that. Actually they are waiting for my uncle to come from a nearby village because he knows how to fix it." I swear, sometimes I think they had a village meeting before I arrived and told everyone that if I ever ask a question just say you have no money.

Why don't you go to the health center?

I have no money

Why don't you send your kids to school?

I have no money

Why don't you use soap?

I have no money

Why don't you give birth at the maternity instead of at home?

I have no money

Aha! Giving birth at the maternity is free - gotcha.

Now it becomes a question of priorities. Whether you acknowledge the health risk involved and accept that you have options to mitigate that risk. When they spend over 10,000cfa a year on medication for malaria that proves that they can afford the 3,000cfa to buy a mosquito net to prevent getting sick. But they tell me they do not have even 100cfa and there is nothing that they can do. In reality I have polled friends and neighbors and they tell me that you contract malaria from the wind or if you drink tea before eating. Therefore it is not clear the causes and effects of these diseases. When none of their friends of neighbors are sleeping under a mosquito net (except for that crazy white girl) then why should they.

We have the same problems in the US of people understanding that their habits are not healthy but not willing to change their ways. Obesity is pandemic and yet people still say they can not lose weight; eat less, exercise more, end of story. And yet they spend money on diet pills and acupuncture just as people here would rather boil leaves and drink the broth because they are convinced it will help, because they heard from a friend of a traditional healer that this is what to do. Why do we drink chicken soup when we have a cold? The same traditions guide our behavior but as a result the problems here are magnified thanks to poverty, strict religious piety and abslutely no government support. Addressing each of those factors is important but nothing will change without an adjustment of priorities. Here it is the money that motivates, not the goal of development. Of course this is a generalization so take it with a grain of salt and know there are exceptions. In order to learn a skill or become a specialist in any area you have to attend what they call a 'formation'. Basically this could last anywhere from a day to a week and consists of all day activities and information sessions that make you proficient in the subject matter. In order to hold a formation it is necessary to have enough money to pay all the participants for there time, food and lodging. Basically this would be like paying students to go to a week long seminar. These are the type of classes that in the US the participants would gladly pay for, but here they will not attend unless they will be compensated for there time. Of course I have argued countless times how they are being rewarded for the information gained, they do not need monetary compensation in addition. But that is the tradition here and they insist that if you do not compensate people for there time they will either not show or never come again.

Just some of the fun obstacles we get to deal with, my internet time is up although I could write about this for hours. Hope it made some sense, take care till next time!

p.s- A great motivator to wash your dirty clothes the same day is finding a scorpion asleep in your dirty laundry bin. I think the whole village heard me scream when I found out is was not dead. Ew!!! I promply doused it with insecticide and ran inside, problem solved.

Sunday was our scheduled information session on Malaria. I had presented the idea a week before to the 6 helth committee members that were present. If I held information sessions once a month they could share what they learned with their respective villages and at the same time gather information on local prespectives concerning the health topic. Since there is one member representing each satellite village this could ideally reach a wide percentage of the population. The members seemed enthusiastic and so I went home to prepare.

I created a technical information sheet on the signs/symptoms, methods of prevention, treatment and groups that were at a higher risk than normal of contracting malaria. The health records have shown that the highest number of cases of malaria occur from August - September after the rainy season has subsided and the increase of mosquito breeding grounds has done its damage. Since we are on the verge of the rainy season I considered this to be a good time to be clear on ways to avoid getting sick and to whom this disease could potentially be fatal. As soon as the rain starts the majority of the local population will move out to live next to their fields which can be anywhere from 1 - 10 km from their house in village. Basically everyone will be dispersed and an audience for health information sessions will be hard to come by.

Our health session on malaria was scheduled for a week after the monthly health committee meeting. I arrived to find two out of seven members present and decided to wait to see if any more would show. An hour later I decided to get the show on the road. It's always a hard call to wait for more people or begin with those you have. If you wait too long then the ones who were there from the beginning will tell you they have to get back to work but the ones who have yet to arrive will always say they are on their way.

I asked if the new midwife, Ida, would like to join us and thankfully she obliged. As it turns out the president of the health committee is more comfertable speaking Jula then french and she is fluent. So for the next hour I presented in french, Ida would translate to Jula and the president would translate to Sonhrai for the treasurer. Honestly who knows what the final message was, hopefully something about sleeping under a bednet as I repeated myself maybe 30 times to emphasize the importance. Of course at some point it was going to be mentioned that there are people who are too poor to afford the $3 mosquito net that can sleep 3. No matter what the problem this argument will be used to contradict any solution that is proposed. My response was quick and simple, doucement doucement, little by little, they have to save. I could see their doubt but that could also have been disappointment that I did not offer like every other 'nasara' they have met, to help pay for it. They have grown accustomed to 'if you ask, you shall receive...' that their initial reaction is to serch for funding instead of paying it themselves. When the funding runs out they do not look towards internally available resources but instead towards who would be willing to support their efforts.

While clearly it is a constant struggle when there is never enough, I still think this illustrates a larger problem concerning their priorities. They are willing to pay for the medication when someone becomes too ill to stand and all traditional methods have failed; but to pay for a method of preventing said illness is just not considered. I tried to illustrate the cost and benefits of pursuing a means of prevention rather than treatment. Clearly it makes more sense considering the costs of treatment triple as compared to those of prevention. While my audience agreed and nodded enthusiastically I could tell they were not convinced and that it will take more time. We shall see what the future brings and of course I will keep you updated.

Hope all is well wherever you are and take care!

Constantly aware of my foreign status and outlook it was a great learning experience to walk through village with my counterpart's little sister and the equally educated nurse's aid. Adja is 17 and as quick to be bored as any 17 yr. old could be. Her family is from Ouahigouya, the big city compared to Gorom Gorom where she goes to school. When she visits her brother in Korizena she mainly studies as there is little of vlaue to do and see in such a small village. Adema is from Korizena but is likely one of the most educated, speaking fluent french and holding a relatively well paid position as nurse's aid and janitor to the health center.

They both stopped by my house one Sunday to borrow my cell phone and since it was out of batteries we left together to head back to the health center where the newly acquired electricity was proving useful. On the way I saw the educated interact with the local and learned what is not acceptable on Burkinabe terms.

After the 20th child greeted us with a shrill "Ca va! Ca va! Ca va!" Adja expressed her annoyance. "They are too young to all be doctors, why are they asking me how I'm doing? Who are they?" I clearly identified with this thought and my volunteer friends would agree. Our favorite kids are the ones who go to school and simply cross their arms and curtsey as you walk by, much more agreeable and I always return the the salutation of respect. To maintain my sanity the others I ignore.

Continuing on our walk one little girl stopped to stare as we walked by only to follow close behind once we had passed. This irritated Adja even more and after a few minutes she angrily motioned for the girl to go ahead of us. "But why did you do that Adja? Now we are downwind and can smell her." This was an obvious observation after a moment but it showed the clear difference in standards even from someone one who was raised in village. Even though neither parties have running water or flushing toilets they hold themselves to a higher standard for knowing the benefits of hygiene and practising what they have learned. Of course the local families are poor but that does not mean they can not afford soap for 100 CFA, roughly 20 cents. They do not consider it a priority and do not draw the parallel between dirt and disease the way we do. To them there are many causes for diesease learned from experience and from what they have been told by traditional healers. Malaria is cause by drinking tea before eating lunch, or if it is very windy while you sleep. I ask my neighbor what she washes her hands with and she tells me soap and water but she is only saying what she thinks I want to hear because I have yet to see a single villlager wash their hands with anything more than water. They have been told what to do, but clearly not why because they do not consider it to be important enough to change their habits. I consider that to be a issue of priorities which turns health education into a tricky business requiring cultural sensitivity and a strong argument for the necessity of change.

I completely forgot to share a story about our trip...

Originally Tom informed me that his flight would get in to Barcelona about 2 hours before mine. Trying to be the practical girlfriend I told him he should go to the hotel, unpack, shower and wait for me there seeing as how we would have no means of communication upon arrival. As a not-so-subtle romantic (my favorite movie being 50 First Dates) I was hoping he would be waiting for me at the gate. His next few texts quickly killed that plan as his plane went from 4 to 6 hours delayed. At that point I had to turn my phone off as we were leaving Burkina and I didn't know what would happen. I decided then that no matter how long it took I would wait in the Barcelona Airport and do a role reversal of suprisor and suprisee. I brought a change of clothes, I could shower in the bathroom so I wouldn't smell like Africa and hunker down with a book until he arrived; I had it all planned out...

