I can smell the end coming. It smells like roasted green chile and moose track ice cream, like Taco Bell and chocolate bloop donuts. It smells like a lot of good things.

It also smells like my last blog entry.

I hope you've enjoyed these accounts of my life as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Burkina Faso for the past two years.

Thanks for reading!

Things I Will Miss About Burkina:

1. the gateau--slightly sweet, crunchy fried balls of delight--and my Lobiri-speaking gateau lady who always gave me a cadeau (a free one)

2. the fact that staring isn't considered rude. I'm not very stealthy when I people-watch, and here there's no need to be. Stare away, my friends!

3. Herman, Boris and Bruce

4. if I'm forced to shake hands with the same people everytime I see them, then I'm glad that we do the clacky handshake. Before we release each other's hands, we snap each other's fingers. Hence, the clack. I may have to bring that one to the States.

5. having to navigate through cows, goats, sheep, pigs, chickens and guineafowl all the time

6. coke in the glass bottle

7. my friendship with my sitemates: my first year, Jillian, and my second, Brenda

8. my friendship with the Sidibe's, Alice, Leti, and George and his family

9. the proximity of my house to my workplace

10. things said to me in languages I don't understand. Sometimes ignorance really is bliss

11. the amount of free time I have and the amount of sleep I get. I know I'll miss the hours of alternately reading and staring into space when I no longer have them.

12. traditional Burkinabe dancing, especially Lobi dancing. A full body shake, similar to chickens ruffling their feathers, but with rhythm. It's a dance that I can't make my body do, but at least I've provided entertainment for others while trying

13. the colorful pagnes

14. wearing loud colors and mismatching my clothes and not having anyone comment on it because their clothes are loud and mismatched, too.

15. the stars. They're so clear and bright and I can see so many of them (one of the benefits of not having electricity). They're my natural flashlight.

16. watching the honey and yam vendors race each other to the vehicles of prospective buyers passing through Bouroum-Bouroum. Hours of entertainment there.

17. women with babies strapped to their backs and buckets balanced on their heads

18, foutou. Delicious stretchy globs of pounded yams.

19. eating freshly-picked mangoes off my own tree

20. how foods I used to hate (e.g. tuna sandwiches, peas, rice , mangoes) have become mouth-watering delicacies here. Back in the States I'll probably revert to my past hatred

21. eating everything with my hands if I choose to, including rice, and having it be culturally appropriate

22. having entire conversations with grunts, hand gestures and clacking of the tongue

23. the lizards that do push-ups and have jowls like frogs. They're blue, black, orange and brown and they really do push-ups with their front legs.

24. the call to prayer at the mosque, even at 4 AM

25. their generosity but (see 23 of the other list)

26. speaking French

27. seeing buffed-out grown men with Hello Kitty! backpacks

28. watching kids ride bikes that are 5x too large for them. They remind me of Bill Denbrough riding Silver. Hi-yo Silver, Awayyy!

29. women making dolo, the local beer, in huge cauldrons.

30. market day in Bouroum-Bouroum. The organized chaos, drinking cold bissap, eating fried dough, wandering through the maze of beads, jewelry, clothes, vegetables, and meat (I'm not too fond of stepping over the smelly carcasses, however).

Things I Will Not Miss About Burkina:

1. Sweating.All.The.Time. I drip sweat here as if I'm doing Billy Blank's Advanced Tae-Bo video, when in reality I'm just sitting in a chair.

2. Sweating.Absolutely.Everywhere. Remember my tirades on arm sweat?

3. my movie star status. I'm the Angelina Jolie of Burkina Faso and I've never wanted anything less in my life. Honestly, if ever you (an American) want a taste of what it's like to be famous, come to Burkina Faso and your wish will be granted.

4. doing my business in a hole in the ground, with cockroaches and the occassional snake. On the positive side, I've gotten really good at squatting. I could be a catcher if it weren't for my total lack of hand-eye coordination.

5. rocks in my bread and rice

6. rice

7. riding buses. Kids tend to vomit on me.

8. witnessing the cruelty to animals and getting laughed at by the assholes who find my anger amusing

9. going through extensive greetings with everyone (Bonjour? Ca va? Ca Va? Bien dormir? Et la famille? La sante? Et le travail?) everytime I see them

10. my tan

11. flies--the desperate, persistent little bastards and the scum of the earth

12. bucket baths

13. the delicate combination of the smell of excrement and body odor in the air

14. the creepers. The old creepers who want to give my family livestock in exchange for me. The younger creepers with their bejeweled tight pants, unveiled invasive staring, and unabashed remarks which they oddly think make them charming.

15. meeting my food before I eat it

16. "toute de suite" and "J'arrive" = in 2 or 3 hours. WAIT--West African International Time

17. trying to find and keep change. Do you know how difficult it is to break a 10 mille in village?

18. eating with my right hand. I'm in a country that considers the left hand the "poop hand". I've lived 23 years of my life eating with my left and I've spent the last two years eating with my right to be culturally appropriate. I now resemble a toddler, with food on my face and in my lap.

19. losing my hair due to my malaria prophylaxis. I already have fine hair as it is, so I'm horrified when I pull a fat brown hamster out of the teeth of my brush.

20. washing dishes, clothes and anything else in buckets

21. market day in Bouroum-Bouroum when men are douchey and grab at me

22. being called la blanche, nasara, dablo, and tubabu. Yes, I know I'm white. Thanks for telling me.

23. their baffling sense of entitlement. I know I've said this before and this failing, as I see it, isn't limited to Burkina and other third-world countries, and it is in no way a pronouncement on all Burkinabe. What bothers me is the mentality that poor people--or better yet, the less priviledged-- should be given everything they need or want by the rich people simply because the rich people have "it" to give "it" away ("It" can be anything from a shirt to a chicken to money to a bar of soap). There's no responsibility, no initiative to work/fight/argue/etc. for what you want or need. Rather, "it" should be given to you because you want it and therefore you should have it.

24. sleeping in front of my screen door February-May in the hopes that a breeze will cool me down some. This goes with nearly having a heart attack when goats and roosters cry out and cock-a-doodle, respectively, on my doorstep while I'm sleeping. Them clever animals, sometimes I think they do it on purpose.

And now I bid you all adieu!

Jane

I'm in Ouagadougou taking care of business. Medical appointments and volunteer reports galore. I'm happy to report that I don't have TB, my eyes, nose and ears are fabulous, and my heart rate is 50 bpm. Smell me Nancy Drew! The rest of the med tests are in about a month when I COS.

My stomach is a little upset with me now. It has been assaulted with dairy products, which my system isn't accustomed to anymore. The main culprits are cheese and ice cream. In the last few days I've had cheeseburgers, pizzas, french fries, banana splits, chocolate fro-yo, strawberry slushies, and chocolate walnut cookies (thanks Brenda!). I'm feeling slightly ill, but it was totally worth it.

Before my trip to Ouaga and the subsequent shock to my stomach, I was eating my usual diet of rice and fried dough, and I was in Kampti helping Mikey out with his girls' camp. My favorite part of the camp was playing soccer with the girls in the morning. It was a flashback to AYSO days, but it was still a lot of fun. My favorite part, though, happened my last day there. It had rained the night before, and so instead of having our usual dirt playing field, we had soft, squishy mud. Brenda, my sitemate, was playing with us and at one point she lost her footing, slid on the mud on her stomach and then rolled onto her back. Her fall seemed to take forever, it was like it was happening in slow motion. And being the good friend I am, I laughed until I started wheezing. And then I myself was slipping around in the mud in my flipflops. Good times.

We chatted with the girls about self-confidence and gender/social/school issues. We made liquid soap and after I left the girls also made neem cream, which is a mosquito repellent.

There is a dog named Hercules that practically lives with Mikey, though he actually belongs to his neighbors. He's a dumb dog but he's so sweet, and everytime I come to Kampti he makes that whining sound (while wagging his tail vigorously) which I interpret as, "You've been gone so long. Why did you leave me?" Anyway, Hercules came with us to the girls' camp. He would walk around the classroom, sniff the girls, sleep at my feet and stupidly chase cows. He also tried to steal the blue coloring for the liquid soap. I saw him try to slither outside with the bag of coloring between his teeth. Brenda retrieved the bag, but by then Hercules had eaten some of it. His mouth, teeth and parts of his face were blue. He was so happy.

Other exciting incidents which occurred chez Mikey included a run-in with a mutant beetle. It was dark outside. Mikey and I were burning candle wax, Brenda was taking a bucket bath, and Hercules was alseep inside the house. Suddenly this giant flying insect appeared near the flames. It was the most enormous beetle I've ever seen. It was as big as my hand (including fingers), and I'm not exaggerating. I realize that things tend to be scarier at night and the darkness leads people to believe said things are larger and more frightening than they really are. [I mean, I used to be scared of sharks under my bed. But only at nighttime. The buggers could't bite off my feet during the day, everyone knows that.]

But this beetle was the size of my man-ish hand. And it flew around like it was disoriented or drunk. Mikey and I screamed. When the mutant beetle buzzed around again, we, in turn, screamed louder. All the while Brenda was showering in the dark, listening to our screams of terror and laughing. She didn't believe it when we told her of the beetle's gargantuan proportions. Silly Brenda. Sure enough, she saw it and screamed. The phlegmatic Hercules came out of the house to investigate, but then he just collapsed on the porch and went back to sleep. Brenda and Mikey took care of the beetle with insecticide and foot-stomping while I kept Hercules company. We then gave the mutant beetle a Viking funeral without the boat.

The next night we were attacked by a giant praying mantis while making village pizza (Brenda cooked the sauce, and Mikey and I buttered and cheesed the bread). The fact that bugs are attracted to light really sucks for volunteers who don't have electricity. We all have headlamps, which means the bugs aim for the face. No bueno.

I must dash, for cheese and ice cream beckon.

35 days...

The school year has come to an end!

The conseil was this past Tuesday and it lasted an achingly long five hours. But I made it through, and now I have 47 days between now and Remus and Jane's Excellent Adventure!

This year I was a Professor Principal for one of the ten classes at my school, which meant that I was in charge of calculating this particular class's overall averages. I then made a list of students who passed, students who failed but are allowed to retake the class the next year, and students who failed and are not allowed to return. Dun dun dun. So final. Even my handmade form (Yes, we made our own forms and I've gotten quite adept at using a straightedge) looked official with "Exclu" written in red next to the names of those who can no longer attend the C.E.G. of Bouroum-Bouroum. I even had a kid who would've been able to retake the class next year, but instead I had to fail him because he had one too many absences. The limit was 17 absences and he had 18. Not 18 days, but 18 hours. That amounts to only about three days. I thought it was harsh and I argued for him, but the director was adamant. And so poor Edouard has to go to another village next year if he wants to continue his education.

During the conseil we also spent an hour talking about the shortcomings of our soon-to-be former secretary. I have no idea why this issue was discussed because the teachers have no business in the matter. It just felt like everyone wanted to lay their grievances with her on the table. Yes, she was not the best secretary. She was actually pretty bad, but that didn't call for an hour long desultory whining session. Let her go and move on to the next. Oh no, it's not that simple. We then struggled over how to choose a good secretary for next year, one who doesn't hide her "vrai visage" behind giggling and a cute face. Goodness me, can't the school just contact her references?

This discussion reminded me of a completely unrelated conversation I had a couple of months ago about how to tell if a girl is pregnant. I was at cpl, the place in village where I eat rice for lunch every day, and I was chatting with the owner Alice. I like Alice. She's fiery and though she's Muslim, she drinks beer and wears pants and (unfortunately) she's picked up some English curse words I reserve for the population of creepers. Alice and I were talking about how many young girls drop out of school each year due to pregnancy, and all of a sudden she called over one of her helpers at cpl. This "helper" is a 16-year-old girl, very petite. She stops in front of Alice and Alice looks her over, places one of her hands on the side of the girl's neck, looks at her palms and declares, "Elle est enceinte." She's pregnant it appears, according to this odd but apparently accurate examination. I saw this 16-year-old petite girl last week and she now sports a visible baby bump. But what about an actual pregnancy test or a trip to our local health clinic just to be certain? And back to the point of the secretary: Can't we just check the prospective secretary's references rather than gaze creepily into her face, hoping we don't see laziness and an inability to type behind them purty brown eyes?

I suppose there are some things I'll never understand, but it sure can be entertaining trying to figure it out.

Oh, speaking of baby bumps. There was a girl in my English class who almost passed, but not quite, and since she's already redoubled the class I initially put her down as "Exclue." But she was never absent, she always participated in class, she worked hard, and she just missed the passing grade. I also observed that she was pregnant. I advocated for her passage to the next grade and the director agreed with me! When I told this student the good news I also mentioned her pregnancy and I asked her what her plan was (she's already married with twins, who adore me by the way). I figured she'd give birth right about the time the school year begins again in October, and I hoped her family would be around to help out. But when I mentioned this she exclaimed that she wasn't pregnant but that she's sick with something that gives her the impression of looking like she's pregnant, and advancing at the appropriate speed. Curious. I wonder if she thought my knowledge of her pregnancy would impact my decision to recommend her to the next grade level. I hope not. Most girls drop out of school, but she wants to forge ahead. More power to her! I do wonder if her "illness" will pass by October. Of course I won't be here to verify. I'll be rockin' it in Nouveau Mexique!

Have you ever been running, sweating like a pig, singing some Clint Black, when you come across a herd of cows in your path? I have, and it was a little scary. At first I thought that I'd just keep on chugging along at the same pace, but then I noticed that all the cows turned their faces toward me. Some of them were shuffling their feet and some were making weird throaty noises. Alert! I slowed to a walk and the cows immediately became bored with me. I then zig-zagged between them, avoiding the one one that was relieving his bladder. Once I was past them I started jogging again, and all was sunshine and daisies again. But yeah, never run at cows, even if "A Good Run of Bad Luck" just makes you want to. Lesson learned. Ooh, that's something I can put in my volunteer report form.

Check out pictures below! I'm the pale one, and the others are some of my favorite people in village, the Sidibe's, and Bruce the Cow.

I have a couple of countdowns going on right now: The first is the countdown to the end of the school year (21 days) and the second is the countdown to August 3 (74 days) and a Parisian rendez-vous avec Remus!

The end is nigh!

I have one week left of teaching, the second week will be devoted to exams and the final week will be about grading and wrapping things up. The excitement is palpable among the students and teachers. The teachers are talking about their upcoming vacations in Ouaga or Bobo. And the students, who for the most part will be spending the summer cultivating in Bouroum-Bouroum or the other surrounding villages, are just excited to not have to go to school. My students asked me if, during my youth (I overlook the fact that some of my students are my age or just a few years younger), I cultivated during vacations as well. They were quite surprised to hear that I spent my summers amusing myself, not working. I didn't delve into details (i.e. trips with the family, soccer camps, sleeping until noon, generally being lazy and happy) because the differences between our summer activities are so glaring it's depressing. But cultivate I did not, and that's something that my students have a hard time understanding. What would a person be doing during the rainy season if they didn't farm?

