My loyal readers may remember I lived in a small village by the name of Fandjora and painted 3 wordless images depicting healthy practices for mothers and their children. Since April, I have been working on a project over twice its size, on the wall of the Maison des Jeunes of Takaledougou.

And it's done.

It wasn't so much the physical completion of the mural after hours and hours of labor under a hot African sun that felt so good. It was the way we inaugurated these images into the community.

In short, we partied.

Musicians tapped on their balaphones and banged on their drums, attracting over 200 people to this event. The young and old danced together. And then we talked. And by "we" I mean my dear friend Siaka and a health community agent by the name of Ibrahim. They did it all and they did it magnificently.

We talked about what these murals symbolize. More importantly, we asked the community what they saw in these images, what they mean, and why they're so important. Like:

Going to the CSPS (the health clinic) when you're injured, sick or pregnant.

Sleep under a mosquito net to avoid malaria!

Eat well-balanced, nutritious meals (using only local ingredients)--especially for mothers and their children!

Use a condom to avoid ISTs and HIV/AIDS.

By the end of the party, we painted as many hands--large and small--that we could find and the community made their mark on their new wall, as a promise to "vivons une vie saine à Takalédougou" (live a healthy lifestyle in Takaledougou).

Weird to think this will be my last major project before leaving. I've been particularly sentimental and reflective lately, but not enough to eloquently put it into words on this blog. Knowing me, this will be one of my last blog entries while I'm a PCV in Burkina Faso. I'll try to come up with something good before my time is up.

Mango season as been in full force and I have now convinced myself that I am a vrai connoisseur. Mangue ordinaire, Lupense, Kent, Gref, Mangue Papaye (as big as your head!), Mangue Retard, Mademoiselle--they're here and they're a plenty. This is the best time of year for the women who sell on the road--buses, cars and bush taxis stop specifically at Takaledougou to by the mangoes, and while they're at it maybe some cashews, pois sucre or dried mangoes. But it doesn't mean that life is any easier for the women--they still work long hours, they still have bad days where they only make 1.ooo CFA (2 US dollars) a day and they're still vulnerable to prostitution.

Some of my neighbors bringing mangoes from groves and the town next door. This trip is about 1k up and down a steep gorge. They do this 1 to 2 times a day.

Getting mangoes together to sell.

Getting Ready to sell!

So 9 PCVs and I participated in what I like to call MangoFest. Many of us dressed in Burkinabe

woman garb (including some of our male PCVs), grabbed some bowls full of mangoes and started selling for the women. The women were just as amused as they were grateful as we chased after cars yelling "Mangoro bey, Mangoro bey! Keme Keme!" (Mangoes here, 500 cfa!....its about 10 succulent mangoes for 1 US dollar. Great deal, huh?). We learned quickly of the trials and tribulations these women endure daily: discouragement, neglect, fatigue--and our livelihoods weren't dependent on mango sales like these women's livelihoods are everyday. The day started slowly--took nearly an hour to make our first sale! But by the end of the day, with a couple calabashes of liquid courage and a lot of encouragement from the women, we made nearly 10.000 CFA (20 US dollars) for the women that day.

Attempting to sell mangoes to a bush taxi passing by.

A lot of women selling the same thing can get a bit competitive. All in good fun!

We made a sale!

After we finished selling, we had build enough rapport with the women to have some informal discussions with them about HIV/AIDS. Since these are the women in village MOST vulnerable to the risk of unprotected sex, this was an important discussion. While a lot of them, the younger ones, were very shy and embarrassed, they were receptive to learning. And while many of them new very well out to transmit and how to prevent HIV/AIDS, many of them DID NOT know how to use a condom (which goes to show that knowledge does NOT necessarily transmit to action...an important lesson I have learned here).

Jenny here was a soldier when it came to chasing bush taxis.Flirtation has its advantages.

Women and girls practice how to put on a condom.