I woke up to the pilot announcing we had safely landed in Paris CDG airport with a local time of 5:45am. That leaves plenty of time for me to make my 7am connecting flight to Barcelona, or so one would think. The next hour and a half were spent in a nerve clenching state of frusteration. First there was a line to get on the shuttle, then to go through customs, then to get through security to get back into the airport I had just landed in. At one point I turned on my ipod and laughed along to Mitch Hedberg on SNL, I figured if I was still standing in line when I had 5 minutes left to board I would just declare emergency and run. As it turned out I did have to run but with a grin of excitment and a sigh of relief boarded my plane at 7:35, it was scheduled to take off at 7:45. Of course I am in row 22 of a 30 row plane so I start making my way back trying to figure out if I'll have a window or an aisle seat when Tom stands up and starts walking toward me... I almost fell down but luckily he gave me a big bear hug before I could go anywhere. It was almost surreal but anything that good just had to be true, it was the beginning to our 7 day long dream. He later told me he saw the stewardess behind us clasp her hands and sigh, "Awwww." I was too busy being stunned into silence to notice. When I found my voice all I could muster was, "What are you doing here?!" Brilliant, I know. Since there were people waiting behind me to sit down Tom ushered me into the seat next to him which was thankfully unoccupied. We sat there hugging for the next 5 minutes after which Tom informed me, "You smell terrible!" Of course my plan had been foiled but I couldn't be happier. He then relayed his travel adventures where American Airlines cancelled his flight but he refused to leave until they transferred his ticket to AirFrance but he still ended up having to sprint between terminals to make the connection; the security gaurds all reached for their firearms when they saw him fly by. I listened intently but could not wipe the smile from my face, I was just so happy to see the one person I had missed the most.

And so began the best vacation ever...

(I told this story to my girlfriends in Burkina and they were such fans they made me promise to tell it again, so here it is ;)

If you have a list of things to do in your life before you die get ready to add one more: Go to Barecelona. Tom and I spent a week and we did just about everything we enjoy most; relaxed on the beach looking out over blue waters, rented motos and zipped around the city (including the highway; oops!), rode on a gondola ride to the top of Mt. Juic, went to the movies, took a tram car to Tebidabo (the amusement park on the top of a mountain) and spent many, many hours sleeping in, enjoying the sights and multiple pitchers of sangria inbetween. We also completed the Spanish triatholon in our spare time, there was just no stopping us. But when asked by a newcomer what he should do in the few days he had to see the city, Tom's reply was flawless, "Come with someone you love." We could have met under a bridge in Brooklyn and I would have had an amazing time, it is not where you go, but who you choose to go with that matters the most.

Now, if you have that part figured out, take them to Barcelona. I promise to post pictures the minute I can along with a few very choppy home videos because you just have to see this place to believe it. We walked throughout the entire city in about an hour and our hotel was about a 20 min. walk to the beach. A walk through narrow spanish streets, passed ancient ornate churches, under archways with saints carved into their sides and alongside rows and rows of palm trees. Of course it was very rarely a straight shot as we were constantly distracted by the endless line of tapas bars along the waters edge that advertised generally the same menu everywhere of calamari, spanish sausage, tapas bravas (fried potatoes with a spicy creamy sauce)and of course the staple of sangria. It was really quite amazing how the sangria worked well with every meal, from the lunch time tapas, to the evening tapas to the dinner of paella or seafood. Notice I skipped over breakfast, which we literally did without fail every day as we went to bed around 3am and rolled out of our hotel close to noon. We didn't even try to rebel against the established schedule which would start serving dinner around 10pm and end close to 1am. The euro's value certainly tried to rain on our parade at 1.44 to the dollar. But we prevailed by buying groceries for lunch and a bottle of rum for the hotel.

The language proved slightly difficult as well with the local dialect resembling my archnemesis of 'Quebecoise.' When I went to Montreal I thought it would be the perfect time to practice my french. Only upon arrival did I realize that they could be speaking japanese for all I knew because it was not french, it was 'Quebecoise'. To the local population their dialect of french was the original language since France had become trainted by American and english influence. But to anyone who has studied the language that is recognized by the National Language Asssociation, they were speaking jibberish. So this was the kink that made things interesting for Tom whose spanish was immpecable, but Catalan, was apparently not up to par. We asked our waitress on day one for a new glass as mine had mysteriously become full of orange and lemon peels, her response, 'No, I don't know where that is' and she was off. When we wanted to know what time the amusement park on top of Tibidabo closed we were informed it will open at 5pm. At 4:55 we were suspicious when the bar we were waiting at started to close and people started to board the last tram car down. 5 minutes later the loudspeakers confirmed our doubts as they announced the park was closed... maybe the park attendants should understand spanish, just a thought. But we worked around it by avoiding people from Barcelona and finding any english speakers we could, we're crafty like that. And of course we understood the only phrase really necessary; one more please. As in, one more pitcher of sangria, or one more beer, however you phrased it, it worked just fine.

Whether it was having dance parties in our room, walking along the boardwalk, sipping sangria and looking out onto the ocean, or having picnics on the beach; all in all it was easily one of the greatest vacations I have ever had. With the weather at a consistent 80 and sunny we had the luck of the irish with us the whole way. I am looking forward though to many more adeventures with the man who chose to bring me, my best friend, my everything, who reminded me that this is not monopoly money. Thank you.

Spring Wishlist!

I want to thank everyone for their amazing support and encouragement, honestly words can't describe how much I appreciate your efforts. Sadly I sent out a thank-you card for all my packages and have so far heard that 3 arrived as empty envelopes and 2 were sent back to me without their contents. :( Apparently the local envelopes can not withstand the journey, or some disgruntled postal workers really liked the postcards I had picked out. O well, ca va aller, as they say, life goes on. So, I will be sending out cards from the states as often as possible and using bigger and better envelopes when not. Hopefully you all know how much I appreciate your support, empty envelope or not. Thanks again and take care.

Food

Nuts

Drink packets; Emergen-C, kool-aid, iced tea

Dried fruit: Craisins, mango, apricot, raisins

Beef/Chicken Jerky: Jacklink's Brand

Luna bars

Alfredo and pesto sauce packets

Bumblebee Tuna and Chicken Steaks

Yogurt covered raisins

Candy: chocolate in a sealed bags, bars could leak; skittles, gummyworms

Gum, starbursts

Supplies

Papermate pens: blue, black

AA/AAA batteries: rechargeable and non-rechargable

Magazines: NewYorker magazine, TIME, The Economist, InStyle, Real Simple, Vogue, US Weekly, People

Books: fiction

US stamps

Venus razor heads

Perfume samples (sometimes you just don't want to smell like Africa)

Neutrogena Skin cleansing Face masks

Ankle socks

Scented candles

Conditioner: Aveda, John Frieda, Dove

Pictures! I have plenty of wall space in my house and and need to cover the brown water stains with something so pictures and plastic picture frames would be just superb

Thanks again, I really do appreciate your support whether it's a letter with melted chocolate or a laminated world map I love and welcome it all. I hope you are all well and take care!

The address one more time;

Caitlin Keenan

B.P. 41

Gorom Gorom

Burkina Faso

Love and hugs,

Caitlin

So I got back to village on Monday and opened the doors to my house for the first time in almost 2 months. Inside it was like a tomb covered in 3” of dust. Termites had almost completely eaten through the door frame giving the impression to my counterpart that someone had tried to break in, when in reality the door was just hanging off its frame. Rather than annoyed by the intrusion I was actually impressed with the termite’s work, at least they had accomplished something in this village, a destruction to others meant success to them, nonetheless I hosed them down with bug repellent. All this was only possible after I stood on a stool and put all my body weight into lifting a branch that supported my porch, which had sunk below the door frame making it impossible to open. After all that I could still open only one of my two outward swinging front doors. Finally inside I was relieved to find only one cockroach but not so happy to see snake skin and no snake…

Luckily the first people to greet me were two of my best friends in village, Mariam and Harigetou, 12 year olds in the sixth grade, the highest class in village. I have to interject on their behalf that the grading system is not the same here as it is in the US. They start school between the ages of 5 and 7 and the primary school has six grades before continuing at the highschool level. Well they ran to see me shouting enthusiastically while scolding me at the same time for being 28 days late. ‘Roukie! You said you would come back on the 1st, today is what?’ ‘The 28th,’ I said, ‘You are late!’ they said. But they still took any bag they could and helped me bring them inside. Then they both declared, ‘OK- we are going to clean, clean, clean! Until your house is, clean!’ They can be very helpful girls but I suspected this was also a ploy to get a tour of my elusive home. I never let anyone into my house and always entertain on my porch. Even though I live more frugally than I ever have, in comparison to my neighbors I am a millionaire living in the lap of luxury. I try to downplay that as much as possible, but today was an exception.