Well, I'm currently writing math and English exams. I've been using some tools I learned from my TEFL training to amp up the excitement in my English class. Too many kids have been falling asleep, but I suspect their fatigue is not entirely due to my being a bore (as all teachers have trouble with sleepy kiddies and said kiddies aren't getting enough sleep because they walk miles to get to school/work at home/work in the market/etc.). Okay, maybe I am a bore but that's a harsh reality, and I will not yield to it! So as a way to catch their interest for an hour or two, we've been leaving note-taking behind (not entirely). Role-playing, group work and pretty pictures! My students like the pictures the best because one, I am always the artist and two, they like to laugh at my artistry. We compare and contrast pictures, I read a short story to the class and they have to reorder a series of pictures according to the timeline of the story, we identify objects in pictures, and we discuss what's happening in them. I also sing and act out scenarios (not part of the TEFL training) but effective nonetheless. And before I know it, my students are pulling out verbs, nouns, adjectives and adverbs and making grammatically correct sentences! Woot woot!

I recently sent the last batch of my students' letters to my correspondent in Pennsylvania. Most of these kids don't have a mailing address so unfortunately this will most likely be the last letter they receive or give. Those who do have a mailbox in Gaoua or Diebougou were willing to share space, so hopefully some of them can continue with the correspondence.

I've been feeding a calf in village. His mother doesn't produce milk and so whenever I'm over at my friend's house I get to feed him from a bottle. He's messy, he slurps, and when he's finished with each bottle he finds its necessary to rub his face on my pants. I've named him Bruce. He sneezed on me once. It was not pleasant, but not as unpleasant as being twice thrown-up on. I'll take cow snot over human puke anyday. Bruce also likes to chew on my pants and he nibbles on my hand. Big teeth. When he's suffuciently full he runs around the courtyard at top speed, scaring the crap out of my friend's daughter (who, let's face it, is annoying like all little kids). When he runs around like that he reminds me of Suzi, my dog, and the way she used to throw herself across the grass in the backyard even when she was old and arthritic.

Bruce is adorable and he's growing at an alarming rate. I'm already too attached to him, which sucks because I know he'll be food someday soon. It's a good thing I never eat beef here.

Another day, another creeper shunned. It really isn't worth mentioning because it's so commonplace, but I like the sound of that statement. Since we're on the topic though, because I informed this creeper that I'm married, he said that I need to go back to the States and find a white woman to send to him. Yeah buddy, I 'll just FedEx her to you.

The events of the last two months culminated in all the volunteers in my area having a week-long slumber party ensemble. This just didn't happen in my area, but countrywide. In mid-April the crap hit the fan here in Burkina (some of you may have seen this on the news), and all the volunteers were consolidated at various villages or towns.

For the first two days I had ten volunteers at my site, which wasn't too much fun. Not everyone could sleep at my house because it's not big enough and I live too far in the bush for the comfort and convenience of water and food. And since we all had to stay in the same casa, I had to locate a suitable alternative. After a few chats with the director of my school and an interesting conversation involving mainly hand gestures and facial expressions with a man who owns a large and vacant house in town (and who speaks only Lobiri), we were moved in! With nothing to sleep on! It was a supremely uncomfortable sleeping situation because not everyone had a thermorest or a bug hut and therefore had sleep upon the nice fluffy down of concrete.

There was also a random kid sleeping on the porch with us. My night vision is pretty bad, especially without my glasses, and so I was only a few feet away from the kid when I noticed him. But I kept my cool, and I simply asked, "What are you doing here?" He replied, "Sleeping." No kidding. "Yes, but why are you sleeping here?" "I'm tired." This conversation reminded me of other painfully obvious replies/statements/questions I've received over my time here such as: "Are you eating rice?" (as I'm eating rice), or "You're white. Why?", or "You're sweating a lot."

Anywho, all eleven of us (ten volunteers, one Burkinabe boy) had a rough couple of nights in my village. The fact that I never cook and therefore didn't have any food stocked or things like plates and pots to offer anyone didn't help the morale of the group. We ate rice, attieke, village peanut butter sandwiches, omelets--the usual crap that I subsist off of but that can't sustain everyone (especially those volunteers from the cities who are not accustomed to village life).

After two days of voicing our concerns to the Peace Corps staff they moved us to a town with a hotel, electricity and running water. And air conditioning! Jen and I didn't have air-conditioning for the first two nights because we inadvertently chose the crappiest room (I slept in a bughut outside because the heat was suffocating), but we grabbed a different room once it became available. And then I lived in that air-conditioned room for three days. I only came out to feed.

Earlier in our stay we visited the famous caves of our consolidation site. The caves were constructed in the early 1900s as barracks for the military but have since become the home of hundreds of bats and a few crocodiles. The caves were approximately seven feet tall, but we all had to crouch down to avoid being assaulted by all of the bats. They were literally everywhere--they covered the ceilings, they flew past our heads in huge bat conglomerates, they hated the flash of cameras (obviously) and let us know about it. It was a little unsettling, and I thought fondly of Boris back home. Boris never flies pass my head at lightning speed, and since he kicked Natasha to the curb he doesn't make that awful squeaking noise.

But worrying about getting a bat in the face wasn't nearly as unsettling as turning a corner in one of the caves and meeting a huge crocodile. Needless to say we all kind of freaked out in various degrees, and I remember someone screeching, "Should we be making so much noise?" But the crocodile was unconcerned with us. He just remained where he was, as did the other three smaller ones we happened upon. We were told that during the hot season (February-May) some of the crocodiles move from the barrage and hibernate in the caves until the rainy season (June-September). I didn't know that crocodiles hibernate. Neat.

We continued our way through the labyrinth of caves, crouching, using each other's derrieres as shields against the onslaught of bats barreling through the air. After our fill of bats, crocodiles and the smell of urine, we left the caves and celebrated our having an interesting and fun morning during the stressful time of consolidation by going to one of the local bars and drinking cold cokes. It was a good day.

The rest of consolidation passed by with air-conditioning, food, tv, and a bit of work completed. After one week of slumber partying we were allowed to go back to our sites. And now we're hoping for the best. It's looking pretty good right now.

89 days and counting!

Happy Mother's Day!

I'm sitting on a bench in town, chatting occassionally with the people around me. But for the most part my attention is focused on my Kakuro math puzzle (thanks Remus!). I love math puzzles. As I'm figuring out all the ways to add the numbers 1-9 to make 27 without using the same number twice, I'm pulled out of my math bubb

le of concentration when I notice three sets of four very long, large, tan-colored hairy legs. I look up and there they be.

My first camel sighting in Bouroum-Bouroum. The camels stand right in front of me and stare me down. When they get bored with me they start to nose through the treasures (aka garbage and excrement) littering the ground. The camels return to staring at me, chewing in that slow sideways motion characterisitic of cows and people who never learned to chew with their mouths closed. Did your mothers not teach you manners? I prefer this type of chewing when animals are doing it. They're much cuter.

One camel starts to chew on the cord to his harness and his owner scolds him. The camel stops gnawing on the cord, but when his owner turns away he takes it in his mouth again. Defiant camel.

These three camels are about eight feet tall. They're not too smelly and none of them spit in my presence. They were carrying a lot of cargo, not to mention each had to carry one man on its back. I asked if I could touch one of them, and one of the men obligingly lowered the camel into a sitting position so that I could scratch his head. I wish I could say that the camel purred like a cat when I scratched his ears, but he seemed uninterested in all of it. The man who lowered the camel wasn't though--I received another marriage proposal. Though I almost accepted (I mean, the man travels around on a camel. That's pretty sweet.), I had to decline because he wore socks with sandals. Deal breaker. Especially to someone like me who's a slave to fashion.

In other news, school has started back up, hooray! The school year will end in June instead of May because of all the lost time due to the strikes in February and March. So now I'm back to teaching, giving tests, grading, tutoring, coaching soccer. Brenda and I are putting on an end-of-the-school-year girls soccer game. The first ever in my village. We had to push hard to allow the girls to play 90 minutes, instead of the measly 30 minutes everyone else wanted to give them. They're also going to wear the boys' uniforms for their game! The game is scheduled for May 26, so Brenda and I are going to start writing the invitations.

Yesterday I walked into my latrine and I was greeted by a very surprised snake. He was long and thin, kind of brownish with a darker head. He freaked out when I opened the latrine door and then he slithered away into a hole. I was hoping he was gone for good, and I actually thought he was. When I went back to my latrine later in the day I didn't see him, and so I happily went about my business as usual. But then he popped out, and he wasn't expecting me (or I him). He jumped slightly in the air, and I responded by screaming and hitting my head on the doorframe in my attempt to escape. One of my neighbors heard the commotion and came over to investigate; I told her my tale and her response was, "Oh. That's it?" And then she walked away. That's all I need is for a snake to come upon me unawares and bite me in the butt. It's bad enough that my bathroom consists of a hole in a ground. Add one snake. Fortunately I haven't run into the thing today, and I'm really hoping he's slithered elsewhere.

I also had a huge cockroach crawl on me today while I was eating my lunch (the ususal--rice with tomato sauce and cabbage). He met his end. And he didn't ruin my appetite.

My COS (Close of Service) date has been approved. My last official day as a Peace Corps Volunteer is August 3. A European trip is in the works before my return to the glorious U.S. of A.

The countdown is on...

March days passing by, no school, but plenty of flies.

What have I been doing during these blisteringly hot March days, you ask? Well I've been hanging out in Bouroum-Bouroum. There are quite a few students who continue to study even without having school, and so I've been having groups come to my house and do math and English exercises. I've also been reading like a maniac--nothing by Proust or Faulkner. More like Dan Brown and the dude who writes those monster-ridden alterative versions of classic Jane Austen novels. I also find myself seeking shade (where I'll only sweat off half of my body weight) and watching the clouds roll by. I spend my time poking the bat, Boris, that's been living in my house for the past month. Boris is the best bat I've ever had--he doesn't fly around at night in my house and I believe he's been eating quite a few insects. Good Boris. Sometimes I'll scare little Burkinabe children, but most of them in my village are used to me now so that void filler has lost its entertainment value. I gave in and sort of cleaned my house. I swept, which is something I haven't done since September. I eat--gateau, rice, foutou and peanut butter sandwiches. I sleep. I try to catch chickens. I still can't whistle.

8 Mars 2011 has come and gone. It wasn't nearly as good as the one last year. The women slaved away and cooked chicken; they served the men who naturally complained about the size of their portions. The women cleaned up after the meal. My girls soccer club was allowed only 30 minutes of game time (very few attended), and then the boys, of course, were given the complete 90 minutes (and tons of people came to cheer them on). When I complained to one of the (male) officials of BrBr, he told me that men are superior and should therefore have more playing time. On International Women's Day. It was lame.

And I know I should be used to the way women are perceived and treated here in Burkina. But I have yet to witness an injustice against women where I don't get pissed off.

Brenda and I are going to continue our girls' soccer club, and we're talking about putting on an end of the school year match. Girls vs. girls, 90 minutes, and I'm inviting the mayor. We may also buy each girl a soccer ball. May all the boys be wildly jealous--but that's only a bonus and not the purpose of the match/giving of soccer balls.

My Close of Service Conference is coming up at the end of the month. We'll discuss how to reintegrate back into our native land. Did you know it was inappropriate to pick your nose in front of people?

I'll also figure out the date when I can COS and return to the land of bacon, ice cream, green chile, air conditioning, toilets, men cooking their own damn meals and cleaning up their messes, etc.

In less than 5 months, the bacon will be mine!

World Map Project!

It took me four weeks to complete it, but complete it I did with the help of six students at the CEG of Bouroum-Bouroum. And I can't be modest. It's gorgeous.

The wall on the side of the 4eme B building was scraped, measured, and painted ocean blue. Then there was the grid, then the map design, then the paint, followed by labelling and touch-ups. My students and I had a mini celebration with juice and nasty mango and banana cookies (the students enjoyed them). I gave them a thank-you gift for their work on the map: Each student received a big box of chalk and a new pencil/ruler kit.

It was an interesting experience doing this map project. I worked on it practically every day over the past four weeks, and I always had an audience. I had students watch me for hours as I set up the grid. They watched as I erased, drew, painted, stared, cursed, swatted bugs, talked on the phone, mixed paint, nearly fell off the unstable ladder (not the kind you'd find at Home Depot). They were entralled, and here I thought watching me do this would be almost as fun as watching paint dry. Which is exactly what they did. But they certainly were not bored. And the funny thing is that I wasn't bothered by the constant company and chatter going on directly behind me. Perhaps I've become a more patient person! Who would've thought? Or, perhaps I've simply become more adept at blocking out unpleasant things. Well, we'll just call it patience.

I must boast that I'm now skilled at carrying beaucoup de crap while riding my bike. I've been carrying the ladder to and fro my house and the school. There was this one time when I had my backpack full of paint on my back, another bag full of water and juice situated on my chest, my right hand holding up the ladder, and my left on the handlebar. As I was pedaling, the bag full of liquid would slosh from side to side with the movement of my knees. It was awkward, and people stared at me. One little girl followed me on her bike all the way to school, and then turned around and left when I reached the wall. She was a lovely escort.

Now the map is completed. I can remove the paint that's been coating my hands for a month. I also need to make sure that I remove it from any other odd places on my body. A couple of weeks ago I went to Gaoua and another volunteer mentioned that I had blue paint in my ear. It most likely had been there for a day or two. Must do a careful examination. Maybe I managed to get some up my nose, but I'm sure I would've noticed that--crusty paint up there would be uncomfortable.

Aside from the map project, I've just had school and tutoring, tests and grading. I've also started a girls' soccer club with my sitemate. We have about 20-25 girls show up every Sunday and Monday afternoons. I've been teaching them techniques: how to pass, dribble, control the ball. Then they scrimmage against each other and manage not to use any of the skills they were practicing just a moment earlier. It's kind of like watching six-year-olds play. But that's understandable considering they've never had any training. The boys don't play much differently than the girls, except they tend to maintain field positions. Still, for the most part the boys just try to kick the ball as far and as high as they can manage. High-kicks galore, and no one does a proper throw-in. But there's raw talent, and I've noticed that in some of the girls as well. The girls are enjoying themselves, and they get a kick out of the fact that I'm excluding all boys and that the field is reserved solely for them at 15h and 17h every Sunday and Monday, respectively.