Since MangoFest I have been running around the country for various activities, namely a training in Ouahigoya covering training techniques/info for the incoming group of PCT (Peace Corps Trainees). I will be working 3 weeks of their stag, plus I'm attending my COS (Closing of Service conference) which means I'll be gone for a month straight from village starting in the 2nd week of July. Really bummed about that, but looking forward to working with the the future PCVs of Burkina.

After Ouahigoya I went to Niger with 3 other PCVs for a couple days. Niger is currently THE poorest country in the world (Burkina moved up to 6th poorest, wahoo!). Placed nearly entirely in the Sahel, Niger is barren from what we saw of it--trees couldn't even grow in much of the terrain we passed. Despite the heat (Niger is JUST inching into rainy season) and the dryness, we had a great time! Saw one of the only remaining herds of giraffes in West Africa, took a tour of the Niger river via pirogue, toured some artisan centers, and got caught in a couple sand storms! Here are a couple pictures:

So, the next several weeks will be spent in village finishing up my mural project before heading back to Ouahigoya to work stag. I recently found out that I will officially be extending with the West African Trade Hub! But unfortunately I'll have to leave village at the end of October (as opposed to the end of November/December when my COS date was originally). After I leave village, I'll be in Ouaga for 2 weeks working with the Trade Hub at SIAO, West Africa's largest artisan festival! By mid-November I head to Dakar, get settled in for two weeks and then spend the month of December back home in Americaland before starting my 3rd year in Senegal. I'm very excited to see what the future will bring, but already growing sentimental of my soon departure from Burkina. Looking forward to getting some serious time in village to spend time with friends.

The last two weeks in January was spent in Fandjora, a satellite village 30km away, through sugar cane fields on rough roads and sandy paths. Fandjora does not have a CSPS--if they require medical attention they need to go to the CSPS in my village. This is not easy, especially when most don't own a moto (and even if they did, it takes nearly an hour to get there--kinda hard to do when you're bleeding profusely or your wife is about to give birth).

So, that's why I decided to live in Fandjora for 2 weeks. Its neglected relationship with the CSPS (and vice versa) is evident in a lot of respects. I was there in particular for the health of the mothers and children. Many of the children in Fandjora are malnourished, some severely malnourished (imagine a 20 month old child with a forearm circumference of 9cm). The Hearth Model is a program in which mothers of malnourished children make enriched porridge using only local ingredients every morning for 12 days. By the end of the 12 day period, children have gained significant amounts of weight as a result of the Hearth.

A typical Hearth group is composed of 8-10 women with children of similar ages. Because I was only staying in Fandjora for one 2-week period, guilt provoked me to take on a group of 28 women with children ages 6 months to 3 years. This led to some very chaotic mornings and difficult situations for children. With 28 women, it was very difficult to keep track of women and their children; they individually felt less obligated to attend to each session; younger children required lighter porridge and older children required heavier porridge; as a stranger in the community the women did not put the trust in me that women in Takaledougou would. On top of it all, my counterpart for this project (the nurse at my CSPS) insisted on watering down the porridge far too much to do anything for these children. Women are not used to cooking porridge for nearly 30 children, so when I pleaded that the women add more ingredients (for example, more than 8 tomatoes for a vegetable porridge to feed 30 children) they freaked out. "Its too much" they would say. It wasn't until the last half of the Hearth, after battling with them every morning, that they finally started to believe and trust in me.

So, after the Hearth every morning, I would spend the rest of the day until sundown painting 3 murals on a house along a path that was heavily trafficked. These were wordless murals (since many people, especially women, are illiterate) with messages encouraging healthy practices for mothers and their children. The process was not easy. First the walls were smoothed, then a layer of base paint. After that, I drew grid lines that would me draw and enlarge images that I had drawn on paper. The murals were drawn, then, using black, white, red, blue and yellow paint I mixed and matched colors to paint. While this required a lot of attention to detail, it was actually a huge stress reliever after my Hearth every morning.