Mariam and Harigetou both grabbed rags and began beating the dust out of everything in their reach. We brought everything we could carry out onto the porch to be either shaken out or washed later. Then they both soaped up their rags and started skating around the house, leaving trails of bleach water in their wake. They turned my clean time from a full day into a couple of hours, I was elated. While we were cleaning everything and putting it back in its place it was time to play 20 questions with all my things. ‘What’s this?’ Mariam asked holding up a peeler. ‘That’s something you use to take the skin off of vegetables. (God I hope I don’t come across like Buffalo Bill here) ‘ Oh, like a knife!, she says, Yes, a knife. I realized their range of utensils is a fraction of what we are used to so I decided to try and explain things so they would understand. Harigetou holds up suntan lotion with a quizzical expression, ‘Um, that’s oil to protect my skin from the sun.’ ‘Ooooh,’ she says. This goes on for another 30 minutes, a loofa, candles, Koolaid packets, salt ginder, pepper grinder, spatula, and then they found my stuffed animals. I have one little valentine’s day bear from my wonderful cousins Sara and David, and then a stuffed lion that belongs to Tom and I because he paid for the game but technically I won when we went to Six flags, we’ve since decided on dual custody. One of my older neighbors had stopped by and she was walking around assessing my house when she came across Mariam playing with Lion. Mariam informed me with a delighted smile that the older woman was afraid of the stuffed doll, so of course she thought it would be a good idea to pretend to throw it at her until she ran out of my house. Great, so now I’m a voodoo witch too I thought. If this village had a tabloid I would be on the front page every day.

Finally my house was livable again and I took the trash that I had forgotten to burn before I left out to my burn hole, previously known as my compost pile. I went back in to get gas and matches and by the time I had returned Mariam, Harigetou and several local children and turned the bag upside down emptying its contents onto my front lawn. Then they made a mad dash for things that looked of value and subsequently fought over items they both wanted. So two of the most educated girls in village were now rummaging through my trash, wonderful. I wanted to tell them to stop but didn’t really know where to begin until Harigetou looked up at me and said, ‘You sure eat a lot of ‘bon bon’s don’t you?’ My justification was weakened seeing all the plastic wrappers strewn about our feet. ‘OK, that’s enough,’ I had found my voice and while my first reaction was to defend my eating habits because that bag had been the collection of three month’s worth of plastic garbage, I just told them to put it all back and put it in the hole to burn. They obliged and we properly destroyed the evidence that indeed, I eat a lot of bon bon’s.

Later that day I took a tour of village, walking through the market and on to the health center greeting as I went. Bon arrivee Roukie! Bienvenue Roukie! I heard everywhere I went. It was truly a “Cheers” experience. I ran into the director of the school, one of my favorite people in village for having a great sense of logic and understanding the importance of health education. He gives me a big hand shake and the cultural four kisses on the cheek, apparently we’re one kiss better than the french now. Then he looks me up and down and still smiling says, “You got bigger!” I just laughed. “Yes” I said, subconsciously trying to stand a little taller, “I got bigger.” “The food over there is really good huh?” “Oh my, yes, it is.” Was all I could muster while trying not to crack up, who says that! Well, aparently every third person I saw that day. From the butcher, to the COGES president (Ah, you are fat now, this is very good), to the neighborhood kids, to my counterpart. He even went so far as to comment on how happy Tom must have been now that I’m fatter and “pretty”. Oh the joys of a healthy self-esteem, I just laughed along and agreed that the food over there is indeed very good. I honestly would not have had one less piece of sushi, or one less candy bar, or one less margarita for all the world. In Burkina there is no media to create an ideal image of beauty, there is only the difference between healthy and sick. Those who do not have enough to eat or have fallen ill will look eerily similar to those walking down the runway in New York and Paris. Those who have higher educations and can afford three meals a day wear their weight proudly and are respected for it. They have the luxury of free time and do not perform hard labor to survive, they can afford to have more than 5% body fat. While I feel perfectly healthy I also like to be in shape and be able to pull my own weight both figuratively and literally such as when I have to carry all my luggage weighing over 125 lbs. from the road to my house. It’s a 15min. walk and not an easy task in 100 degree weather but I feel good knowing I can take care of myself no matter the what the situation calls for... ice cream eating contest? Not a problem!

thanks for your extra long attention spans to all of you who made it this far without falling asleep. Take care until next time and thanks again for the packages they are amazingly delicious!

Yours truly,

Roukie

Well hello there,

It certainly has been awhile but I just wanted to get something out there to let y'all know that I am doing just fine, sweating buckets in my district capital at the moment; but otherwise just fine.

I got back in country on Monday after going home to take care of family and to take a break. Very impromptu and all, hence no forewarning. I am also planning a trip to Barcelona at the end of May with Tom the man and you will be hearing all about that. So home was wonderful and although I was asked within minutes of arriving whether it was hard coming back I could honestly answer no. My decision was made before I even left to come back which was supported by the need to actually accomplish something other than how to make a good pot of rice, or wash jeans by hand until their squeaky clean. OK, I'm still working on the latter, but at least they smell good.

So my arrvial was celebrated with hugs and shrieks from all volunteer friends, and endless conversations with Burkinabe consisting of; "Welcome, how is your family, do you have your health, is everything good? OK, thank god." Phew, talk about drama. I spent two relaxing days in the capital, watched my friends ship out to Ghana for a little vacation of their own and I headed off to village to start the process of cleaning, ugh. I know my house will be gross, like 3" of dust everywhere, cockroaches and dead lizards gross. Well, I'm not there yet because I first stopped off in Dori and slept over in a hotel, with airconditioning! I guesstimate its about 110 during the day and then about 85-90 at night. At the volunteer house in the capital it looks more like a frat than ever with mattresses strewn about the screened in patio because you might drown in your own sweat if you try to sleep indoors. We'll see how well that works in village where my bamboo porch does not currently have a door. Hmmmm.

So I finally made it to Gorom and headed over to the post office to see if I had anything waiting for me. To my astonishment I had 5 packages of all shapes and sizes and while I had the biggest grin on my face the post office attendant did not look so pleased with all the paperwork to be filled out.... An hour later I was free to leave with my packages. But how to get them from the post office to the hospital about 1km away?.... Duh du duuuh! Donkey to the rescue! I hailed a donkey cart and after some heated negotiating we were off, at a blazing 1 mile per hour. I could have walked faster than the poor guy but where's the fun in that. And apparently the donkey's welfare is the last consideration as we picked up a small family headed in the same direction, pas de problem.

Then I spent the afternoon going through my prized possessions; listening to lulu's audio letter while mowing some jerky and pouring all chocolate into a bag to go into the fridge in hopes of recreating its original form and consistancy. Don't get me wrong i like chocolate soup and all; but there's something satisfying about chewing, I don't know. And I made plans to start my world puzzle and thank god I have luna bars for life (or at least a few weeks) cause I did not bring a single one with me and without them I'd be going breakfast-less. Re-adjusting will take a little time and I'm just not ready for the usual bread and instant coffe combo of which everyone here is just so fond. I'll get there one day, or maybe not.

That's one of the hardest things about this trip, knowing your limits of adaptation and what should be altered or compromised, and what shouldn't. This could refer to something as practical as whether to drink the local water that is offered to me 10 times a day as a sign of welcome, or sticking to my workout regime. But then the lines get blurry when you consider the western work ethic and definition of success; how much should be integrated into the local way of life? If I dove in head first I would be drinking the water and have permanent diarrhea, not working out because people think it is bizarre, working 2 hours a day and drinking tea the rest, and being satisfied with exchanging my culture instead of promoting a concrete and sustainable mode of development. I know that expectations have to be downsized because of the mountain of obstacles and limited resources, but I have my limits and to feel like a productive and capable volunteer I have goals that to make my time effective need to be achieved.