I attended a Lobi funeral this past week. They’re kind of interesting. When a Lobi person dies, his or her body is displayed outside of the courtyard, usually under a tree, in view of the mourners for three days (I once attended a Lobi funeral where the deceased was propped up against a tree wearing a U.S. baseball cap). There is constant drumming and the women carry on this crying/singing (and sometimes dancing) for about 24 hours. The singing is actually quite beautiful, except at 3 in the morning when I’m trying to sleep. After the 3 days of singing/dancing/mourning, the body is buried inside the courtyard.

Hope you like the pictures of the map! If I can ever get them all uploaded…

I have to recount a small piece of yesterday: I live off a dirt road and I was running down said road when I heard the familiar sound of a moto hauling butt, coming in my direction. Unfortunately a sheep was crossing the dirt road (about 15 feet in front of me) at the same moment the moto came charging through. The moto hit the sheep, and the sheep was suddenly airborne, coming right at me. That's right, a flying sheep barreling through the air towards me. I have reflexes like a cat. I jumped off the road into some prickly weeds, and the sheep flew by me. The sheep was unharmed, just badly shaken. He got to his feet, baahed, and walked off somewhere. And the driver of the moto was fine, too. One of his flipflops fell off when he collided with the sheep. But he retieved it.

Afterwards I thought, well crap. It would've been pathetically tragic if I had met my end at the feet of a flying sheep.

(Pictures below! Marché, making to, living it up in Bouroum-Bouroum)

Happy Christmas from Burkina Faso! The place where it always feels like summer and there's no air conditioner.

However, I've had the illusion of a cold winter during the nights when I'm nestled in my bed and have visions of sugar plums dancing in my head. It's been cold during the night for the past three weeks or so, and I've been keeping myself warm with two pagnes as sheets and sockies on my feet. And when I'm biking to school a little before 7 in the morning, the breeze makes my toes freeze! But by the time 8 A.M. rolls around, the sweat makes its reappearance. At least it does with me. But most of the Burkinabe are wearing heavy winter jackets, beanies and gloves until 10 A.M. I suppose this is the unofficial "winter" season, though Burkina really only has two seasons: the hot hot hot and the rainy.

In honor of Christmas, I'm reading A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens, for the first time. I know I probably should have read it earlier in life (Mom always puts her copy with the lovely cover on the coffee table when we put out the Christmas decorations), but somehow I seemed to keep myself occupied during this glorious season with other choses a faire--like making cookies, wrapping presents, decorating the tree, rewatching the great Christmas cartoons, listening to holiday music, etc. Here in Burkina I'm able to listen to Chirstmas music. But while I'm listening to The Little Drummer Boy and simulataneously yelling at kids to stop sifting through my trash and at those damn goats to stop eating my mango tree, I somehow manage to lose that Christmas feeling.

So now I have A Christmas Carol, courtesy of Kindle. It was a delightful read, and I was impressed how the Disney version (the only version of A Christmas Carol I've known until now) was pretty true to Dickens' original, save for the swapping of humans with farm animals.

Well, the first trimester of school is finished. This year I'm a PP (a Professeur Principal) for one of the ten classes at my school. My responsibilities are as follows: I must calculate the overall grades for this one class, not just in my subject area, and I have to rank the students and figure out which students should not return for the upcoming trimester. I then voice my findings at the conseil, the meeting where students' fates are decided. Dun Dun Dun! I'm also in charge of disciplining the students in this one class, or at least I have to be present at disciplinary meetings. But that hasn't been necessary...yet. Dun dun dun!

Anywho, calculating grades was fun. It would've been even more fun if I had Excel on my computer. As it is, I was cheap and I didn't purchase the Microsoft package when I bought my laptop in August. But I was able to calculate grades and averages using the nifty calculator on my cell phone. I did have to postpone calculations for a few hours when my phone died and I brought it into town to be solar charged. But by golly I got it done!

And I left most of my students in a chipper mood for Noel because they recently received letters from my correspondent in Doylestown, Pennsylvania. Each student who wrote a letter in October received a letter from Madame G.L.'s French students. Most of her students attached pictures of themselves or eye-catching magazine articles. Mom! There were several football attachments, and quite a few Eagles fans! Not surprising considering the location of Doylestown, but splendid nonetheless. And now my Burkinabe students will support the Philadelphia Eagles, even if don't completely understand what American football is. One picture attachment that I found particularly cool was a set of pictures from what I believe to be National Geographic, featuring migration patterns of birds and buffalo. My students were so indescribably happy with the letters they received--I don't think that they could believe their luck. It certainly was something to see.

To receive a letter and a picture from someone in a different country is the ultimate Christmas present to them. How many Americans can say that?

I helped my students decipher the English sections of the letters they received. I had to describe skiing, horsebackriding and cheerleading (they got a kick out of my "woo woo!" impression. I apologize to all the cheerleaders out there) and pizza (they were not impressed with this dish). I also helped them pronounce their correspondents' names and explained that unlike in Burkina, we write and say our prenames before our family names.

I had a hell of a time trying to explain what a park is, though. That one's a stumper. At first my students thought that a "park" meant a "parking lot." Then I said that a park was like a zoo but without the animals, unless you count the screaming kids. That didn't register too well. So I had to go to the basics. I said that a park had grass, trees and flowers. You can go there to sit and relax. There is room to play football, and sometimes there's these contraptions that you can spin around on (merry-go-round) or swoosh back and forth through the air (swings). I lost them after football, but I think they got the general idea.

I had my students write second letters (written in French, a little in English and a little in their local language!) and I am just about to mail them. I also took individual pictures of each of them with my digital camera, which I'll upload and send the link to Robi. Also, with the help of Brenda who created a diversion, I was able to take some pictures of the Bouroum-Bouroum marche without getting attacked. So I'll be uploading those as well, just so Robi's students can get an idea of what my students' lives are like.

Okay, I'm done for now. I hope everyone is enjoying the holidays and eating lots of delectable delights! Matt, Remus or Nathan: One of you must watch the original version of Dr. Seuss' How the Grinch Stole Christmas, and then you must tell me all about it.

Merry Christmas!

They say brown liquor make you sleep all right. Cocaine make you grind your teeth all night.

I easily forgive grammatical errors in songs if I very much adore the song. And Hell's Bells by Cary Ann Hearst is adored. Seeing as how I don't have a taste for brown liquor or cocaine, I can't relate to their purported effects on the body. But I can deduce that brown liquor, being a depressant, would make a person sleep like a baby. I have no such insights to draw on the effects of cocaine on teeth grinding. Interesting Ms. Hearst, very interesting.

Apparently I used to grind my teeth when I was younger, though it wasn't brought on by cocaine usage. Just a phase perhaps. I know I used to grind my teeth because Remus and I shared a room until I was 16, and she was quite annoyed with my sleeping habits. I breathed too loud, I grinded my teeth, I ignored Remus when she yelled at me to get up. Silly Remus. Anywho, I used to grind my teeth but now I do not. That is all.

This past week we celebrated Tabaski. We celebrate Abraham's offering of his son Isaac (if I were Isaac I'd be a bit peeved at having daddy making a sacrifice out of me) by making our own offering of sheep. I don't much like euphemisms. Sheep were slaughtered left and right, they were cooked, and then subsequently eaten by me. It was delicious. Being a sheep on Tabaski is kind of like being a turkey on Thanksgiving. After the feasting I returned to my house. As I dismounted my bike I heard a quiet shuffling noise behind me. I turned. There were two sheep hiding out in my chicken coop. They escaped. I told them they could hang out with me for the rest of the day, but they baaahed at me and ran out of my courtyard.

I often have sheep with my rice in peanut sauce. Sometimes I just have the rice and peanut sauce if the sheep are lucky. I eat at a buvette in town owned by a woman named Elise. I like Elise a lot--she makes me chuckle and she lets me leave my bike with her when I go to Gaoua or Diebougou (I have to bike 2 km into town from my house to catch the bus). Elise has a little two-year-old girl named Leti who is only now starting to like me. She was always so wary of me before, but now when she sees me she giggles and smiles. When she sees my sitemate Tyler she is stony-faced and she starts to cry if Tyler comes anywhere near her. Elise tells me it's Tyler's hair that scares her, which is funny considering Tyler is darker in color and I'm the huge white girl. I'd bet that my pale skin and mousy brown hair would be more foreign to Leti than Tyler's full head of black hair, but that's not the case. Curious.

Some parents tell their kids that us whities are going to eat them. Cruel, you think? More amusing than anything else. For example, when eggs are in season (they aren't right now) I eat omelets at this table owned by a nice man with twin boys. The boys used to be deathly afraid of me because they thought that I'd eat them. But it's been over a year and I still haven't made my move, so now they approach me and touch me all the time. And they talk. Oh the talking. And the drool and the spittle and then they touch me. I think I prefer the days when they feared me.

The twins' mother is actually a student of mine. She's in my English class and like most female students, she rarely speaks up in class. It's a little strange having her as a student because the previous year I've been calling her "Madam" and she's made me food and I've thought of her as my elder even though she may be about my age or younger. It's probably the whole Mom-thing and running a business-thing. She seemed older somehow. But now she's my student and I've taken on the elder role. It's just a little awkward I guess, but I'm slowly getting over it. I just hope that she never does anything for which I'll have to reprimand her--my favorite form of punishment is having students sit on the floor--and I don't want to have to do that to my elder. But I will if she forces me.

Anywho, it's Ibe's birthday and I'm in Gaoua to celebrate with him. I made him a card, treated him to a lunch of petit pois and coke (a-cola that is) and bought him some American movies dubbed in French. I'm hoping he likes Star Wars with the koalas.

For tomorrow: Happy Birthday, Silly Matt! And Jillian too!

I had an interesting conversation with the mayor of my village a little while ago. We were sitting at different tables at the local buvette drinking beverages--a coke for me and for him a blend of sprite and beer (several shades of nasty in my opinion, but to each his own). When the night reached the late hour of 7:30 I decided that I needed to go to bedfordshire. But before I could get up to leave, the mayor hollered over (as we were conversing across several tables) that I should pay for his bill as well as my own. I replied with the usual "Mais Monsieur, je suis une volontaire. Je n'ai pas beaucoup d'argent." Which I suppose isn't entirely true since the Peace Corps provides its volunteers with more than enough funds to get by each month. But I prefer to buy drinks for the people who don't ask for them, and especially for those who can't afford them on a regular basis.

Anywho, the mayor laughed at my reply and then he explained to me why I as a volunteer should pay for his drinks. The following is a summary of his lecture and is also insight into the Burkinabe social system: I am a volunteer. The word "volunteer" means that I work without pay and that perhaps I don't have a lot of money to blow. I am a poor child with only a small amount of money to offer. So I should give all or almost all of my money away to someone who needs it more than I do. I should pay for the mayor's drink because I don't have a lot of money to use in the first place. [Okay. Here I asked if a person with more money who can afford to give it away can pay for his drink.] No! Having someone with a lot of money to burn should not pay for his drink because it would mean nothing. There's no sacrifice involved. It's not noble.

The example he used was Bill Gates. The mayor wouldn't want Bill Gates to pay for his drink because it would come as no loss to good ol' Bill to spend that money. He said something along the lines of, "A person who has $10 to his name should give $5 or more of it away to someone who has $0." This person with $10 has a good heart because he gives away what little he has to help someone who's just a little more sorry than he is. But a person with a million buckaroos wouldn't miss the 700 CFA (I apologize for mixing currencies) he'd spend on a sprite/beer cocktail for the mayor. It would be like nothing at all to the millionaire. In the case of the millionaire, there's no test of goodness (is that a word? I'm losing my ability to speak the English). There's no helping your fellow man at your own demise. The mayor has informed me that the test of a truly good person is whether he'll give all his money away. I'm talking ALL of it. Or at the very least, as much as you could give away to be at the same level of poverty as the person you were aiming to help.

To make a long story short: I should pay for the mayor's drink. Bill Gates shouldn't.

After this conversation I really got to thinking about life here in Burkina Faso and the abject poverty and the fact that we're either the 2nd or the 7th poorest country in the nation. My apologies--I'm not certain which it is.

The mayor is not the only one in Burkina Faso who believes that men, women and children should give their earnings away to those who are more desperate. Women walk miles to the market, sell their goods and then give the money to the family chief who uses it as he sees fit. Now you should understand the differences between families here in Burkina and those in the U.S. The families here are huge, absolutely gargantuan. Aunts, uncles, cousins (even distant ones who live far away in Ouaga or Cote d'Ivoire) are all referred to as brothers or sisters and are treated as such; for some families there are several wives and lots of kiddies. We're talking tons of people in each family, and the breadwinners are expected to support the entire family, even the distant cousins and even the ones they don't like too much. It's an obligation. So when you make money, you don't keep it for yourself and your own (what we probably call a nuclear) family. You give it to the head of the entire family and it's divided to support everybody.

Now I understand that it's expected of the Burkinabe to give themselves for the "greater good" and to work for those who can't support themselves. But I wouldn't call it noble. I think a better word for it is just plain sacrifice. Or maybe it's just leveling the playing field so that everyone has the same amount of income and no one has too much. Every person is poor, give or take a few degrees (the difference between market sellers and teachers, perhaps). Or maybe it's just socialism in the extreme. The ones with the ability and the intelligence to make money and settle themselves comfortably in a home with their nuclear family can't do it if it means the whole entire family can't live in the same degree of comfort.

So it goes, almost everyone in Burkina is poor. Or at least they're not comfortable in the way that I have been comfortable my entire life, thanks to my parents and thanks to the country I grew up in. The Burkinabe are only as comfortable as their neighbors. Here in Burkina, there is electricity in only a few places, there's no good waste management system and no clean water which means that there's more disease and death and either no resources for medical care or no money to pay for it. There's little money to send kids to school through university and very few role models to help them to realize the possibilities. There are few who can inspire these kids to want anything more than what they already have.

And that's considered normal. And it's not my place to change what doesn't want to be changed. I only offer my support where it's needed and then I move on to the next. But this conversation with my mayor really opened up my eyes to the Burkinabe psyche. Self-sacrifice is lauded and any form of selfishness is simply unheard of.

I don't get it. I can't see that it helps anything. But then again, I'm a pretty selfish person.

That somewhere isn't in Burkina Faso on my right wrist. My battery died. I was hoping it would last another year, but alas. I guess two years was the battery life. You were right, Mom. I should've fixed it while I was home. Boo. No bueno for me.

So scratch what I said last time about teaching English this year. No English. No Billy Joel’s “For the Longest Time” and no impressing the students with my dulcet tones. Well I suppose I could still sing, or hum at the very least.

We had to change the school schedule four times. That’s 4x 6 hours = 24 hours of discussing which teacher will be teaching which class at what time. Very tedious indeed. Though here’s an interesting side note: At the third rescheduling, which occurred last Saturday, I was asked to come to the school to work out my classes. When I arrived only the director and the male teachers were in the room, but I didn’t think much of it so I just plopped myself down in a seat and took out my notebook with the blue whales on it. Time to begin.