The mural project turned out to be a huge success. Villagers stopped along the way to look at the images and explain their meaning to one another--the importance of going to vaccination days to get your child vaccinated, the kinds of foods to put in a nutritious meal, to go to the CSPS when you're about to give birth. Since CSPS staff only come out once a month, these images will be here every day, sensibilizing and reminding villagers of healthy practices.

Can you imagine having to leave your house to collect water? During my first few months at site, my water was supplied to me by lines women carefully walking into my house carrying over 20 liters of water on their heads and dumping it into my 260 liter trashcan of a water reserve. This lasted about a month or two. In an effort to be independent, I attempted to pull water myself. Unfortunately, this effort was thwarted--not only by my feeble upper arms, but also by my counterpart who thinks I can't be trusted with my own life and fall helplessly to my dark, wet death. Independent or not, the closest well (within 100 m of my house) dried up. All that was left was brown and opaque. So, my next water source was the water pump 1.5K (about a mile). I'd attach a big yellow 20 liter jug to the back of my bike (as if I didn't already look cool enough with my rad helmet), bike to the one of two pumps in my village, wait around and chat with the group of women in line to get water, pump my water and head back. Depending on how many women are in line and how lazy I'm feeling, this can take anywhere from 15-30 minutes. Sometimes I would make several trips a day, most days however I try to go as little as possible, adapting to a lifestyle of less than 20 liters a day. You can imagine what that lifestyle looks and smells like.

I'm still biking to get water (though I've been known to coax friends into doing it for me), though, now the twist cap to close the opening of my jug has sadly disappeared, so my bike ride back home can sometimes result in an unfortunately large loss of water. I was just informed this week though that we will be getting faucet water within months! This is not faucet-from-your-home water. This is 4 faucets that are being strategically placed in village to accommodate as many villagers as possible. Thankfully, one is being placed within 300m of my house, making this water endeavor far easier.

Speaking of water. Other than in the pumps and soon to be faucets, there's none. Its dry season once again. It hasn't rained since August and it probably won't until May or June. But gardens are blooming with all kinds of vegetables, its not too hot and its cool at night so all is good. Now that is in full force, harvest begins, wedding and funeral parties are in abundance, women are busy pounding corn and millet into flour, and villagers are looking for work to make some money for their families. Association Gonyonmon, the women's savings and credit group aimed to help entrepreneur and vulnerable women alike, is dwindling in membership. Many of the women sell mangoes and other seasonal fruit on the side of the road. That is their priority because that puts money in their hands immediately. So, setting aside 100 CFA every other week is a difficult commitment, even if it is used to take out loans of 50,000 CFA later down the road. Membership has certainly declined, though many have just lately showed up again to pay their late dues. Word is getting out that women are learning important skills to help themselves and their families and their earnings is slowing but steadily increasing, so I think membership will bounce back up.

The next two weeks will prove themselves to be rather interesting. Fandjora is a satellite village in my CSPS's "aire sanitaire" (health region). It is 30 k away on very rough dirt roads. No one speaks French. So, their relationship with the CSPS is rather, uh, neglected. A CSPS worker will go there once a month to give vaccinations to children (if they're informed about it) and thats it. If someone in Fandjora needed medical attention, they would be expected to transport themselves to the CSPS to get that attention. So when my counterpart and I travelled there to measure babies for malnutrition, the results were expected. Nearly half of the children measured were malnourished--many of them were even considered severely malnourished. So, I decided I would live there for the next two weeks to conduct two separate HEARTH models, a program designed to help mothers prepare nutritous meals for their children as well as sensibilize them on other health and sanitation topics. I also plan to paint several murals of health maternal and child practices to sensibilize villagers on a day to day basis. This is the most ambitious project I have started, and if half of it works out I'll be thrilled. I still don't know where exactly I'm staying, who I'm staying with and how I will cook or bathe (or get water...) but I'm really hoping all those things will sort themselves out.