So this is my ongoing debate which is compounded by the Peace Corps administration who is absentee at best and demoralizing at worst. Volunteers have found that if you can not achieve something on your own then it is likely not possible because the Peace Corps management is for the most part so unorganized and inefficient that it is futile to even ask for help. This makes a sometimes difficult job feel impossible and a sense of disconnect turn into hopelessness. When I had a meeting with the country director I expressed my interest in my training that I have yet to recieve, I explained how it was my #1 priority right now because I had many questions after completing my community evaluation and in order to be an effective volunteer I was looking for answers; how to fund raise, start an english club, start a credit and savings club, montior and evaluate presentations, etc. Her response, "You do not get to come in here and tell us when your training will be," with an icy if not hostile tone. Not even 48 hours in country and before I even arrived in village I realized the biggest obstacle was sitting in front of me. A director who served in the 60's and thinks that we are spoiled for having cell phones and should never leave our village or fraternise with other volunteers because she didn't have to so why should we. Every request goes in one ear and right out the other, and it feels as though you are talking to yourself, as if we did not feel alone enough already. She has searched through the computers at the PC office looking for incriminating pictures that people downloaded; partying, being out of village without permission, riding a bike without a helmet. She was successful once and a great small business volunteer was sent home. I understand rules are important but who's side are you on? she then wrote an article titled, "I'm disapointed" in our monthly newsletter. As if our moral was not low enough from losing a great friend and volunteer, it was insulting. I do not want to question my decision to come back on these people (our supervisors) who obviously could care less about their greatest resource (volunteers). I came here for me and Burkina; not the US goverment. But unfortunately without their support, material, mental and verbal it can make this time seem futile and if I can find happiness and fulfillment elsewhere then so be it. I'm no where near leaving but I can recognize when the odds are stacked too high and if I am not a happy volunteer then I know I can not be an effective one.

Wow- so I did not plan on including that rant but it has been at the forefront of almost every waking hour so it feels good to get it out. Feel free to scroll through it. Now that I have used almost 2 hours at the internet cafe and my stomach is doing its hunger dance; I should cut out. Now you may understand a little better that when I say thank you for your support, without which I would not be here, I really mean it. Every day is a challenge and hearing your own trials, tribulations, great memories and laugh out loud moments make it all the easier to keep on keeping on. So thank you.

Take care until next time, cheers!

Caitlin

What a week of firsts! First time listening to my ipod while running (I am now impervious to screaming children), first time eating a carrot in the Sahel, and first time riding a camel!

As part of our job to integrate we finally decided to try the local modes of transportation and take the dromadaire express for a quick 15 min. stroll around Gorom. I say stroll because that is the only gear our camels knew, Marius tried to switch his into trot mode and he bellowed so we let them choose the pace. It was just like riding a horse only twice as tall, jerkier movement, and less control considering the reins consisted of a rope tied to their lower jaw leaving them full range to bite down on say, a certain foot resting on their neck. This of course didn't happen but remained a possibility in my mind throughout the experience.

There were two camels and four of us so we took turns. Amy and Marius went first and came back all smiles. Amy was advised not to take the reins for her camel and was instead led by the guide because the camel was unpredictable, opinionated and a bit wild and therefore given my nickname of renegade.

Rewind back to October: It was a hot day back in our host village of Rikou when Amy and I decided to walk to the local store to buy cold water and cookies during a class break. As we were leaving, me in front setting the pace and Amy in tow, Marius remarked that I looked like a renegade Australian coammander and Amy was a lost and confused tourist. The Australian Commander was because I was wearing a bandana around my neck with a popped coller and sunglasses - but the renegade part has been with me ever since. Apparently my affinity for power walking is incomprehensible to the local population as one group of men remarked as I walked by, "I have never seen anyone walk that fast in this village." In that case I was expecting a call from my mum and had left my cellphone at home. In my mind my haste is always well justified but I don't always take the time to explain that to others, hence the often heard, "There goes renegade." As I march off with a goal to achieve and a plan in mind on how to do it.

As they say, birds of a feather, so you can imagine which camel I was instructed to take. It hadn't been two minutes when the guide handed the reins to me and mumbled some instructions about pulling to the left to go left, etc. and then he was off to chat with his friends and have a smoke. There we were, driving our own camels, me with Renegade, and Andrea with Scrappy, you'll understand his nickname when I post pictures. Getting on and off was the greatest part resembling a convertable monstertruck on hydraulics.

Back in village with time to spare I reflected on our mini-adventure and couldn't help but make the comparison of our excursion to our everyday lives in Burkina. In the US there would have been safety precautions and forms to sign, protective gear and explicit instructions in case of an emergency. In Africa I swung my leg up and instinctively held on tight or I would have undoubtedly fallen. The only guidance from our guide was to keep your feet on his neck at all times - as the only instructions I took them very seriously. Other than that the world was my playground. We are given such freedom and trusted entirley with not only our own lives but even the well being of others. On the most recent vaccination campaign I ususally help out by marking dates in vaccination cards but this time was handed the polio serum and with a casual wave was instructed to give two drops to each baby. On more than one occasion children have been offered to me by their parents because they assume I would know what to do with them. Of course my position as a nasara and expected wealth has a lot to do with that, but the complete trust is still suprising. Everyday it's a new challenge, sink or swim, but with no water for miles I think we'll be just fine.

On my way back from a run the other morning I admire the serenity of my village, which is also only possible to appreciate when you're out of earshot from my neighbors. At 6am the water pump next to my house is opened and then it's non-stop local women coming and going, sounding like they're about to slug each other and then laughing hysterically at some joke. I always stop and greet them on my way to work, and they in turn usually ask me for my scarf or water bottle or medication of some kind.

There is certainly a pressure, living in a heavily socialist culture to share and give according to your means. Since I'm white, and even worse, American, I'm assumed to have mountains of things at my disposal. This was made clear when one woman asked for my shoes, I asked her honestly, If I give them to you, what will I wear? She told me to go back to my house and get another pair. I didn't realize there was a Nike store in my house, interesting.

Everyone wants your contact information, just in case they put together enough money to come to the US. They see having a contact as one of the first steps towards achieving what many have told me to be their life long dream. Not knowing where to begin to describe the differences between our worlds I tell them I like Burkina, it's relaxed, it's beautiful, and they agree. It's true there isn't a lot to go around, but the other day I decided to go for a run until I saw camels, three minutes later, great, now what? I just kept running and for 30 minutes did not see a single person, just a straw hut on the horizon with a family taking care of each other because they're all they know in the world. Everyday is the same work, same children, same animals, same problems, but they still laugh and fight and resolve their differences to do it all again tomorrow. Life is simple and it's enough.

Of course there are still those who dream to travel and make the effort to keep that contact to the US of A. Hey, this is Moussa, Biba's cousin- what? But any connection is better than none at all. If you ever give your cell phone number you can expect 5 calls the next day just to say 'Hi! You're good, you remember me? Ok! Bye!' When a good morale is sometimes all you have to keep going I tell them yes, Moussa, how are you? I'm fine, thanks. Then they usually ask me to find tham an american wife, and I'm all for helping but that's where I draw the line.

Sunday: There's no incentive to clean your room like having the US Ambassador to Burkina come visit. I tell my neighbors and the local dance group the news and they say, "Great, what's his name?" "Her name is Jeanine, and she's very smart and important," I say. Never one to miss an opportunity for a lesson in gender equality.

Monday: Enjoy my usual breakfast of instant coffee and babyfood. Yes, babyfood. Andrea told me about it and i've been hooked ever since on the delicious sweet porridge with enough vitamins for 2 year old and 23 year olds alike. The man at the store likes to joke we must have a lot of children, no, we're just fat kids. I visited the women sweeping the courtyard across from mine to ask what they're doing and discovered they're having a training on drying foods and making yogurt, mmm yogurt.

The ambassador comes bringing three huge packages from one very wonderful Auntie Nini. I need some fair warning before getting something deliciously decadent like that, I had a stomach ache for two days and loved every minute of it.

Tuesday: Vaccination campaign in the nearest satellite village, Doumam, at 2 km away. I puff along on my bike trying to avoid the sand pits. The village was well informed and we recieved about 30 kids and pregnant women. I learned from the last time we came to Doumam that the concept of personal space is non-existent so I drew a line in the sand in a wide circle around my chair and told the man with the big stick sitting under a tree that children were not allowed to cross it.