Oh no no. I was asked to leave the room and go across the school grounds to one of my female colleague’s house. I asked why, and the director responded that all the ladies needed to cook the chickens for the meal that night while the men sorted out the schedule. I don’t cook. Everyone knows I don’t cook. But I waddled my way over to the house where 10 dead chickens were waiting to be plucked. I didn’t pluck. Instead I peeled onions and garlic and I chatted with the women while the men did the heavy lifting in the salle de professeurs. I was fascinated by the chicken preparations though. The plucking and the removing of organs. I especially liked the intestines. But for most of the three hours I was there I mainly just sat and watched because the women wouldn’t let me do anything other than peel vegetables.

We the Women had to cook last Saturday in preparation for the feast that night celebrating the beginning of the school year. The event was attended by Bouroum-Bouroum’s mayor and all the teachers at the CEG. And Tinkerbell. Tinkerbelle is one of my village’s foule or crazy person. She’s not really crazy, though, just a little odd. She wears strips of pagne for a skirt (hence the name), is always topless, and wears a calabash on her head. She’s my favorite foule because she always gives me a warm welcome and she likes to build fires. She attended the dinner from a distance, but she was always within sight waving enthusiastically at me. The chicken was delicious.

I have had a bat living in my house for about a week now. He flies about from room to room at night and he doesn’t make a peep during the day. I just hope he doesn’t crap on me or touch me, ever. He’s a fast bugger and he doesn’t seem to want to leave just yet (I’ve opened my door but he ignores the exit). I’ll just have to wait it out it seems.

School started this past week. On the fourth try it was decided that I will teach three math classes. We were still rearranging the schedule on Monday and students were still lined up on Friday outside the director’s office hoping to register, so not much teaching was done this week. Instead I played the KenKen math game (thanks Mom!) with my students and I had each of them write a letter to send to students at a middle school in Doylestown, PA. I just had the students introduce themselves and describe what activities or work they do, what languages they speak, etc. Most of the letters are the same and I had a hell of a time trying to get more than one-word answers out of them. The reply I got to the question, “What do you like about living in Burkina Faso” was “because I was born here.” That’s lame. There’s very little creative or individual thought among these kids, so I’m hoping that the letters they’ll receive from the American students will inspire more in-depth and original responses the next time around.

Hmm, what else? The boutique where I always get my cokes didn’t have any change one day and I only had a 10 mille note on me, so I just gave George the 10 mille and now we keep a record of how many cokes I drink at the rate of 400 CFA/coke. I can get 25 cokes for 10 mille and it’s a sweet deal with giving George 10 mille upfront because now I never have to worry about change. Magnificent.

Howdy ya’ll! I’m back in Burkina. That means that I am now without green chile, ice cream, enchiladas, sushi, cold drinks, strawberries and raspberries, pretzels from that one sports bar, bowling, drinking from the tap without worrying about giardia, diet coke, slushies, turkey, chicken, steak, wheat bread, pizza from Saggio’s, banana drop cookies, chips and salsa, salad (bet you didn’t expect that one from me), the Owl Café and/or Route 66 Diner, oatmeal squares, Costco, cheetos, string cheese, strawberry yogurt, adobe bars, and lots of other goodies.

Just a quick recap of the last two weeks:

I was prepared to be utterly depressed when I came back from glorious New Mexico, so much so that when I actually returned it wasn’t too bad. I wasn’t really depressed and I haven’t been sick. And I’ve been doing things at site so it’s not like I’ve been twiddling my thumbs.

I’ve met Jillian’s GEE replacement, my new sitemate. Her name is Tyler (aka Brenda) and she comes from Los Angeles but went to college in Pennsylvania. Some small liberal arts college (like me!) in the middle of the state. Guess what? She doesn’t have white skin or brown hair. She’s the perfect replacement because all Bouroum-Bouroum has ever seen has been white girls with brown hair. Poor Tyler. She’s had to deal with Burkinabe telling her that she doesn’t look like the typical American. Well no wonder they think that! People who don’t know me still call me Colleen or Jillian when they see me passing by on my velo. But now BrBr has Tyler and a better understanding of how different Americans can be from one another.

I’ve also met with my director and teachers within the last week or so. When they first saw me, they all exclaimed “Ah! Tu as grosse!” They’re telling me that I’ve gained weight. Yes, thank you, so kind of you to let me know. They congratulate me on it, actually. Saying that they prefer me like this because I’m more en forme. Go figure.

My classes this year: I’ll be teaching two math classes (one 4eme and one 5eme) and one English class (5eme). I have no idea how to teach English. And right now my director is out of village and he’s the only one who has access to the textbooks. So I have to wait until he returns before I can start lesson planning. But I’m interested in teaching my students songs. For one, I can impress them with my awesome singing abilities and two, it’s a fun way to familiarize oneself with language. But it’s imperative that I only teach my students songs that are grammatically correct. Otherwise I’d be teaching them incorrect English and that would be no bueno. No bueno! Tyler suggested I try Billy Joel’s “For the Longest Time”. A great tune and a perfect example of the conditional tense! Oh wait, I believe it’s conditional. I really need that English textbook.

And for those of you who have been informed of the creeper situation of July, you’ll be glad to know that the creeper is no longer creeping. He no longer calls or texts, but he does continue to buy me cokes. And I simply cannot turn those down because it’s rude and I love cokes. But all is well in the neighborhood.

I’ve realized that I have about 10 months left as a Peace Corps Volunteer. Cool beans.

Here are the links to my pictures from Burkina Faso, Mali and South Africa:

BURKINA FASO:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2062076&id=17700354&l=5efcf0bf8e

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2062093&id=17700354&l=c7096266a9

MALI:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2062072&id=17700354&l=21d22792f9

SOUTH AFRICA:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2062024&id=17700354&l=f071a04754

Oh my, August is here! August means green chile, ice cream, enchiladas, sushi, cold drinks, strawberries and raspberries, pretzels from that one sports bar, bowling, drinking from the tap without worrying about giardia, diet coke, slushies, turkey, chicken, steak, wheat bread, pizza from Saggio’s, banana drop cookies, chips and salsa, salad (bet you didn’t expect that one from me), the Owl Café and/or Route 66 Diner, oatmeal squares, Costco, cheetos, string cheese, strawberry yogurt, adobe bars, and lots of other goodies. I intend on gaining 30 pounds while I’m home. August also means seeing my family again (with the exception of Dad, Shelly and Nathan—I love and miss you!) after 14 months. I’m so excited to see you! And of course, my animals: Waketa, Quasita, Susan and Kermita. Alrighty then, moving on. Last Saturday was Jillian and Ibe’s wedding, and it was a spectacular mix of American and Burkinabè culture. Jillian already had her mosque wedding a few weeks ago for Ibe’s family—a ten-hour fete of dancing, eating, and of marrying the two families. Jillian wore a traditional boubou and covered her head and mouth. That wedding wasn’t so much about Jillian and Ibe, but rather it celebrated the union of their two families. So for her official wedding—the one that’s recognized by Burkina and the U.S.—Jillian wanted it to be about her and Ibe. Understandably. Jillian had a white dress made and Ibe a tux. The bouquet was thrown, the garter was removed, confetti was showered upon the happy couple. That part was actually quite amusing. Jillian and I made little bundles of shredded paper wrapped in mosquito netting for the confetti throwing, and then Emma and I passed them out before the start of the ceremony. No explanation necessary for the Americans who attended, but it was a little tricky trying to explain the purpose of the confetti to some Burkinabè. But it all worked out, and it was hilarious as some guests walked over to Jillian and Ibe and simply dumped the confetti right on top of their heads. Jillian told me later that she had a hell of a time trying to remove all the paper from her hair. I’m just grateful that no one threw the bundles at them—the confetti was at least removed from the netting before Jillian and Ibe were assaulted. Typically the actual marriage ceremony has to take place inside the mayor’s office. But the interior design of such offices aren’t exactly aesthetically pleasing, so Jillian requested and argued for her wedding to be just outside the mayor’s office. And so Jillian and Ibe had an outdoor wedding that overlooked the hills of Gaoua. Under a champagne-colored canopy fashioned using pieces of wood and ribbon (we found all the materials in Gaoua!), Jillian and Ibe were married with Jenny and Issa as their witnesses. The guests sat under a larger striped tent that reminded me of the circus. I quite liked it! The morning of the wedding a few of us went to the mayor’s office to make sure Jillian had an aisle to walk down (by the end of the ceremony there was no longer an aisle. Not too surprising.) and to attach balloons to the wedding tent. When we arrived we saw men from the prison clearing the area for us (snakes are no bueno) and singing tunes while they worked. Ibe was there too, helping to set up. Poor kid, he looked exhausted. When we argued with him that the tent had to look a certain way or that one of the sticks of wood was lopsided, he’d sigh good-naturedly and say, “Oh, les americains…” For the wedding Jillian selected a pagne for the guests to wear if they so desired. Lots of people had complets or boubous made with this pagne, and I even had a dress made. I promise to post pictures eventually. Since I was with Jillian a few days before the wedding, I had jabe done on my feet. I believe that this is traditionally a Muslim custom, but really anyone can have it done in celebration of a wedding. Designs are made on the feet and/or hands using tape and are then subsequently stained with ash. Emma, Jenny, Colleen and I have triangles on the tops of out feet and zebra-like stripes on our toes. Jillian has a more intricate flower and vine design on both her hands and feet, and it turned out just lovely. Now I’m just wondering how long this stuff is going to stay on my feet. Maybe I should get a pedicure when I’m home, though I don’t know if anyone will want to touch my feet. At least my toenail’s grown back. The reception was held at one of Gaoua’s buvettes; the morning of the wedding we decorated it with balloons and streamers. Emma and I tried to cover up with balloons a slaughtered chicken that was painted on one of the walls. Unfortunately some of the balloons popped, leaving a half-decapitated chicken head in view. Tons of people came to the reception, lots of them uninvited children. But the owner of the buvette chased them out with a huge stick. Oh well, that’s Burkina. But the reception was a nice mix of Burkinabè and American music, so everyone got up to dance. It was such a nice wedding and I’m very happy for Jillian and Ibe. Mazal tov! And it’s likely that I’ll be attending at least another Burkinabè/American wedding before my service is over. But it won’t be my own. Nuevo Mexico in one week!

I’m on my back to Burkina after a week in South Africa. As I’m writing this I’m sitting on a plane to Accra. I’m seeing a lot of Ghana natives on this flight (naturally) and boy is it a sad day for them. Yesterday Ghana lost to Uruguay in a shoot-out; it was an exciting game, but after Gyan missed the penalty shot in OT, forcing the game to be decided by five pk’s, I was pretty certain that Ghana would lose. They were too jittery and hyped-up, whereas the Uruguay team was calm and collected. It’s easier to control and guide your shots when you’re calm and collected. So Ghana lost, and the Ghanaians (and practically all of Africa) are le sad. It’s hard to listen to my iPod while all around me my fellow Ghanaian neighbors are arguing loudly about the game.

Anywho, South Africa! What an amazing week! Thank you so much, Dad, for a spectacular vacation; it was great seeing you!

I arrived in Johannesburg around 5 AM and took the Gautrain (commissioned solely for the World Cup) to Sandton. Dad and I stayed at Sandton Towers Intercontinental, a hotel I highly recommend. Though considering where I’ve lived the past year I’m sure I’d also highly recommend a Motel 6 in Compton. I arrived and was given orange juice and a warm towel, how lovely! While I waited for Dad to arrive I went to the shopping center connected to our hotel through a skywalk. Now I know what volunteers (who’ve returned to the States or somewhere that’s not Burkina) mean when they say they were overwhelmed by all the “stuff.” I stood outside what looked like an upscale grocery store and stared in through a window until a guard approached me and told me that if I desired it, I could actually go into the store. I must’ve been standing there for a while with my mouth hanging open. I didn’t go into the store; I’m saving my grocery shopping experience for when I’m in Albuquerque in August. Costco, here I come!

Anywho, I walked through this shopping center in Joburg feeling somewhat detached from it. Oh Burkina, what have you done to me? The first thing I bought was a pre-made sandwich of turkey, ham, salami, cheese, tomatoes and cucumbers on ciabatta bread, and it was the best darn sandwich I’ve tasted. Dad scoffed at my pre-made sandwich when I told him about it, but I told him that my food standards are impossibly low. Another exciting purchase I made was a bra. The clasps on my old ones broke off a while back, and so I’ve been holding them together with safety pins. But no more!

My first night in Jo’burg Dad and I met up with some of Dad’s South African attorney buddies (who were incredibly nice and funny) for dinner. I had sushi and I watched USA lose to Ghana. The important part here is that I had sushi! California rolls, salmon, tuna, crab. And to top it all off I had chocolate mousse and brownies for dessert. At night I slept on clouds. It was a warm heaven of fluffy white pillows and high-thread count sheets, which is quite the change from my sweating the night away in Burkina on my lipico (think lawn chair). And thank goodness the airline gave Dad earplugs in business class. The whole sleeping on a bed of clouds experience would have been dampened by all the loud snoring. Love you, Dad!

Sunday brought us the Argentina vs Mexico game at Soccer City Stadium. The stadium was beautiful and our seats were great. From the outside the stadium looked huge, but inside it was actually quite cozy. Dad and I were seated next to Mexico fans, and I found myself cheering for Mexico alongside them. They were the underdogs and there were a lot more Argentina fans present. By the way, Dad and I were almost directly in line with the goal line and we saw Tevez when he scored that offsides goal. Holy frijoles he was off by a mile! I thought that I’d be annoyed by all the noise of the vuvuzelas (because on TV the noise is horrendous), but inside the stadium the vuvuzelas are a part of the game. I didn’t mind them at all, and I even considered buying one. However, I came to my senses. And I thank the soccer gods for not seating a person strapped with one directly behind me, because then I’d probably feel a lot different about them.

Before I forget, here’s a fun odd fact: South Africans call traffic lights “robots.” When I asked for directions to the hotel, I was told to “turn left at the second robot.” Robot is a cooler name than traffic light.

Monday morning Dad and I took a plane to Nelspruit, which is about an hour east of Jo’burg. Dad scheduled a safari for us in Kruger National Park at Inyati Private Game Reserve. Again, I highly recommend this place, as does Dad’s Capetownian colleague. So I was back in the bush, but it was a different kind of bush. While driving to Inyati we were greeted by a troupe of elephants and we had to wait for Mom Elephant to finish eating and move off the road before we could continue on our way. Inyati is placed smack dab in the middle of Kruger National Park and has 11 “huts.” A hut to me means a bare mudbrick or concrete house with a shower and a lovely latrine, complete only with cockroach companions. But an Inyati hut means furnished rooms with electricity and running water, with tiled floors and thick rugs and a cleaning service, with chocolates on your pillow and heating pads to warm the beds. No sign of cockroaches or even mosquitoes, because it’s winter there. Yup, I much prefer Inyati’s definition of “hut.” Thry did have an outdoor shower (in addition to the indoor one), but I didn’t use it because it was freezing. I was so cold and oh so very happy about it! Temperatures in the 60’s—what a blessing!