We get home around 12 and I drop my bags and immediately down about 1 litre of water and then treat myself to a koolaid packet before heading across the way to check in on the women's group. We chat using the little Sonhrai I know and end up inviting them over to my house for breakfast on Sunday. I promised to make spaghetti, they promised to dance. Hopefully I will be able to complete a questionnaire on health practices with some degree of informailty which is more conducive to attaining accurate answers. Because of many factors women often search for the right answer and if they can't think of it tell me 'I don't know', even if I asked their opinion. Because of language barriers, not to mention cultural barriers I often hit dead ends when trying to understand why they act the way they do. For instance, many mothers have told me they practice scarification because their child had a headache. Since the children in reference are about a year away from being able to speak I ask how they know it was a headache. The women invariably point to the soft spot that all newborns will have until their skulls have become full grown. This is apparently not common knowledge and now I recognize many infants with a mud mixture covering the spot as protection.

Wednesday: In the afternoon I head over to the school to sit in on a health class taught every Monday and Wednesday. Today the lesson plan is covering pre natal child care and the director informs the students a pregnant woman should eat well and avoid tobacco, alcohol and spicy foods. He then goes on to describe the child needs to get before the child is born such as; 2 cotton bonnets, 3 pairs of socks, at least 2 shirts but you could have as many as 20 the director exlains with a straight face. Regardless of the fact that the child would need an exorbitantly longer list than what he outlined, he is also talking to a class of 11 year olds. He then turns to me to ask if I have anything to add and I point out that the reason an expectant mother needs to eat well is because her baby ingests everything she does so it is important to be healthy. I could go on for another hour with what I learned from watching 'A Baby Story' on TLC but I opt to curtail my additions there for the sake of politeness, I would like to be invited back.

I don't think it will be a problem considering the Director turned to me and said he had some errands to run in Gorom and would I mind finishing up, and he's out. Voila I am teaching sex ed to a bunch of 6th graders. Knowing there is a protocol but having no clue what it could be I ask one of the students what we do now, he politely informs me they would like to sing, apparenlty they end almost every class with a few rounds chosen by the students. They all stand and after some discussion serenade me with a song about Burkina pride, being strong, and leaving to find work but always coming back. At the end they all clapped and then the same boy turned to me and informed me it was my turn. 'My turn to do what?' Did it all of a sudden get hotter in here? 'You're turn to sing' Oh dear. Caught completely off gaurd and hoping like hell there were no anglophones within earshot I shared the first song that came to mind being 'Heads, shoulders knees and toes', they loved the random movements that made me look like a workout instructor. They all clapped and I did a mini curtsey. Then one by one they each came to the front of the room to recite a poem or sing a song they had memorized. I had instant admiration knowing you could not have paid me enough to stand up infront of my class at that age and even now avoid public speaking whenever possible. They had such courage to raise their hand and then wait for the class to settle before thouroughly enjoying their 2 minutes in the spotlight. So many of them have such potential I wish they could all get the attention they so obviously need.

Finally class ended with a 'C'est fini' from the nasara substitute teacher and we headed outside to greet the crowd that had formed outside. I picked up my usual school of minnows for the walk home greeting the other five teachers on my way out. With an average of 50 kids in a classroom my respect is exteneded to them for making such a difference in the lives of at least 30% of the children in village, showing how low the attendance rate is. Apparently just as many girls start out going to school as boys but not as many continue since it is more likely to be married around the age of 14 and education is almost more of a deterent to your eligability. It does not take a degree to pound millet but the benefits are numerous from even the most basic education. My job will be to demonstrate that those benefits outweigh the potential costs.

Reaching home later than usual I go for a quick run before it is completely dark at 6:30pm. I shower out of my bucket, enjoy another decadent meal of Betty Crocker's chicken and broccoli rice provided by my Auntie Nini. After being offended by the idiocracy of Bush's comments concerning Iran on the BBC I settle down to read a few short stories by F. Scott Fitzgerald before my nightcap of Benadryl and water kicks in and drowns out the donkeys braying outside my window. I set my alarm earlier than usual, around 6am, to get to market by 7:30 in order to hopefully grab a seat on a mini bus instead of a cattle truck to head into Gorom for my weekly shoping trip and American rendez-vous.

Take care till next time, all the best,

Caitlin

So I know going into the old archives to find this little treasure can be quite the hassle (mom), y'all having wireless instant wonderful internet connections and all, so here's the latest. My disclaimer remains the same that I am doing superb, worldy material goods or not. But I will say that every girl loves her chocolate, and People magazine, and beef... ok so maybe not every girl, but this girl does anyway so go nuts, ooh nuts!

Thank you in advance, a note of encouragement is always appreciated and patience is required. I know the post office will tell you a package should arrive in 4-10 days but those are American days which equal about 4 weeks African time. Our packages arrive from Ouagadougou every Monday and Thursday and our theory is that they wait until they can fill a cattle truck with them before sending them up the treachorous path north. In any case, you will get a 'thank you' note from me but I think they send those by donkey cart so again, patience. Thank you!

Food

Honey

Nuts

Drink packets; Emergen-C

Dried fruit: Craisins, mango, apricot, raisins

Beef/Chicken Jerky: Jacklink's Brand

Peanut butter

Luna bars

Alfredo and pesto sauce packets

Bumblebee Tuna and Chicken Steaks

Yogurt covered raisins

Candy: chocolate in a sealed bags, bars could leak; skittles, gummyworms

Gum

Supplies

Papermate pens: blue, black

AA/AAA batteries: non-rechargeable

Magazines: NewYorker magazine, TIME, The Economist, InStyle, Real Simple, Vogue, Us Weekly, People (Do we see the depreciation of my reading material here, I hope the same is not true for GRE tests scores :/)

Books

US stamps

Venus razor heads

Perfume samples (sometimes you just don't want to smell like Africa)

Skin cleansing Face masks: Neutrogena,

Ankle socks

Scented candles

Conditioner: Aveda, John Frieda, Dove

Pictures! I have plenty of wall space in my new house and and need to cover the brown water stains with something so pictures and plastic picture frames would be just superb

Thanks again, I really do appreciate your support whether it be verbal, electronic, material or just sending me cold, happy thoughts. I hope you are all well and take care!

The address one more time;

Caitlin Keenan

B.P. 41

Gorom Gorom

Burkina Faso

Yours truly,

Caitlin

Well apparently Korizena is just blowin' up, we are too popular. If you'd like to see even more pictures o fmy humble little village on the verge of turning hollywood then please direct your attention to:

www.koirezena.com

I believe I mentioned that I've seen my village's name spelled 8 different ways on 7 different maps, but this truly proves it. I go by what the sign says on the road to my house so if you want to learn more about Korizena, then by all means. And be sure to shoot me an email with thoughts and comments, an outside perspective above the madness and away from the noise is always appreciated.

Take care!

Love, Caitlin

I am writing to you from the capital city Ouagadougou after taking a brief hiatus from village life and it has been a pleasure cruise since I stepped off the bus. Even the transportation on the way here was more enjoyable with black leather seats and curtains over each window to shield you from the glaring afternoon sun. I checked in to the volunteer transit house which is essentially a youth hostel considering we're all such spring chickens, and we need a place to crash. If you traveling through ouaga for medical or work purposes you get to stay for free, otherwise its a pricey 2,000CFA a night, roughly $4.

I immediately dropped my things and my clothes to indulge in the first hot shower I had had in a month and then unpacked and scoped out the living room to see who was staying there. Luckily it was also the weekend of the AIDS task force meeting so a good number of people were there and I got lots of hugs and 'oh my god i haven't seen you in so long's, it was great. We all decided to make dinner together so everyone was bustling about, chopping this, soaking that, grilling this, drinking that, it felt like thanksgiving in college all over again, we even smoked a hooka!

But now my stay is coming to an end and I am honeslty looking forward to getting home. I have been living out of my backpack and forgot to bring my loofa so I never feel 100% clean, that requires scrubbing. Apparently my hangar was set up in my absence, which is good since it was promised to be done the week before Christmas, ha! By the by a 'hangar' is a covered porch sitting area made out of straw that is vital for the hot season since sitting inside is apparently suicide and staying out of the sun is a requirement. I also bought my own home improvements including wooden pegs for hanging stuff, paint for covering the brown water stains, and bug spray for killing unwanted visitors. Amy is the queen of jinxing and I think she rubbed off on me when she came to visit my village for market day to have lunch. I was bragging about the condition of my home and how I had only seen one cockroach since I'd moved in, a miracle by Burkina standards. So of course the next day I see two more. ;(

Life in village is a constant suprise and certainly takes a degree of patience and acceptance because it has been the same for the last 50 years and and no effort on my part can make it change faster than it wants to. I can hopefully be a catalyst for change but the ultimate choice still lies with the villagers and over them I have no control. Their choices are not always the obstacle to change but their perspective on their range of choices. Because of the heavy emphasis on religious piety there is a prevalent prescription to fatalism. At least once a day I hear the reponse to any number of problems being, 'Dieu est grand' 'God is great.' Whoever they are talking to will undoubtedly nod in agreement and take that as confirmation that God will take care of you if you are faithful to him. This explains a wide array of cultural practices such as traditional medicine. "Because they can't heal his soul," one woman explained to me when I asked why she wouldn't take her child to the health center. For 1,000CFA the local healer can fix any sickness and give you a benediction, a hard bargain to beat.

Little by little, doucement, doucement they tell me, and with no alternative I believe them and live by example and motivate change when I can. I'm also trying a new tactic of enjoying life in village and to that end have taken deeper breaths and attempted to accept my surroundings for better or worse because they are home. Thanks to everyone for their support, it means more to me than you will ever know. One man in particular, the man in fact, has helped me in so many ways and I wouldn't have made it this far without him.

Take care and be well,

Caitlin

So if anyone was planning on visiting you'll be pleased to know you have your choices of accomodation, there's my house, and then there's the tourist camp on the other side of my village. You can imagine my suprise when I walked into this enclosed parc to visit a friend who also happens to be the cook, and said she could help translate something for me from Sonhrai to french, when I looked up to see a family of french tourists sitting around reading with their kids chasing a few chickens in the yard. I chose not to introduce myself, I didn't even know where to begin "Hi, My name is Roukietou, I live down the street", so I translated my piece and went on my way. The poeple who work there have actually proven very motivated in collaborating with me on development work so if you can get a french/english translator you can read up on what the organization does in the four villages throughout Burkina where they have camps set up.

http://www.tourisme-dev-solidaires.org/

And I thought I would share some pictures of my new home:

http://www.tourisme-dev-solidaires.org/misc/Koirezena/galerie.html

Don't worry, more will be coming from my point of view cause I have never seen that tomato salad in my village. But I do know the woman who is carrying a tray on her head is named Lela, she speaks great french and has a baby boy who has dimples, I guess that's one of the differences between me and a tourist. But a taste is better than nothing, so come on down, the weather's great!

I meant to write about my day last night while soaking my feet and listening to the BBC - but once I started pumicing I had my hands full.

So I was on my way home from the health center, feeling especially sly and clever after evading a dozen 7 yr. olds by hiding behind someone's hut until they had run to the other side of the field yelling "Nasara! Ca va!" before realizing I had changed direction. Haha, suckers, I thought as I waved and continued happily unaccosted on my way. I actually felt proud for having outwitted a bunch of 2nd graders - this is what four years @ McGill has prepared me for.

Almost to my door I hear Aminata calling for me to come over. Across three courtyards and over a small field, "Come!" she yells repeatedly until I acquiese and trudge through the sand in her direction.

One recurring cultural phenomenon we've noticed is the prevailing theme of "too many chiefs and not enough indians." Accordingly if anyone in a group has the slighest bit more experience than anyone else than they are automatically the self-proclaimed expert. By using the phrase, 'Il faut que...''It is necessary that...' or by simply telling someone what to do it implies a sense of authority and wisdom on the part of whoever is doing the telling. This explains why I will never fix a hole in my own bike tire because within minutes of taking out my bike repair kit every boy over the age of 10 is magically also a handiman - and why Aminata feels perfectly justified in commanding me to come. She's in her own courtyard making her the chief, it's cultural I tell myself, as I assume the role of indian.

After the typical greetings she asks me if I'm going to watch the dancing. When? I ask. Right now, she says. I hesitate remembering my plans to go for a run, do some much needed laundry (this indian has been going commando) and wash the dishes form this morning - welcome to my world, thrilling, I know. I only hesitate a moment thanks to one friend's words of wisdom, "If you're ever invited to go somewhere, accept!" So I did. I dropped my bag off at home, locked the door and announced I was ready. Aminata decides to wait until I am done to tell me she has to change clothes. So we trudge back to her courtyard where I sit with her grandmother, making small talk and shaking hands all the while until Aminata announces it's time to go. Next we head over to her friend's courtyard to make one final costume change (she decided on the irridecent green mumu instead of the blue soccer jersey, good choice) and put on makeup. This entails taking a mini bottle of talcum powder, pouring it on an old t-shirt and rubbing it all over your face achieving a paler complexion and lovely, if not over overpowering, scent. Next comes the eyeliner in the form of charcoal mixed with water in an empty plastic cylinder. This concoction is applied around the eyes, tear-like lines under the eyes, and a dot between the eyes all using a toothipck sized stick. If I had one word to describe Burkinabe people, resourceful. I was then told to hold still as they played 'dress up the nasara' and gave me the blackhead looking dot and the prison style tear lines, but I was spared the eyeliner.

All glammed up we hit the trail and as we near the market center can hear the drums and whistle blowers getting louder. We come upon a circle three people thick with an oval space cleared in the middle for the dancers. In pairs they start from one end of the oval and using simple gestures keep time with the drums until they've reached the other end and then do a little catwalk to get back to the starting point. Two couples alternate this dance/fashion show increasing intricacy and rhythm of their movement with the increasing tempo of the drums. By the fifth turn the men are shaking in a full body "shimmy" and the drums are going full speed until it all cuts out and there is a few minutes pause before 2 new couples volunteer or are pulled out of the audience to participate. Throughout the catwalk dancing there is full on audience pariticipation as women throw their scarves to the man they choose and he carries/ wears them and continues to dance. Women and children intermittently walk in the arena to put candy or cigarettes in the dancer's hands to encourage them. At the end of each turn they drop the candy in a box in front of the drummers, but hold on to the cigarettes.

This is all a very well regulated event with 2 drummers banging on empty oil barrels with an animal hide stretched over the top. Then there's the two whistle blowers who helps keep the beat, motivate the crowd to clap and maintain the size of the dancing arena with long branches that sing through the air as they whip the ground along the border and consequently any child sitting too close to the edge. There is always a frenzy as they reinforce the periphery and the crowd resembles a punk rock mosh pit where the average age is 9. Standing next to Aminata I am trying to decide if someone is grabbing my butt on purpose before realizing it is just my western concept of personal space that has no merit here as Aminata spits in her friend's face for throwing her scarf in the ring and still laughing, her friend spits back. I can't help but smile and apply my former residence's national anthem to modern times, "O, Africa."

Less than 6 ft. in front of me I watch as two sheep slowly back up, lift one front leg and charge until their skulls make a sickening crunch on impact. If unphased their violent ritual will start again until one or the other falls or retreats behind the rest of the herd who remain uninterested and quietly munching rocks for iron supplements. This all takes place in the front courtyard of the headnurse, while the other health worker is busy making tea, pouring it back and forth, 20 maybe 100 times until there's 2 inches of frothy foam in each glass. It's my daily green tea cappucino of which I'll drink at least 3 before insisting I've had enough since I can barley see straight from all the caffeine pumping through my veins.

It's 3pm and we've already helped ourselves to a plateful of spaghetti and sheepmeat (same sheep standing in front of me I don't know, and don't care to ask). We pass around the pot of food to serve ourselves and of course they say I never take enough, "Il faut bien servir" "It is necessary to serve yourself well", "Il faut bien manger" "It is necessary you eat well." I usually have to snatch my plate away making it impossible to heap two more spoonfuls onto my plate after I've already said, "OK, ca suffit". It's not that I'm trying to watch my figure but when I spend 22 hours of the day in a dormant position and extra spoonful of white rice is not going to help anything. If it weren't for the caffeine rich tea I would recline in my wooden chair already sitting at a 45° angle and nap in the brisk 85°F weather. It's 'l'heure Afrique' and there's no where to be.

This is a poem created by our very own Aaron Kase for our health/SED training session talent show, it was a big hit of course since organized by Leslie and yours truly. ;) Without further ado....