There were eight people in our safari excursion group, including Dad and me. Our fearless tracker was Nelson, who sat on a seat that looked like an appendage off the hood of the car; and out knowledgeable guide was Piet. These guys were terrific, and they always had coca cola stocked in the cooler for me. Ash and Angela from Manhattan and Alan and Lora from Atlanta were in our group, and I had a terrific time with them. Ash was especially amusing, and I look forward to watching Lora’s videos and listening to her informative commentary (eg “This is an elephant”).

Our safari vehicle was a monster, one of those beasts where you wouldn’t notice if you ran over another car because it would feel like a speedhump. But the car was necessary for the terrain. We went out on excursions twice a day, from 6 AM-10AM and again from 4 PM-7PM. It was spectacular! We saw the Big 5 (elephants, lions, leopards, buffalos and rhinos) and then some: giraffes, hippos, crocodiles, mongoose (is it mongeese?), warthogs, zebras (a dazzle of them!), and a crapton of antelope and birds. We saw a leopard hunting impalas while her cubs waited in a tree for her. We saw lions feasting/sleeping on a buffalo. We saw baby lion cubs playing with mom and their older brother. We stalked a lion until it started stalking us. We thought an elephant was going to charge our car. Piet and Nelson weren’t worried, but the rest of us nearly crapped our pants. All the animals were so close to us—uncomfortably close at times. One elephant stopped within 6 feet of our car and I instinctively scooted to the far end of the seat. It was scary! Even the lions were right next to us, but one pride was feasting on buffalo so they paid us little attention. Yet I couldn’t help shivering when a lion pulled his head out of the buffalo’s stomach, looked right at me and licked his chops.

The rhinos were shy, the giraffes galloped gracefully away from us and the hippos were noisy. Nature called during one of our excursions while we were next to the hippo pond, but before I could relieve myself Piet had to inspect the area for predators. What a way to go: death by hippo while squatting in a bush.

On our trips we also saw homo sapiens standing outside their own monster vehicle drinking beer and wine—wildlife in their natural habitat. Did you know that elephants make a growling noise? It sounds like a growl, but it’s not a noise they make when they feels threatened. It’s actually a mode of communication with their fellow elephants.

Back at the lodge baboons and monkeys run amock. A baboon tried to get into our hut, but the door was locked. I watched as a baboon opened the sliding doors to the lounge, ran into the kitchen and came out with a handful of crackers. The kitchen staff chased after him, running and screaming. It was hilarious.

The day after our first night at Inyati a group of doctors from the U.S. joined our party. I met three of them (sisters) in the bathroom where we introduced ourselves and they asked me what I did for a living. When I told them I was a Peace Corps Volunteer, one of the sisters looked at me and said, “I knew it!” Should I be offended? I wasn’t wearing any PC paraphernalia, and yet she had me down for a PCV. It must have been the way I carried myself—confident, open, like a lived a hard-core life and I could take anything. Either that or it was my overall homeliness—my worn, stretched out and holey clothes (Dad informed me that there’s mold on my Puget Sound sweatshirt), my spotty complexion and my uneven haircut (I’m giving up hairdresser as a potential career).

Anywho, the food at Inyati was delectable. Cold salmon, meat pastries, ostrich, kudu, ox tails, kiwis, bacon, sausage, cheese, croissants, muffins, soups, puddings. I didn’t have rice once! Save for the sushi in Jo’burg, but that doesn’t count.

Dad’s and my last night together we spent at Cybele Forest Lodge and Spa. It’s another amazing lodge with spectacular food, warm and cozy rooms and our own private pool. I’d go back to South Africa just to spend a few days there.

That was my South African vacation, and I simply can’t wait to go back. Dad, I’m so glad that you wanted to spend your vacation with me and I can’t thank you enough for that wonderful week. And thank you for the chocolate and the five jars of peanut butter! That’ll last me a few months!

I’ll most certainly post pictures, but I’m going to wait until I’m back in the States. And that’ll be next month. Sweetness in a can!

What a glorious month it will be. I came to Ouaga yesterday specifically for the premiere of the World Cup. Oh it was divine watching South Africa play Mexico under a fan, drinking a coke and eating a salad with eggs and chicken. And tonight! Golly I can’t wait for the USA and England game. England will probably win but I hope to be pleasantly surprised.

I don’t have much to update: School’s over, all my students have either returned to their villages and/or are working in the fields. I’ve been reading a lot, staring off into space, wrapping myself in a wet pagne and laying on my floor, covering myself in baby powder (blasted heat rash!), and hanging out in village people watching.

For a week there I thought that my cat Herman was dead. Someone left one of those traps outside of my courtyard that looks like an open jaw with razor teeth, and Herman got caught in it. Just his front left paw, but it was so mangled that it no longer looked like a body part. I called the veterinarian—he was in Gaoua, naturally—and didn’t show up at my door until a week after I found Herman. I even called my Major who runs the health clinic in Bouroum-Bouroum. I was desperate, but he said he couldn’t help me either. Herman wouldn’t let me near him after I tried to clean his wound and put it into a splint. He crawled into his litter box and just layed there for hours. He howled to be let outside and I let him because I couldn’t do anything for him. I thought he was leaving me to die, and I didn’t see him for a week.

But after returning from Diebougou, there he was! With Harriet! He’s limping, but he’s putting pressure on his paw. Two of his bones stick out in all their glory, yet he still tries to knead. What a silly kitty. Herman’s back to eating, drinking, being my little lover kitty. And the vet finally came and gave him shots of antibiotic, so I think Herman will do just fine.

In other news, I’m going to Johannesburg in two weeks! Dad and I are going to rendez-vous there and see a World Cup match on the 27th. Oh amazingness in a can!

He’s a cool dude. But who is Dagny Taggart? People should be asking that question.

I’m in the middle of Atlas Shrugged, another one of my favorite books. I’m celebrating the end of the school year with Ayn Rand and her characters. I finished filling out report cards yesterday—sitting in a cramped room with the others teachers, swatting flies off my nose, listening to Burkinabe music and one random Nelly song. Next week we have a conseil to discuss the students’ grades and the preparations for the BEPC, which takes place on June 3. But after next Thursday, I am le done.

I’ve been here about a year and I have approximately one year left. Unless I decide to extend my service, but I don’t see that happening. Anywho, lately I’ve been trying to plan what I’ll do with my last year. This first one passed by so quickly that now, at my review of it, I feel like I didn’t have enough time to actually get started. I taught one year of school, I had an English Club that went the way of the buffalo, and I coached soccer and did sensibilizations on HIV/AIDS and moringa.

But there’s nothing in those things that will still be here after I leave Burkina. I was pleased to see that some of my students’ math grades improved after tutoring sessions with me; hell I was pleased to discover that I didn’t actually loathe teaching; I had fun talking to students about HIV/AIDS preventions and I hope that they’re now informed of how to maintain a healthy lifestyle in that respect. But none of those things are tangible or lasting, nothing that 5 years from now the people of BB will look at and say, “Yep, that right there is something that white girl did while she was living here.”

Enter World Map Project. This summer I’ll start planning a World Map Project for Bouroum-Bouroum. I’ve found the perfect place for our world map—it’s on the side of the 6eme building of our CEG. The wall faces the road (not the goudron, as my house and school are 2 km off the main road), so everyone passing by as well as all the students will be able to see it. I won’t be able to start the actual painting of the world map until after the saison de pluie, so I’m thinking November.

Though I realize that PCV’s plans are often revised or thrown out completely, I’ll do everything in my power to paint the world in Bouroum-Bouroum. Even if it’s the size of my palm. Next year I also will set up a correspondence program between my students and the students of a middle school in Doylestown, Pennsylvania. The only problem with this correspondence program is that it ends once I leave. My students will lose their correspondents unless they’re able to pay for postage and to pay for transport to a place where there’s a post office. Oh well. It’s not sustainable, but it’s something that these kids desperately want.

The rain came yesterday and my heat rash is going away. Life is beautiful.

This past week Jillian came to my three classes to do moringa sensibilizations with my students. The moringa tree is so important here in Burkina because its powder contains a crapload of nutrients—Vitamin A, C, calcium, protein, etc. Since malnutrition, especially in children, is a huge concern in Africa, moringa serves as an important supplement to the peoples’ diet. During certain months it’s difficult to find any vegetables at all, and meat is expensive. So it’s difficult to stay healthy when you have neither the means nor the resources. But moringa combines a lot of the essential nutrients a body needs into a powder.

At the CSPS (hospital) in Bouroum-Bouroum, women mix moringa powder into porridge and give it to infants to help them gain weight. Jillian told me she once saw a little girl at the CSPS who weighed about 12 pounds at the one-year mark. No bueno. But after about a month of eating bouille containing moringa, the girl had gained another two pounds.

During our sensibilization, we gave students moringa seeds and showed/told them how to plant and maintain them. You can even buy a moringa tree in its adolescent stage in BrBr for 100 CFA, which is about 25 cents. They require very little water—a good thing considering how close we are to the Sahel—and the rainy season is almost upon us. The only obstacle with moringa is making sure those blasted goats don’t eat them. Earlier last year goats ate my papaya tree, but I won’t let them take my mango tree!

Good stuff, moringa.

Jillian and I had a girls’ night on Thursday. A little surprised? Yep, me too. But I had a great time and Jillian made dinner at my house—a place where food is never prepared. She made spaghetti and garlic bread. We listened to Lucky Dube, shaved our legs (quite a lot of work for me), and painted our nails. We even had honey/sugar facial masks, though we had to remove about 10 or 15 bugs out of the honey (BrBr is known for its honey and yams) before we could use it. Pictures are posted.

In about a month the new Secondary Education stage is arriving in Burkina. If you’re wondering what you should bring, I can tell you that a solar charger is probably one of the best things I have here. That and peanut butter. Unless you’re going to teach IT, there’s a very good chance that you won’t have electricity at your site. And if you’re anything like me then you need to listen to music every day. My Solio Magnesium charges both my iPod and phone, and it’s simply magnificent.

Next week, exams. The week after, grades. The week after that, no more l’école. As I said before, life is beautiful.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mamita and Shelly! And Grandma, Nana and Aunt Mary!

Adios April!

Bienvenue May!

May means I have one and a half weeks of teaching followed by exams, followed by grade calculations and meetings to discuss the school year. 3 weeks total. Then I’m done with school until the 1st of October.

I was trying to remember what I was doing on April 30, 2009. I can’t come up with specifics but I do know that there was a lot of sitting going on and a lot of eating—a lot of “This will be my last opportunity to eat (enter tasty delight here) for a year or two.” I have fond memories of this time.

But this April 30, I’m in Burkina handing back exams and discussing plans with students for our school’s culture day that’s coming up in about a fortnight. There will be traditional dancing, singing, theater and bissap. The theme of this year’s culture day: Les grossesses indesirees en milieu scolaire, or, Unwanted pregnancies in middle school. I’m putting together a sensibilization for this theme and I’ll probably work in HIV/AIDS prevention strategies using my handy-dandy male and female wooden anatomical parts provided by the PC.

When I was talking to the students about the program for Culture Day and the subject of a soccer match came up, I suggested having a girls’ game in addition to the boys match. I told these students (all boys) that girls have the ability to play soccer every day, not just on 8 Mars International Women’s Day. They agreed to allow the girls 30 minutes of game time, the dears. Hopefully we’ll make it happen.

Well, with this hot season (115 degrees, give or take a few) I’ve sweat my body weight each day and got a lovely case of heat rash just about everywhere on my body. But the rain has come! Sort of. It’s rained twice in the last two weeks and both times I’ve thanked the rain gods with a dance. Mom and Remus, do you remember the one where I stomped around in circles whilst holding my left arm at a ninety degree angle and shaking my hand back and forth in a rapid motion? Anywho, that’s the dance and I believe it pleases the rain gods. They decided not to strike me with lightning, which I find encouraging.

And I just heard thunder. Must dance pronto.

Riddle me this: When is Cinco de Mayo?

Entertaining book, by the way.

Being in Africa, I expected to see African wildlife such as donkeys, pigs, goats and cows. But elephants! And 5 of them, too! Running wild in Burkina just outside of Leo, these wonderful creatures were encountered by yours truly. Here are some pictures (only a few because it's taking forever to upload):

I’ve had an odd and disturbing week at school.

On Wednesday morning at 7:45, Jillian (who was at my house at the time) and I heard a lot of noise coming from my school, which happens to be right down the road from my house. The noise was a mixture of cheers and angry screams. Jillian biked to the school to talk to 6eme kids about HIV/AIDS while I headed in the opposite direction into town to get gateau and a coke for breakfast. It being a Wednesday, I didn’t have class until 10. Jillian calls me while I’m en route to tell me that there’s some sort of student protest going on, a violent one.

Fast-forward a few hours. After waiting and watching as trucks filled with police and gendarmes pass my house over the course of the morning, I come to find out that what occurred was not a student protest. Here’s what went down:

There existed some disagreement between a teacher and a student which resulted in rocks and fists being thrown. Teachers got upset, the students a little more so. The teachers barricaded themselves in the office so as not to get struck by rocks, but then the police/gendarmes arrived and after a 7-hour conference all hostilities were at an end. The student who threw the first rock at one of my colleagues was expelled and classes resumed on Thursday.

Of course I didn’t know any of this until I showed up at school at 7 on Thursday morning. I was the only teacher not present during these events, and so I wasn’t present during the 7-hour meeting which took place immediately after. Nope. I stayed in my house all day reading Sense and Sensibility, hoping that my homologue would return my calls.

Thursday morning came and I inquired after Wednesday’s events. Then all of the teachers (myself included), the director, secretary, econome and surveillant went to speak to all the classes to lament what happened on Wednesday morning and to demand the students’ agreement that those events were indeed regrettable. Their forced agreement was a little unsettling.

But now everything is back to normal, and I delved right into math lessons and homework and talk of tests in two weeks. Everything’s fine now. I asked if something like this ever happened at our CEG before, but it never has. It is one isolated incident that got out of hand. Mob mentality is a scary thing.

And to add to this, I found out yesterday that one of my students died over the spring vacation. Though I have 70-80 students in each of my classes, I remember this student well because he sat in the front of my class and I’ve argued with him over points on his tests. I was sad when I found out that he died, but it was the way I found this out that made me even more wretched.