Welcome to our world people, have a good night and don't forget to tip your waitress. Till next time, take care,

Caitlin

You know how a whale in the ocean constantly has a school of minnows in its wake - well in village, guess who's the whale. From my front doorstep to the health center, my usual commute along the sand dune next the the herd of cattle on their way to graze, I am accompanied by 2 - 8 children, they never travel alone. They giggle, whisper, test how much I know in Sonrai or chant my name, "Rou-kie! Rou-kie!", a veritable parade in which I am always the lead float. Along the way I practice my Miss America wave (elbow, elbow, wrist, wrist, wipe a tear, blow a kiss) as I greet every living creature we pass. If I don't they will undoubtedly greet me giving me no choice but to respond. Some of the families I know, many more I don't, but regardless as to whether or not we've been formally introduced they will pause what they're doing whether its getting water from the pump, pounding millet, gathering firewood, washing clothes, washing babies or going to the bathroom (this last one applies only to children who take two steps off the beaten path and pop a squat, I still don't know how to respond) and they yell over courtyard walls, across fields (of sand) to ask how I'm doing? How's my morning? Am I in good health? Are the people of my courtyard in good health? How are my children? In turn I give the appropriate one word response to each question to confirm; I'm doing fine (bansammi), my morning is good (kannkbanndi), I have my health (huksaabo), my courtyard is doing well (windogsaabo), and my children are good (koitiaysaabo). I have stopped arguing and trying to explain why I am 23 and have no children, but don't worry Tom, I still take the time to clarify that I can't marry them, their son or their sheepherder because I have a husband in America. They go on to tell me, Oh, he doesn't have to know, I tell them, Yes, but I would know - but in true patriarchal style this last point doesn't seem to register as a problem.

I did have a very enlightening conversation with my counterpart, the head nurse of the health center. Due to his fluency in french and level of education we can discuss almost any topic because this is, after all a cultural exchange and its fun to use the shock factor by just describing what its like in the US. "So, they don't practice polygamy there?" "No, it's actually illegal" (I don't bother to bring up Utah and the mormon tradition, that's a whole nother story) So we discussed why they still practice it here and why a man feels the need to have three wives and on average 15 children, but usually more. My counterpart told me that a man will usually ask his wife before taking on a second, but for her to refuse would imply that she isn't a social person and doesn't like people in general. If a man has enough money, then it would only be natural for him to want to share that with more people by expanding his family. And the two wives share the workload and typically get along to the best of my understanding so it's really a win-win situation. I have yet to find a woman with a clear enough undertanding of french or a translator who is trustworthy, to pose the same question but I will let you know when I do.

My counter arugment was to pose the possibility of a woman taking on two husbands, my counterpart just laughed wholeheartedly, as if this thought had never once crossed his mind. But this is the bulk of my work, asking questions, getting responses that would have social services up in arms back home and posing the one question that I never hear, "Why?" If your baby has not eaten in three days Why have you not gone to the health center? If you have a cut that is literally turning green and swarming with flies, Why don't you clean it with soap and water? If you are 21 and have had 2 children in 20 months then Why don't you take some sort of birth control? The answer is hopefully where my full time position will be of some use because it will address the sustainability aspect of my work instead of the typical band-aid donor solution in the form of more money. But I will cross that bridge when I come to it because first I need to know why. And before I can find that I need a translator who will honestly tell me what one woman just said. One man that I asked to translate for me told me that the woman I was talking to said she understood perfectly well, "Really?" I said, "Because she didn't even open her mouth." This is why two years is looking like an appropriate length of time to discover the source of the problems and address them in a manner comprehensible to everyone. Two years will most likely be insufficient but I will oblige to leave some work to be done for my replacement volunteer. ;)

The last time I saw my host sister she was hard at work picking up the leftover used plasticware off the ground. She and my host brother had accepted my invitation to come witness the ceremony where we swear-in as volunteers. We've been told it was a muted affair when compared to previous volunteer swear-ins, but from my point of view it was as ostentatious as any government funded event could be.

We arrived at the mayor's house, which when glancing at the surrounding landscpe was constructed entirely from imported material starting from the granite entrance staircase and ending with the pillared backyard terrace. We entered single file shaking very important hands or very important people whose names I will never know. Then took our assigned seats in the front.

We ran through about half dozen speakers in a rapid fire succession, raised our right hand and swore to defend the US against all enemies, evil-doers and illegal mexican immigrants. We then retired to the terrace to enjoy lunch and refreshments and reunite with our recently seperated host families. Here I found Saphie, standing with the group of village women, education and prosperity separating them from the rest, along with a basic understanding of french. We giggled through the customary Moore greetings and then I used all 10 words I knew in every combination possible before acquiesing to the inevitable awkward silence that constituted the majority of our relationship. On this occasion it was even more pronounced considering we were in public, where women's voices are muted and their opinions silenced. In Burkina there is a strict separation of public and private sphere but men have the final word in both. According to the culture and the head nurse at our health center, African women are baby machines. Their purpose is twofold; have children and raise them. Activities include and are limited to; pounding millet, drawing water from the well, washing clothes, gathering firewood, breastfeeding, cooking, cleaning, working in the fields (most likely with a baby strapped to your back). Any education is seen as a detriment to your eligibility since a man won't marry a woman with a higher education than himself. The man's family would not approve because the woman could be making decisions which would diminish the power of the man.

There are women who pursue a higher education but they are not encouraged and the odds that they pass the entrance exam are not in their favor. Their community will worry for them because they are not fulfilling their purpose according to traditional Burkina culture. This is not to say thay women who follow the customary lifestyle are necessarily miserable, inferior drones - this is where Saphie comes in. She knows a handful of french words and phrases, has one baby girl, takes a weekly trip into Ouahigouya to sell goods but spends the week partaking in the aforementioned activities in Rikou with little to distinguish one day from another. And her attitude? Laugh. With one of the biggest smiles I have yet to see she will tilt her head back and practically swallow the moon with her laugh. She takes care of 'bibata' (baby), won't hesitate to thump anyone who treats her too roughly but will be the first to scold if she starts to cry.

It's not easy growing up in Burkina. You get hurt, someone takes your food, you're scared, you start to cry and immediately you're chastised or ridiculed. If your plight was justified and your mother is at hand you could be coddled but periodically scolded if you continue to cry. If your complaint is undeserving of sympathy (the vast majority are) then you are scolded, wacked and then forgotten and left to console yourself.

But I digress, this blog is for Saphie. Saphie, who lives for her family. I once gave her a cookie (from a wonderful carepackage - thanks Ashy) and she looked at it like she didn't know what to do with it. Later, I realized she was looking for a place to keep it until she could share it with her bibata, with most skirts lacking pockets, she was momentarily confused. Everything Saphie does is for the wellbeing of her family. Family of course includes her husband, daughter, and then everyone living in the courtyard. There's alwyas work to be done in a family of 20. Even when Saphie had the flu, she was boiling water and cleaning the house, and through it all smiling, just not as big as usual. With a strictly defined role as mother, housekeeper, cook; they take their job seriously. And so we come back to the ceremony as I watch Saphie tak a sip of her Coke Cola and then put the bottle in a black plastic bag, there was no confusion this time.

Merry Christmas! Joyeux Noël! I hope everyone is enjoying their families and festivities. With blue skies and a high of 95F it is a little hard to get into the holiday spirit - but then a camel walks by decked in red and green scarves and we know what time of the year it is, even if the weather is a little confused.

Today, Andrea, Amy, Marius, Yvette and myself went to the Gorom market, bought some fruits and veggies which can not be found in village and had lunch at our usual spot. The same three things were on the menu; rice with sauce, beans and spaghetti. The Sahel being 99% muslim it is just another day in the sand dunes. Apparently they really let loose during the 'Fete de Moutons' on the 30th, which is not so much a party for the sheep as a mass killing, but as the recently converted carnivore I'm sure it will be fun.

I am writing this blog out while sitting on Yvette's front porch with Amy and Andrea happily munching m&m's and catching up on US pop culture from our very trusted sources; People and US weekly. Marius just returned from Ouaga as our personal Santa bringing mail for everyone and we are all reaping the benefits of my amazing care packages, thank you!

To Ashy: Congrats on being the very first to send me a package, and per usual with everything you do it was superb. The cookies were delicious, the candy a lovely treat and the traveling game was a great distraction when I was bedridden with e coli, love you lots!

To Pat: Those pictures were perfect to pass around and show everyone what 'normal' Caitlin looks like, and who those much talked about Lulu & Loi are. The books are great and the salmon? Just too much, thank you!