I was taking attendance when I asked the class where this particular student was. I was in a good mood, joking around, and I asked if he was outside eating or drinking or chatting up the ladies. No one answered me. So I asked his neighbor particularly where he was, and he replied, “Il est decede.” I meant to say something in response, but I was so surprised and ashamed of my behavior and that I didn’t know what had passed, that no sound came out of my mouth. I then turned to the board and started my math lesson.

All I can think about now was the last time I saw him; I told him he received 8.63 in my class (out of a possible 20). “Insuffisiant” as the Burkinabe educational system calls it.

What a sucky week.

Guess what today is ? If you guessed ‘The day after St. Patrick’s Day’ then you’re one smart cookie! However, today is also the first day of spring break. I finished filling in over 200 report cards yesterday and then I celebrated with a coke and a sprite!

And now I’m rockin it in Diebougou with some internet and mayhaps some chicken. I might even have the honor of selecting a chicken that suits my fancy, while said chicken is still enjoying the flow of oxygen. As for my spring break plans, I intend on relaxing and reading oodles of books. Lately I’ve been engrossed in everything Jane Austen. Surprised? I recently finished a series entitled ‘Fitzwilliam Darcy, Gentleman’ which chronicles the events of Pride and Prejudice through Darcy’s point of view. And then I proceeded to read a book (Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife) which begins where Jane Austen left off with P and P. All I can say about that book is, if Jane Austen weren’t already dead, she’d have an aneurysm upon reading this. Her seemingly chaste characters are anything but, in very explicit detail. It was very amusing and somewhat ridiculous. But I did enjoy parts of it and I look forward to reading the sequel. Oh that wretched Wickham!

Last week was 8 Mars, International Women’s Day. I wore my pagne and met up with Jillian and Ibe in town. I knew it was going to be a good day because I had warm gateau and cold coke—an unmistakeable good omen. First thing was the Lobi dancers. When they do their traditional dance it kind of looks like they’re having an epileptic fit (is that too un-PC for the PC?), but I believe it’s supposed to look like they’re shaking/ruffling their feathers—some kind of rooster-chicken dance of love. I’ve tried dancing like the Lobi, but all I’ve managed to accomplish is an amazingly strong headache.

We then watched a bike race of girls from my CEG. They biked 4 km and upon returning nearly collapsed and/or lost their gateau. It was a little disconcerting that these girls who are so accustomed to hard labor (carrying water, wood, etc. atop their heads and walking for miles under the lovely African sun) would almost keel over after a 7 minute bike ride. But I suppose it’s a different form of exercise for them, working different muscles and such. I know that I can’t carry large objects on my head—I tried once with a bucket of water and it was oh so painful.

Then, we watched women’s associations from Bouroum-Bouroum and surrounding villages march on the road, singing and wearing coordinated pagnes. By far the most enjoyable part of 8 Mars was the soccer game. The week before I coached 6eme and CM2 girls in preparation for the match on Women’s Day. These girls play AYSO-style, but that’s to be expected seeing as how they have had no instruction, and sports in general are a privilege only boys enjoy. Come International Women’s Day; my team was 6eme versus Jillian’s team CM2. My team claimed victory 1-0, but that wasn’t important. The audience and recognition that these girls received was tremendous—tons of people, including the mayor of BrBr and other officials, came to watch them play! I loved that these girls had such a grand audience because all that attention is usually never given to them. They were so excited and they behaved well (unlike during my coaching sessions), which is always a plus.

And then the clouds came, bringing a breeze and a few raindrops.

Everything started over an hour late, unsurprisingly, but it made for a late evening. After Jillian’s 6eme’s theatre piece (with a depressing but realistic ending where impregnated teenage girl later discovers that she, her husband and two children have HIV), there was the ball. You’re picturing the kind of ball from Cinderella, aren’t you? Not quite. But I stayed out way past my bedtime (10 PM!) and biked (uncomfortable when wearing a skirt) home happy with my day.

Last thing for now: Albuquerque, here I come! In 5 months, August 14th, I’m there.

Sebastian had it wrong. It is most certainly hotter above water, at least in Burkina Faso. The Afrcian sun has been quite cruel these past two weeks. We has a glorious downpour two Saturdays ago, and since then all we’ve had is scalding heat. Even the Burkinabè are complaining. I’ve been informed that it’s hotter now than it was at the end of March (the peak of the hot season) last year. This early hot season means that either the rain will come earlier this year (yay!) or that there will be a nasty drought (boo!). The pessimist in le is preparing for the worst.

I’ve been in a bit of a pickle lately because of this saison chaud. I can’t sleep in my bed anymore because I sweat like I’m running a marathon in 100 degree weather, and I can’t sleep outside because 1) I don’t have a door to my courtyard and ) I live alone and someone could easily jump over my wall even if I did have a door. But I’ve found a solution! Now I leave my front door open but I close and lick my screen door, and I sleep directly in front of my screen on my Lipico. Every once in a while I catch a breeze and it is glorious!

I admit that I’m jealous of Herman because he can sleep outside. Oh to be a cat, one that’s loved. But Herman doesn’t sleep alone! He met his main squeeze, but I can’t actually confirm the gender of said squeeze because he/she won’t let me touch him/her. I’m calling this new kitten Harriet because I like the ring to “Herman and Harriet.” Harriet resembles Herman in color, except that he/she is also gray, and is severely underfed. But I’m currently rectifying the latter.

In other news, Herman got his rabies vaccination last week. That was a pleasant experience. I have a scratch on my left arm that resembles a sine curve.

So I’ve been in Bouroum-Bouroum for 6 months and Burkina Faso for almost 9. I feel comfortable here, but only as comfortable as I could possibly be in a place that is glaringly different from what I’ve known all my life. There’s no denying that I dearly miss so many comforts that I can never have here. Sometimes that truth is just so depressing. Some days are better than others. But I want to be here and I think that counts for a lot.

So I’m celebrating being in Burkina Faso. Warm coke, anyone? Bien sûr!

P.S. There are these goats that use an elevated log to climb atop my chicken coop. They proceed to dance around a bit and scream, head-butt each other--you know, goat activities. But then they inevitably start to freak out because they can’t figure out how to get back down to the ground ( bum bum bum…). It’s entertaining but also pathetic. Herman merely regards them with an expression that I can only describe as bored, and perhaps with a bit of hauteur. I adore him.

Is there anything ambiguous or confusing about the word ‘No’ ? At first, I didn’t think so. And saying ‘No’ forcefully—without a smile or teasing undertone—seems even more explicit. But apparently we females don’t really know what we want because ‘No (smile)’ means ‘Yes’ and ‘No (murderous-looking-for-the-nearest-machete-glare) means, wait for it, ‘Yes.’ Hmm, that doesn’t leave a girl with too many options, does it?

Well there’s a certain nameless dufus in Gaoua who believes this steaming piece of ‘yes means no’ crap is true of me. He’s been pursuing/making me insane for months now; he’s harmless, albeit annoying, and I’m certainly not the most patient person. But this morning, after refusing to give him my number for about 50th time and explaining (yet again) that I’m blissfully engaged to another volunteer (shhh…not really) who lives close by, dufus sat himself down to explain his feelings to me. Here is goes:

I am the trophy for the World Cup. Right now I’m picturing the gold thing that Zidane walked past with his head hung low after he got himself thrown out of the championship game against Italy in 2006. Anywho, I’m the trophy and dufus is one of the teams that qualified to play in the World Cup, and he’s playing to win the trophy. Oh barf. My ‘boyfriend’ is another team and so on and so on. According to him, the World Cup isn’t won until I’m married. Christ.

That machete’s looking mighty appealing right now. But I may just have fatten the lie instead of getting messy, which means that Mom, I might need you to send me a ring to wear—the one found at the bottom of a Cracker Jack box will suffice. I couldn’t help but laugh at this comparison, seeing as how I enjoy all things ridiculous, but poor dufus was serious. I might consider giving him my number if could find me an oreo blast and green chile cheeseburger from Sonic, but then again I probably wouldn’t. I would enjoy the food, though.

In other news, I’ve started an English Club at my school. Most of these kids want to do activities that will help them prepare for the BEPC (middle school exit exam), so I’m trying to come up with some cool songs and games to teach them. I plan on wowing them with my singing voice. Next week it’s going to be ‘Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes’ with a twist. The twist being that I have to figure out a way to work in the other body parts. I might just have to change the tune.

Also, I’m making invitations to send out to Ouaga, Bobo and Gaoua for 8 Mars. 8 Mars is International Women’s Day and it appears that Bouroum Bouroum will be rockin’ it like it’s 1999. Soccer games and theater pieces are scheduled for the day, as well as a dance at the end of the night. Burkina Faso designs a new pagne every year in celebration of 8 Mars. I can’t remember the pattern for this year (in either red or blue though!), but it’s pretty and I intend to make a dress and/or shirt out of the material. Guess which one I’ll wear more often? But I will get all gussied up for 8 Mars. I’m very excited that Burkina is celebrating its women, and that I’ll be a part of it.

Exams this week! I hope that this weekend my students are dreaming about fractions, triangles/angles, decimal approximations and calculations using powers of 10. What what!

Sick with a cold. Swollen ankle. But am content.

Content because as I'm writing this, I'm sitting on a cushy couch with a fan blowing in my face and a bowl of chocolate ice cream in my lap.

The Dogon Country in Mali was very beautiful, parts of it very much like New Mexico. Plateaus, villages located in the cliffs, and sand dunes like rolling hills. We slept on the roofs in remote villages under the moon (which was full on New Year's Eve) and stars. It was like we had a nightlight. And it was freezing! We hiked from 8-12 everyday, and then from 3-5 in the afternoon carrying our packs with us. We handed out kola nuts to the natives when we wanted to take pictures of their villages (and when one of us almost hit an elderly man with a soccer ball—he was not happy!). I tasted a kola nut—it was like eating a bitter piece of hard cardboard, quite tasty.

Children followed us around, asking us for pens and water bottles and for my earrings and watch. They seemed to think that if they kept asking I'll eventually hand over the goods. The people in this area are used to tourists, and are accustomed to receiving gifts from them. We as volunteers immediately noticed the differences between our villages in Burkina and the villages frequented by the European and the rare American traveler; in Dogon you can find trash cans and strategicially-placed souvenir shops. Though I do suppose Dogon is one of the most authentic African village experience for the tourist because you do get to see people going about their daily activities—women pounding millet and carrying things on their heads on their way to the marche, and men relaxing in the shade or praying at the mosque. But for me there was a touristy feel to the whole thing, which was in itself interesting to experience. Having been in Africa for 7 months, I guess the novelty of being in a small village has worn off; and after observing these European tourists, I was reminded of what it first felt like to arrive in country.

Early in the trip I jumped off a rock and twisted my ankle. It swelled but didn't hurt too badly after the first day, so I kept on truckin'. Unfortunately the swellling hasn't gone down yet, but now I actually have the opportunity to take care of it for I am in Ouaga, land of cheese and ice cream.

I'm in Ouaga for inter-service training until Saturday and then I'll return to Bouroum-Bouroum to start the new trimester on Monday. The training includes information on how to start a secondary project in our villages—English Club, sensibilizations, planting trees, Girls' Clubs, etc. For this second trimester I'll focus mainly on my classes, tutoring and starting an English Club since there is a very strong interest among the students at my school.

I miss Herman dearly and I'm anxious to get back to him. Hopefully he still remembers me after my two-week absence. Two weeks is a short amount of time, but it feels like ages since I've been in village.

Hope everyone had a great Christmas and New Year!

Howdy ya'll!

The trimester is over! I've finished grading and calculating averages and arguing with students over undeserved points, and now I'm sort of on vacation.

My plans have changed. Elephants and Ghana will have to wait. Mali, here I come! I'll be hiking the whole time, which is odd considering how much I love the sedentary lifestyle (i.e. sitting on a beach in Ghana). But I'm very excited to see Dogon Country for I've been told it's a must-see. I'm including a description of what my trip will be like, courtesy of PC Burkina's almost-former director. See below yo!

I will be spending Christmas in Bouroum-Bouroum with Herman. Pancakes and chicken may be in my future! And tomorrow I'm going to a baptism. The women and men celebrate the baptism separately, so I'll be hanging out with the women and eating spaghetti. It's customary to bring soap to a baptism to give to the mother, but I think I might also go hunting for some baby clothes in the marché here in Gaoua.

Herman says hello. He killed a mouse outside the other day and then brought it inside my house to eat it. A bit backwards, no? The smell was horrible, but Herman didn't seem to mind.

Merry Christmas!

DOGON COUNTRY? MALI

Introduction. Mali’s Dogon Country is rightfully considered one of the most interesting places on this great earth, offering world class trekking where culture and nature intersect in a powerful way. The heart of Dogon Country is the Bandiagara Escarpment, a 150 kilometer (100 mile) long sandstone cliff with numerous villages along its top and bottom, and ancient Tellem houses perched on tiny ledges along its up-to-150 meters (500 feet) high face. The area offers the possibility of treks from a single day to several weeks, although 3-5 day trips are perhaps the most common.

Encounters with the Dogon people make a trek along the escarpment unique and memorable. People working their fields, women pounding millet, children playing in villages, old men gathered in the low-roofed meeting places, women barefoot or in flip flops with large pots on their heads negotiating ladders and narrow ledges, lively and colorful markets, etc. -- these are everyday sights along the Dogon trails.

Given Dogon’s reputation, it is no surprise that much has been written for the tourist and visitor. There is, however, surprisingly little detailed information for the serious hiker for whom the region offers magnificent trails and scenery -- whether on the top or on the bottom of the impressive escarpment, and, even more so, when going up and down between the two. The ascent trails often include ladders carved from logs, airy ledges, rock clefts, spectacular rock formations, and even caves!

It should be noted that “peak bagging” is not part of the Dogon experience -- this is not a mountain range and there are no summits of particular interest. The highest peaks in Mali are near Hombori, further to the east.

This guide is written for people who want to know more about trails, geography, distances between villages, and interesting hikes and destinations. It is not my intention to write about Dogon culture as there are many other sources available. As a hiker in Dogon Country, it is important to be flexible, allowing time to take in cultural events and sites along the trails; hikers who focus exclusively on accumulating kilometers, or sticking to a fixed itinerary, will miss out on much of what Dogon Country has to offer.

Geography. The Bandiagara Escarpment is in central Mali, just north of Burkina Faso. The escarpment faces southeast and, starting west of Bankass, runs northeast 150 km to Douentza. The terrain below the escarpment is a sandy plain with significant sand dunes in many areas. The top is mostly bedrock, a barren moonscape in places, cut by gorges that extend from cliff fissures far back into the plateau. In these gorges, there are rushing streams in the rainy season, as well as active gardens in the drier months.

Climate and Weather. Mali is hot, and hikers need to plan ahead and adapt accordingly. December to January is the coolest time, but tourists are abundant and the Harmattan dust blowing down from the Sahara can be a problem at times (peaking in the somewhat hotter month of February). March to mid-June is extremely hot, and this period is perhaps best avoided altogether, although the lack of tourists creates a temptation.

The rainy season is from late May through mid-September. It is mostly hot and dry with occasional downpours; there are also occasional periods of fog and mist. The rains diminish the heat, but be prepared for the possibility of muddy trails, slippery rock ledges, flooded roads, and many summer time tourists. Stream and river crossings may be challenging with options including wading, piggybacking on your guide’s back, or perhaps catching a lift on a passing donkey.

End of August into September has fewer tourists and is spectacularly green -- with crops in full bloom -- making this a favorite time for the author. October-November (harvest time) is hotter and drier, but not as hot as March to mid-June.

6 AM -10 AM and 3 or 4 PM to dark (which varies from 6:00 PM at the winter solstice in December to 7 PM at the summer solstice in June) are the best times to be out on the trails. Plan to spend mid-day (approx. 11 AM to 3 PM) holed up in a campement having lunch and waiting for the weather to cool down. Bring a book and/or journal and take a nap on a mattress (which will be supplied upon request) if the heat does not keep you awake.

It is recommended that you break camp at the very first sign of morning light to maximize hiking time in the cool weather. Tell your guide that hot water will do for breakfast tea or coffee and carry your own bread/jam or snacks so you don’t have to wait for a cooked breakfast. If you start hiking at 7:30 AM, you have already missed out on one of the best hours of the day!

Hiking right up to dark is recommended for those who want to cover terrain; the two hours before dark offer glorious light and reasonable temperatures. Don’t miss being out during these magic hours! Those two hours each day offer the true glory of hiking in Dogon Country, typically supplanting the best memories from the other twenty-two.

Also, if possible, plan your hike to correspond with the full moon.

Waterfalls. During rainy season, there are many attractive cascades, such as those in Ende and Tigou. Teli, Ourou, and Banani host spectacular waterfalls, each descending the full height to the escarpment.

Rock Climbing, Bouldering, Canyons, Hang gliding. The rock climbing potential is enormous, but little has been done. Records of climbs are sketchy at best. The Ende pinnacle is one feature that has reportedly been climbed. Climbers on hiking trips are encouraged to bring their climbing shoes for bouldering near the campements and at rest stops along the trail. The quality of the rock is generally excellent. Slot canyons will also occasionally be encountered, and they offer some adventurous, if short, side trips. Hang gliding is another possible activity, but you will need to bring all your own equipment.

Villages and Markets. There are numerous villages on both the top and bottom of the escarpment. The cliff bottom villages are generally more scenic (with the cliff face in the background!) and well known from a tourist point of view, but some on top, such as Begnimatou, are equally spectacular. Some of the villages are quite spread out, as much as a kilometer in length (for example, Ende), and many comprise multiple sub-villages.

Village names can be confusing, due to both multiple spellings of the same name (as described previously) and also because one village name may have multiple variations for various nearby sub-villages (for example, Idjeli-na and Idjeli-do). For the most part, one name only for each village is used in this guide. Usually, cliff top villages have different names than those below but there are some exceptions such as Idjeli, Kundou, and Yougo. The suffix –na identifies the cliff bottom village.

Most villages have markets every five or seven days1 and visiting them can be a memorable experience. They typically start in the afternoon and continue into the night. A central activity, especially in the evening/night, is drinking the local millet-based alcohol beverage, brewed and sold by women who actively offer samples in calabashes to convince you that theirs is the best quality to buy. Ask your guide to help plan you itinerary so you can stay at least one night in a village on market day.

Campements. Most villages have at least one campement. Some are fairly primitive while others are slightly more “upscale” -- meaning that they are cleaner, have an overhead tank in the shower stall (as opposed to just a bucket), and might have a porcelain toilet over a cement latrine hole and flowering plants growing in the courtyard. Except in Sanga, no campements have electricity, running water, fans or air conditioning. Be sure to bring your own supply of toilet paper, soap, and shampoo!

All campements have foam mattresses, but it is recommended that you bring your own mosquito net and cord to tie it up with (the square type with four tie-in points is recommended over the “tepee-style” with a single tie point).

Most of the year, you will want to sleep on the roof, accessed by stairs or a Dogon-style ladder, as the rooms are uncomfortably hot, even at night. Be prepared during the rainy season for the possibility of late night storms which result in rapid descent to a room! Rooftop poles or posts are usually available to tie up your mosquito net. Most campements have blankets (although they are not usually needed), but is recommended that you bring your own sheet. During the cold months of December and January, you will want to bring a sleeping bag or at least an extra blanket.

You can wash your clothes in a bucket (or someone at the campement will do them for you for perhaps 500 cfa). Except perhaps in the rainy season, they will dry very quickly (even at night if there is the slightest breeze).

Meals. Campements make meals at the instruction of the guide. Offerings are typically limited: couscous or pasta with sauce and a few vegetables and some chicken or goat meat is common. Your guide may bring some canned vegetables to liven up the meals. Some fresh produce, such as tomatoes, may be available from local gardens during the dry season or, to a limited extent, in the rainy season. Fresh fruit is uncommon at most times of the year.

Breakfast is hot water with tea or instant coffee and bread or local donuts. Your guide may bring jam or peanut butter.

Campements will provide water from a nearby village pump or well. Treatment of some kind is recommended. If you choose not to treat the water, it is recommended that you get it directly from a pump to avoid possible contamination from campement water containers.

Most campements have gas-powered refrigerators with cold (or at least semi-cold) bottled water, soft drinks, and beer. Meals, lodging, and the village tourist tax, are typically included in your “package deal” guide fee, but you will need to pay for drinks (other than pump water), so plan accordingly.

Most campements have Dogon souvenirs for sale, especially wood carvings.

Hazards. Heat is the greatest hazard. It saps your energy in ways you might not realize at first. Be sure to maximize hydration before you even start and drink lots of water throughout the day. Carrying a minimum of two liters per person is recommended. Blisters can also result from the intense heat; carry band-aids and moleskin.

Intense sun is another major concern. Sun hats and liberal use of sunscreen are essential. Get early starts and take occasional breaks under shade trees. As discussed previously, rains can create slippery ledges and challenging stream cautions

Malaria prophylaxis is recommended year round, especially during the rainy season. Long pants and sleeves and/or insect repellent are recommended during evening meals. Flies can be a nuisance at times during the rainy season, especially when food is present.

As is the case in much of Africa, bilharzia (schistosomiasis), an illness that originates in snails, is present in water, especially standing water, and swimming is thus not recommended.

Poisonous snakes are present but rarely seen. Keep your eyes on the ground where you are stepping, though. The Dogon say that seeing a snake when you are out hiking brings good luck! Lizards will be regularly encountered, but I have never seen a scorpion (although they are reportedly out there).

There are several nasty plants that the locals refer to collectively as the “Dogon police.” One mimosa shrub/tree has hooked thorns that stick to you like Velcro on steroids, but it is rarely a problem if you stick to the trails. In sandy soils, especially along the bottom, be on the lookout during the rainy season for a foxtail-like grass with both light green and dark purple clusters of innocent looking, but very nasty, little spiny seeds that stick to any passing clothing and are difficult to remove.

Another plant hazard during the rainy season are weeds that grow profusely along the trails up and down the cliffs. Use care to avoid “sandwiching” plant material between your boots and the rocks which can make your step surprisingly slippery.

Speaking of rocks, the sandstone generally has a high friction value, but be aware that some of the lighter colored rock can be polished and more slippery. Of course, when wet, any rock can be slippery so care is advised.

Encounters with the Dogon and Fulani People

Encounters with local inhabitants will occur, and some people, especially children, are quite curious. Dogon is the dominant ethnic group, while some Fulani cattle herders may also be encountered. In general, I have found the villagers to be respectful, friendly and helpful (although you cannot count on them to speak French). Be especially differential to elders. Your guide will suggest proper etiquette.

Speaking Dogon. As in all places, people appreciate efforts to learn the local language. Greet people you meet along the trail with “Po” and “Say-o.” The usual greeting sequence is a fairly long back and forth goes as one person inquires about the other and then the sequence reverses. It goes something like this:

Person 1 Person 2

Po (hello) Sayo (like ca va in French, this works as both a question and a response)

Oumana sayo? (How’s the family?) Sayo

Gay sayo? (How is your heath?) Sayo (sometimes shortened to Say as sequence goes on)

Ho sayo (How are you yourself?) Sayo. Oumana sayo?

Sayo Gay sayo?

Sayo Ho sayo?

Ya po Ya po

Here are a few other useful phrases:

Emma yay Good bye

Digga digga Slowly

Amma u obara God bless you

Edjiko Good

Go Go

Vay Come

Ganna Thank you

Eeen oua I want

Garra yemma Let’s go

Your guide can teach you more greetings and phrases.

Visiting Tellem Houses. Ancient Tellem houses are ubiquitous but most are high on cliff faces and thus inaccessible. Accessible ones can be visited in Teli, Ende, Kani-Kombole, and Nombori. For central and northern areas, including the fine Tellem houses in Ireli and Yougopri, access is forbidden.

I have to admit that I'm having a hard time keeping up with blog entries. With several weeks in between entries I'm bound to forget huge chunks of what I've done. And of course there's also the fact that when I get to use the internet all I want to do is surf aimlessly. But now I am here and write I will!

Most recently I attended a sensibilization on female genital mutilation, or excision, at the CEG where I teach. Practically the entire school attended. I've never been so horrified and disgusted in all my life. We watched a video where we witnessed several girls being excised. Their screams were haunting (dull razors or blades were used and no anesthetic) and I had nightmares that night. I think I have a strong stomach, but I had to work incredibly hard to keep my food down while watching this video. But at least most of the students paid attention and took it seriously; many jumped at the opportunity to answer questions asked of them and, in turn, asked their own questions.

On Thanksgiving, Jillian and I collaborated with my counterpart and the director of my school to put on a sensibilization about HIV/AIDS. I find the pictures (above) quite amusing. Jillian and I were in charge of doing condom demonstrations for the whole school; it was a lot of fun, especially when we called students to the front to demonstrate what they learned.

There was nothing Thanksgiving-ish about the actual Thanksgiving day, but last weekend I celebrated the holiday with other Americans in Bobo-Dioulasso. I ate turkey, green bean casserole, macaroni (almost exactly like Grandma's!), potatoes, apple pie and carrot cake. Holy Amazingness it was delcious! And I got to visit with friends I hadn't seen since August, so it was all quite lovely.

I have tentative plans for Chrismas and New Year's. Tentative because I somehow have to go to Ouaga very soon to get my visa, but I'm stuck in Bouroum-Bouroum at least until the 22nd grading exams and calculating averages. I think I'll be able to work it out, but here are the plans: Christmas in Po searching for elephants or animals besides donkeys and goats. New Year's in Ghana on a beach with an ice cold coke between my peeling hands (my hands haven't gotten better, but I called the PCMO and he's sure it's just dry skin; hydrating lotion is en route from ouaga as we I write!). Then I have to be back in Ouaga on January 5th for Inter-Service Training. Whew! That's a loaded two weeks, but it sounds like oodles of fun.

Speaking of fun, I bought the first Harry Potter book in French and have started reading it. It's taking me forever, but I figure it's a good way to expand my French vocabulary. And it's Harry Potter; what's not to like?

Okay I'm tired of writing for now. Until next time. And if that next time happens to be after the 25th, a very jolly Merry Christmas to everyone!

Wow, Matt, now you’re even more than halfway to 50. Keep on truckin’! And have some cake! Lately I’ve been craving the box confetti cake with chocolate frosting. But alas, instead I satisfy my hunger with delicious rice and sauce with bits of cabbage. A happy alternative to cake. Anyway, Matty, I hope your bday is splendiferous. Today is also my sitemate, Jillian’s, birthday, so Happy Birthday, Jillian!

I haven’t been able to leave Bouroum Bouroum for 3 weeks, and I wasn’t certain I’d make it out this weekend because of a potential Saturday site visit from a PC official. But JZ, you’re my hero because you came yesterday instead. So now I’m in Gaoua (biked again!).

I’ll try to sum up the last 3 weeks :

I gave exams to all of my classes and it took me about a week to grade them all. For each class, about half the students achieved the moyenne (50%), which is considered ‘normal’ but which I find a little disheartening. After I returned exams I encouraged all students to come to me for tutoring if they don’t understand all the material I‘ve covered in class. I also told them that there will be one more exam before this trimester ends, so those who aren’t satisfied with their grades will have another opportunity to improve their overall score. My goodness, there are some students who just can’t accept the grade they earned. These students approach me and try to argue for more points; after I’ve explained why I’ve subtracted points and they’re still not satisfied, I tell them I’m going to take off another point if they don’t stop bugging me about it. That tactic works pretty well.

Last weekend was the school’s 'nettoyage,’ or cleaning. Boys bring their machetes and girls bring their brooms, and all the students clean the school inside out while the teachers oversee the work. We’re trying to cut down on potential snake problems. But I observed more of the gender role distinctions that are so prevalent here. Girls must sweep, but when I recommended (jokingly) to one of the many male teachers that I could go home and bring back my broom for him to use, he laughed heartily and immediately dismissed the idea. Boys don’t sweep. Women must do the cooking. I don’t know how many times I’ve told Burkinabè men that I don’t like to cook, and every time their response is ‘Il faut apprendre’ (You must learn) because I’ll have to cook for my husband. I’ve yet to breach the subject of my not wanting to marry any time soon (or never, as I actually believe will be the case), and instead I retort that he’ll just have to cook for me. Oh the laughs I get then! Apparently I’m a funny person even when I’m not aware that I am (okay, I do realize that sometimes I’m a bit ridiculous, but that’s beside the point). The notion of boys sweeping or pumping water is completely foreign to many Burkinabè. I’m thinking about experimenting with this a little in my classes, test the gender roles mayhaps, and select a boy to balayer the classroom.

Herman the Cat is doing well and he loves me! But you should’ve seen him the first week I had him. He absolutely loathed me. Hissed at me everytime he saw me, wouldn’t let me come within 2 feet of him, and then of course the constant howling ALL NIGHT LONG. He wasn’t meowing ; it sounded like he was being murdered, a slow horrible death. I didn’t get any sleep 3 nights in a row and I was about to toss him out on his hiney (not really, but I thought about it a lot, especially when I was wide awake at 3 am). But then something amazing happened last Saturday : Herman fell in love with my feet. He approached them slowly, sniffed at them (and didn’t keel over!), and commenced rubbing his head against them and purring! And he’s loved me ever since. He’s about two months old, black and white (like Licky!), and he loves eating fish. Naturally. Not sure if Herman is a boy or a girl, but I’m leaning towards boy. But that didn’t stop me from putting a collar on him that says ‘Girl Power!’ He’s killed a cockroach (accidentally, rolled over it while playing with it) and likes to play with the little froggies I occassionally find in my casa. And he’s such a lover, always purring and kneading and sitting in my lap, and digging his claws into my legs and hanging from them when I’m standing up and he wants attention. Precious moments, complete with blotchy red marks.