To Chris & Deb: What a wonderful birthday suprise - the books, granola and sampler candypack - I've said it before but it takes a PCV to know one so thank you both for your support and words of encouragement.

To Cortney: M'dear, you have reserved your spot in the all time greatest friends/former roomates. My first order of business - to put on a brand new pair of Hanes low rise cotton string bikini, then indulge in the clean smell of the classic linen candle, and finally dive into the candy that truly melts in your mouth (and a little in your hand, this is still Africa)

To my mummy: Thank you for starting my christmas ornament collection, it helps to have a little piece of chirstmas here in Africa, but nothing compares to your baked brie hor d'ouvres at the Fenway. Enjoy every minute for me and know that you are missed more than I can type. I am wearing my GAP jeans and feeling amazingly normal and just need you by my side to suggest another espresso martini and I would be all set. Love you bunches, hug hug, kiss kiss, kk

To all the Keenan women; I had a little more internet time on my hands before I left North America and sent you each a Lunabar dedication; check out their dediction search and type your first name to find it.

Merry Chirstmas to everyone, enjoy each other, enjoy your health and take care of one another!

Love always, yours truly, Caitlin

My first week as a resident of Korizena and I have never spent so much time sitting quietly, thinking deep thoughts in my life. I arrived at my three room, cement house and set to doing what I like best, cleaning. I opened the metal shutters with a screech (a sound I thought would diminish with use- it hasn't) and cautiously peered into each room before taking a broom to the windows to clear away the layer of dust and cobwebs that constituted the former residents. I set up my gas stove and looked out my kitchen window to see my neighbors in my backyard, affectionately I named them, donkey 1 and donkey 2. The drive into the Sahel was a little rough and sadly my dining room table didn't make it. It is still sitting, legless propped up against the wall. Between inverted bridges, potholes and sand dunes I am suprised that I made it in one piece considering the driver never slowed to lower than 60 mi/hour the entire five hour trip from Ouaga.

My house is facing two other similar houses; one vacant except for the chickens, there are always chickens, and the other home to two relatively young locals who have my seal of approval for blasting Bob Marely's greatest hits whenever they are there. All three houses are enclosed by a chain link fence, the first I have seen in Burkina, it gives the property a great 'white trash' feel. It is also in stark contrast to every neighboring residence which are created entirely from materials that were most likely found within 50 feet of the actual building. Mud bricks, straw roofs and occasionally a piece of tin for a door constitute the vast majority of homes. The landscape is speckled with small bushes and the occasional palm tree, but sadly they are coconut-less, being the fat kid I am I asked. The only other vegetation is a thorn bush tree. I don't know what the official name of this tree is but I have unoffically named it, 'yousonofabitch' after looking down to avoid the thorns on the ground and was clothes lined by one of its drooping branches made entirely of thorns. Welcome to the sahel.

I have recieved a much warmer welcome from the villagers who have slowly started to learn my name which was apparently too long as Roukietou, so it is now Roukie. It works. Every morning I walk to the local health center to sit and greet the locals and they in turn laugh at the fact that a white woman is sitting at their health center, drinking out of a tube connected to her bag (camel back, love it!) and asking them if they woke up in peace in their language.

The rest of the day I read through the infinite handouts for which I never had a free moment before, and start to formulate my action plan. I make plans to meet with the local health committee, and engage anyone willing with a basic knowledge of french to ask them about the community and the respective health problems they are facing. Since they still believe me to be the new midwife they usually ask for medication, so I run through the basics of how I am a volunteer from America (ah, New York Ceetie!) living in Korizena for 2 years to plan and implement health promotion activities with community based organizations. They smile, and then ask for medication.

I work with the head nurse at the health center who is my counterpart, technically our positions are equal but while his role is curative mine is preventative. For the next three months my job is to integrate myself into the community and collect as much information from as many people as I can. This is easier said than done when the vast majority of the population speaks Sonrai, a small percentage fulfulde and a handful french. My work for the next two years is entirely dependent on the needs of the community and where they think my efforts will be most effective. The interests of the community are represented by a Comité de Gestion (Coges), basically a health committee elected by the population every two years. They control the budget of the pharmacy and act as a liason between the health workers and the local population. This group was created by the Ministry of Health to effectively bring primary health care to the village level.

My job as a health volunteer therefore is threefold: support the Coges and build their capacity to respond to the health needs of the community, help the Coges and head nurse effectively manage the health center, and work with community based organizations to develop, plan and implement health promotion activities.

This is all a very subtle and timely process considering 'l'heure Afrique', the language barriers and the cultural obstacles that reoccur daily. Such as; my neighbor telling me that they do not use family planning because God will provide and if God provides them with 12 children then that is the way it should be. Jeebus, save me.

About once a week I take a trip into Gorom Gorom which is my district capital, (please see the 'wishlist' blog for any snail mail or packages and my new address) where I meet up with the three other volunteers who lived with me in Rikou and the newest addition to our little family being Yvette, who works in Small Enterprise Development. We catch up, speaking a mile a minute and then sit back and enjoy the effortless company of anglophones. This weekend we have all gotten together for a mini-Christmas, although the weather resembles mid-August the date does not lie. I will certainly miss everyone back home but I hope you can enjoy the festivities in good health knowing I will be doing the same.

Take care everyone! Love always, Caitlin

Take a look at my pictures!

(and if the link doesn't work for whatever reason, just go to:

http://s124.photobucket.com/albums/p26/caitlinmaryrose/

Happy belated Thanksgiving! We did celebrate, Burkina style, with a shmorgasbord of food, and never enough silverware. We had all the usuals, green beans, two kinds of mashed potatos, carrots, salad, to, and even turkey! Yes, someone brought 'to', pronounced 'Toe', which is the most common local dish you can find. It is basically millet that has been boiled and mashed until it is a gelatin ilke consistency. You break off a piece, dip it in a sauce and I think your required to make a loud sucking noise as you put half your hand in your mouth to eat. Its really cute to watch.

But yaay, I got turkey and we all stuffed ourselves silly and then enjoyed a local beer or two and hit the hay. It was a joyous holiday and even some of our teachers participated in the festivities. When the time came for a speech one of the volunteers shared what he was thankful for, and it really came down to the other volunteers that we have been training with. They have all proven to be really enthusiastic, down to earth, and funny people. When dealing with stress, three different languages and a whole lot of cultural customs it is great to be able to sit back and laugh about just how absurd it really is. So I concur, and am truly thankful for the my biggest support network in Burkina, and what I consider to be 40 instant new friends, whether they like it or not!

Unfortunately not everyone was able to join in the fun, as Andrea was restricted to her bed which was thankfully the closest to the bathroom. This week Amy, Andrea and I basically played tag team with a virus and she was the last and got stuck with it. On Monday and Teusday I felt like I too was on my deathbed with a fever and with little sympathy from the Peace Corps nurse was told to take 4 IB Profen and go to bed. The next day after sending out a test, it turns out that I had some bacteria known as E Coli. Yeah, that was fun. I spent the next day bed ridden with the worst stomach cramps of my life and counted how many lizards I could spot in my room at one time. They like to crawl along the walls and I really don't mind until they get onto my ceiling. The only problem is my ceiling was made out of large black tarps streched to cover it and I could see and hear their little feet scurry across. I made a game of predicting which way they would go, I lost a lot. So that was how I got to spend my last two days in our host villages. When I could walk again I set about packing up my life. As I was saying goodbye to everyone my grandmother called me over and I assumed she would give me some benediction and send me on my way. Instead she told me my skirt was dirty and I didn't wash my clothes right. Gosh, I sure am going to miss them. But honestly I will, and I do plan on going back to visit at some point.

We went back to have a small ceremony at our villages and to formally say goodbye. I made a speech in Moore representing the other trainees and how we felt. I'm pretty sure they understood me, but I could be wrong. We presented out host families with a certificate of appreciation from the Peace Corps which was appropriately written in english, and in return my host Dad gave me a bouquet of fake flowers and a shopping bag full of peanuts, they are delicious but if you eat to many you can get vertigo so watch out. We learned that one the hard way and I have the bruises to show for it.

Well that's all the time I have for now. This is a pretty busy week with buying everything we need for our future houses, meeting our counterparts (the head nurse of the health center where we will be working), and having our 'swear-in' ceremony on Thursday. Phew, I better get crackalackin'. You all have a good week, and take care, I'll write when I can.

Love and hugs, Caitlin