For the 26th, Jillian, my homologue and I are putting on a sensibilization at the school for World AIDS Awareness Day, which I believe actually falls on December 2 but the 26th is the day for the Ministry of Health. We’re going to give the students red paper ribbons to wear (Jillian and I are making 700!) and we’re going to dish out all the scary facts about AIDS and most importantly, modes of transmission and steps for prevention. I’m looking forward to it.

I’ve also been attending the schools’ soccer games which started about two weeks ago. There are at least two classes for each level (6e, 5e, 4e, 3e), and so the matches are intraclass level. They’re exciting and almost all the teachers and students attend, but no girls are on any of the teams. If I’m not able to start a girls’ team my first year, then I’ll try my darndest to kick one off the following year. I miss soccer.

Speaking of soccer, World Cup next summer! I’m going to glue myself to a TV somewhere in Burkina for the entire month of June. Hopefully I’ll be able to manage that because I don’t want to miss it!

I’m going to Bobo in two weeks to celebrate Thanksgiving with some other volunteers. I hope everyone has a wonderfully delicious Thanksgiving next week!

And now it's time to bring out the Christmas music. Come they told me, ba rum ba bum bum.

Happy Halloween!

Cool news, I might have a cat by tomorrow. I met said cat in a boutique yesterday but he or she ran away from me and started chasing insects. But that cat will love me, and regardless of its gender I'm going to name it Herman. Herman the cat. I just hope this one is still alive by tomorrow. About a month ago I was supposed to get a cat, but a few days before I was going to buy him or her a dog attacked and killed the poor thing. So I'm really hoping that Herman will be alive by the time I get home tomorrow. I will have to fashion him and litter box and get him rice and fish to eat. Ooh I'm so excited!

School's fine. I gave all three classes a crapload of homework in preparation for their exam in about a week. The homework's difficult and the kids complained, and I lost my patience. I told them that it's their choice to do the work--they're the ones who need to score above or at the moyenne. But I am enjoying some of my students--the ones who take an interest and come to my tutoring hours and learn the material. It's just that when I change the questions around a bit, thereby forcing them to use their brains instead of simply plugging numbers into an equation, I get 80 students saying 'On ne comprend pas.' Reflechissez yo! That's why I gave them difficult homework. Some will struggle, some will ask for help and others will only copy off their neighbors, and then we'll see who really understands the material come test time.

So yes, Halloween in Gaoua! Mom, I received my solar charger package! It got here 3 weeks ago but the volunteer in Gaoua forgot to mention it to me. And I received a letter from Remaroosi--only took two weeks! A bunch of volunteers are here for the weekend--we're going to watch movies and perhaps go dancing--which for me means means moving around in my chair. Just like car dancing! It's the way to go--you get to sit, dance and drink coke at the same time.

And I get Monday off because tomorrow is All Saints Day! Life is beautiful. Trick or treat.

Next weekend is Halloween ! Yesterday I carved a pumpkin with Jillian and her fiance, Ibe, while we listened to Bette Midler, Sarah Jessica Parker and Kathy Njimy belt out tunes from the movie classic Hocus Pocus. I wonder if someone is going to take my pumpkin from my courtyard and cook something out of it. Most Burkinabé don’t understand the purpose of carving a face into a pumpkin and not eating it. I told them that I”ll use the seeds for food, salty seeds! Is it possible to grill them? I am without an oven.

Teaching is going well, though I had a hard time teaching my 5eme students how to place points in a Cartesian coordinate system (something they should’ve learned the year before). But I’ve set up tutoring hours, and tons of students came. It was awesome; I was bombarded with questions, completely surrounded by kids who want to learn and do extra exercises.

But it’s not all fun. This past week I had to discipline some kids because they wouldn’t listen or they’d be disrespectful. Thursday was particularly brutal, and I was in a pissy mood all day. I suppose it doesn’t help that I’m not a very patient person to begin with. Also, I had two bats flying around in my classroom last week. It didn’t do much for the students’ concentration and I myself was distracted having narrowly missed a few collisions to the head. No rabies! I don’t want to be the face of rabies like poor Meredith.

I no longer am doing my own laundry! My water girl, Florida, also washes my clothes for me and now they actually smell clean! When I washed my own clothes they smelled moldy, and that is definitely no bueno.

The week before last I did a hand-washing sensibilization in my classes. I brought in piedmont (chili-esque condiment), asked kids to rub his or her fingers in it and then touch their eyes. And some of them were actually going to do it (something about blindly following teachers instructions no matter what they themselves think; I want to correct that). I then had them wash their hands with water (piedmont still present), and then with soap and water. We discussed the benefits of always washing your hands with soap before eating and after using the bathroom; I likened the piedmont to feces and other nasties to get my point across. It was quite fun.

I’ve found 3 scorpions in my house so far, huge brown ones. I was told that the smaller they are, the more dangerous. I sprayed the crap out of them with insecticide and then tossed them over my courtyard wall using my handy dustpan. I also have a caterpillar infestation, but they’re cute and soft and they curl up into balls when I hold them in my hand.

My plans aren’t definite yet, but I think I’m going to Bobo for Thanksgiving (actually the first weekend in December because of Tabasky), and possibly Togo for Christmas. Hello Mr. Beach and Mr. Ocean. Woot woot!

I made a wish list for things I cannot get in Burkina (SEE RIGHT, por favor). The best way to send stuff is to use the flat rate box, it costs about 40 bucks and should arrive within 2-3 weeks. Thank you to everyone who writes and sends me goodies. I can’t tell you all how much I appreciate it!

I have successfully completed my first week of school! Yay me! And it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. I came in the first day of class and I laid down the law; and when students didn't abide by it, I sent them to the surveillant. It was awesome. But I also kept thinking, "golly gee I'm mean." But I'd rather be very strict for awhile so the students know that I mean business, and then ease up later in the year. Pheeeww, it was a long week, but altogether a productive one.

I have two 5eme classes (7th grade) and a 4eme class (8th grade). And right now I'm teaching them about symmetry about a point or a plane, and powers of 10, respectively. I have anywhere between 80 and 100 students in all three classes, but I don't have the attendance sheets yet so I'm not certain of the number. But yes, the class sizes are huge indeed. It's going to blow major chunks once I have to start grading tests. But as the Burkinabé say, "ça va aller."

And the week before last I helped give the polio vaccine to kids five years and younger in the quaint little village I like to call Bouroum-Bouroum, or home. I didn't actually put the droplets in the kids' mouths, but I did mark their crusty little fingers and keep tally of all the people we gave the vaccination to. It was fun, and people gave us peanuts! I find it amusing the number of little kids who are frightened of white people. And their parents know it, too. So what do they do? They shove the kids into my arms to make them start bawling, and then they chuckle chuckle chuckle. It is kind of fun, but I do sincerely hope that those kids aren't scarred for life from being touched by the scary white girl.

And where am I right now? Gaoua, you say? Actually I'm in Diebougou which is about 50 km north of BrBr. The internet hasn't been working lately in Gaoua, so I figured this would be a great time to check out Diebougou and use the lovely internet. So far, so good. Diebougou is more compact than Gaoua and a hell of a lot less hilly, which I dig the way I dig sugar-packed American peanut butter. Yum.

Mayhaps I will buy some baskets and bananas. And of course a coke or two.

I am a biking fiend. It's twice now that I've biked the 25-30 km from Bouroum-Bouroum to Gaoua; and for someone who doesn't enjoy biking, the ride isn't all that bad.

Theoretically, school should start next week on the 1 st because that's when students start showing up (as they come from neighboring villages). So I'll be there, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, poised and ready to teach math.

Life's been pretty quiet lately. I spend my days painting my house (by the way, the red turned out Pepto Bismol pink, but it's growing on me), reading, lesson planning and hanging out in town. Have no fear for I have been drinking plenty of cokes.

It's interesting because though I'm in "Lobi Country" there's a large Mossi population here in BrBr. But the groups are very divided--the Lobi hang out together on one side of the road, and the Mossi on the other side. I try to hang out with both, and there's this one woman, Ilene, on the Lobi side who I enjoy talking to; she's a bit of a firecracker which is probably why I enjoy her company. Most of my neighbors are Lobi, but most of them never come visit me at my house.The Lobi are very much an isolated and independent people. Others may perceive their behavior as unfriendly, but I haven't found that to be so. They saluer me just as often as everyone else in my village, but they keep to themselves and to their own families. I think this behavior is more "American" and therefore much more familiar to me.

I've been given a Lobi name! As the third child my Lobi name is Beni. I like the sound of it and I believe it means 'blessing.' Well obviously my name means 'blessing'; the world did become a better place on the day I was born. Hee!

I was washing my clothes yesterday and gave up in the middle of it. I hate doing laundry in the states, so having to now wash them by hand makes me want to cry. I think next time Florida brings me water, I'll ask her about ajoutering washing my clothes. She's such a nice girl, maybe 19. She's married, has a little girl and she failed her BEPC last year. The BEPC is similar to a middle school exit exam. She told me that she's going to take a year off and then redouble, but I'm not so sure that she'll follow through. At least I'll be around at the time she's intending to go back, and so I can encourage her to do so. I'm wondering if some of these students would pass their exams if only they had extra instruction through tutoring. Undoubtedly I'll have to wait to see how my own students perform, but I think it likely that I'll designate 'office hours' to anyone who wants more help.

I visited Mikey, another volunteer, last week in Kampti which is about 65 km south of me. Kampti's a bit bigger than BrBr, and there I bought baskets to put crap in and cool pagnes to wear. And Mikey also made me delicious American food—tacos, cereal and Kraft macaroni and chesse!

Pictures! Okay, it'll be a while before I'll be able to post pictures because often times the connection is so achingly slow it takes 5-10 minutes to load a page. Count on me posting some within the next couple of months.

But I would dearly love to have some pictures sent to me. In the process of setting up my house I realized that I didn't bring nearly enough pictures with me. So friends and family, if you'd be so kind as to scan through your photos, past and present, and print them out for me and then send them down yonder (CHECK OUT MY NEW ADDRESS!). Family functions, outings, random photos—I'd love to have them all! And I wouldn't mind some more dark chocolate M&M's, and peanut butter.

I'm so excited for October. Halloween is probably my favorite holiday. Hmm, I wonder if the people in my village will think I'm even more odd if I dress up in a costume for Halloween.

Remus, watch Mom's Got a Date with a Vampire! And Hocus Pocus!

In Gaoua for internet, chicken and some quality hang-out time with other volunteers in my area.

I've been in Bouroum-Bouroum for 2 weeks now and I'm getting settled in little by little.I'm all set to paint my house. I bought a mattress, a couple of chairs and some buckets, and I'm hoping to get a table or two really soon. A table would be quite nice.

My casa is huge—3 bedrooms; a salon, indoor shower (aka a draining hole in the floor) and a large courtyard. I should be getting a hanggar built soon and a door to my courtyard to keep this one pesky rooster (not to mention some neighbor kids) from coming around at all hours. The family that used to live in this house just moved out before I came, and I inherited their dog for about a week until they came from Gaoua and retrieved it. This dog didn't care much for me at first and he growled every time I entered and left the house. But one day he decided I wasn't so bad (it was probably the animal crackers) and then proceeded to follow me everywhere I went, including to the latrine which was rather interesting. But now the doggy's gone and I'm left wanting a cat. Meow.

Since school doesn't start until October I've been spending my days meeting neighbors, hanging out in town drinking cold cokes, reading (I've finished The Shining and Pride and Prejudice and Zombies), sleeping and thinking about how I want to fix up my concrete house because the walls are seriously depressing me. I also think I have a mouse but he has yet to come out of hiding.

BB has a marché every 5 days. It's a huge village affair and kind of overwhelming when in the middle of it. I almost tripped over a fullgrown, bloodied dead pig at the last marché, which could have been exceedingly unpleasant. But I've bought buckets and dishes and delicious bissap at the marché, and I'm hoping to buy some cucumbers next time around.

Life here has been pretty good so far, if not a little stressful. I don't know how many proposals I've received or how many times I've been asked if I have a boyfriend or to give out my phone number. I'm at the point where I'm wary of almost every man who approaches me, unless of course we're already acquainted. Oh well, I suppose that this awkward and uncomfortable phase will pass eventually, especially once I get to know more people.

I've met the dirzector of my school and we've just discussed my teaching schedule. I'm set to teach 3 math classes for a total of 15 hrs/week. The director also wants me to start an English Club and organize sensibilizations for young girls to make sure they understand the benefits of being babyless while attending school. I'm excited to do these sensibilizations because then I'll also be able to talk about HIV/AIDS preventions and contraception.

Since coming to BB I've pumped water once and then I found a nice girl willing to pump water for me (the pump is far and it sucks pedaling on a bike with heavy jugs of water). I bought a huge purple trashcan that she fills up with water every 4 days or so. Having no electricity I've been using my phone as a light source and have been going to bzed around 7:30. At some point I'll buy some candles or a kerosene lantern. I have a tin roof so when it's barely sprinkling outside it sounds like a thunderstorm inside. The other day I washed my clothes buut then the clothesline broke when it started to rain and my clothes were even dirtier than before. I just about cried. Thanks to some borthday packages I've been enjoying PB & J sandwiches and loads of chocolate. Thanks so much! I've even melted some of the chocolate bars and mixed it in a bowl with Jif, making a peanut butter and chocolate sundae. I am a culinary genius.

Sadly and a bit belatedly, I'm finding that my personality doesn't mesh very well with Burkinabé culture. I love solitude and they consider it abnormal. I find it a little annoying to have people come around and hang out and not have anything to say to me. They prefer to stare. I find it unnerving and odd, so it'll be necessary for my sanity to adust my thinking. But I never noticed this social trait in Ouahigouya because we always had the TV noise to fall back on and I was constantly surrounded by Americans. But here in Bouroum-Bouroum my neighbors come to my house where they sit and stare in silence. Sometimes I'll start conversations and then discover that my visitors don't speak any French beyond 'Bonjour' and 'Ça va?' And still we sit, sometimes for an hour, when all I want to do is be alone and read how Elizabeth Bennett unknowingly wins the heart of Mr. Darcy with her wit and her superior zombie-killing combat skills.

Happy Birthday, Shelly! I hope you have an amazing one!