It’s been really hard to sit down and write a proper email or blog these past, how many, 4 or 5 months now? Sometimes it was because I was feeling too lousy or useless, other times it was because I was too preoccupied enjoying life. There have been many ups and downs since my last email, and if that should mean anything, it should mean something pretty momentous: that I’m making myself vulnerable to new experiences and relationships here. For quite some time, I saw my service in the Peace Corps as a 2-year interval of time between ‘real life.’ I’m not quite sure when exactly it happened, but my time here is no longer just an interval of time, but my life.

Rainy season is just coming to a close. The temperatures are cooler and I can hardly see all the mud-brick houses of neighbors and friends over the tall stocks of corn and millet. Villagers are now collecting, literally, the fruits of their labor from a cultivating-filled rainy season: potatoes, peanuts, manioc, corn, millet, sesame, taro, and a plethora of other roots, leaves and grains I hadn’t really heard of until I arrived here. These things are their food for eating, their produce for selling—their sustenance for the year. This rainy season was not a very successful one, so I’m worried what conditions will be like this coming hot season when there is nothing. I’ll start the review of my past so many months with the visit from my parents and brother. They came in August, making it 10 months since I had seen my parents and over a year and a half since I had seen my brother. They were the first (and, most likely only) people from home that I will see while I’m here. The reunion was wonderful. Arranging a family vacation in the second poorest country in the world was harder than I thought, but we managed to hire a private driver to go all around the country with relative comfort. I was incredibly impressed with their fortitude despite all the new and challenging situations; minus the extreme heat (which wasn’t so extreme to me anymore), they seemed open and eager for new cultural experiences. I think the highlight of the trip for all of us was the time spent in my village. We pulled up to the market of my village with over 100 people around us, a band of bylaphones playing, dancers, and children holding hand-made Burkina and US flags. My friend Siaka, a very dear friend and an eager student of English, even crafted a banner that said “Welcome Parents of Amanda.” We danced from the market all the way to my house, and then we danced some more. So many people (particularly older women) would come up to my parents, hug them, grab their hands, and show them their deepest appreciation. We were all so touched at the lengths they had gone to welcome my family. Our two weeks in Burkina proved to be challenging and heartwarming, and in the end I think my whole family learned something about me and my life here that they could have only learned by seeing and experiencing themselves. After Burkina, we all went to Paris for a week. While I had forgotten what living in a developed life had been like, it did not take long at all to readjust. And I appreciated all the little things I had taken for granted before. Taking a shower every day was a luxury—water coming from a place other than a cup I held over my head, with warm water I didn’t have to heat up myself, was a beautiful thing. Actually, just drinking water from a faucet without worrying about how many parasites and amoebas would wreck havoc on my intestines was a vacation in itself. And feeling cold—I forgot what that was like! (it was actually rather unpleasant, since I didn’t have any warm clothes…). Paris was absolutely beautiful, perhaps it’s because I came from Burkina, but I don’t know if I’ve seen anywhere more beautiful. I managed to adjust and love living there probably within the first day, but the one thing I couldn’t adjust too so quickly was how much stuff was there. It was actually incredibly overwhelming, having so many options I managed to just stay in one place the whole time trying to figure out what to do first. What they have on one block in Paris is more than anything they have in probably any town in Burkina sans Bobo and Ouaga, the two largest cities. I came back to Burkina sad to say goodbye to my parents and brother, but very happy to get back to my life here. I also had a new project I was antsy to start in village. Right before my parents came, one of my best friends in village told me that there was a lot of prostitution in village. Not only that, but that certain people (people closely associated to the CSPS and to me) are involved in a prostitution ring. Some of the girls are underage. One, who I know personally, is 16 and pregnant. One of the clients of this ring is the head nurse of the CSPS and also my official counterpart. This was very alarming news, and after many talks with Peace Corps staff, I developed an action plan to approach the problem. After a lot of discussions and meetings, I have helped develop Association Gonyônmôn (meaning “helping hands” in Toussian) with women in my village. This group is very much like a savings and credit club, where, at each meeting, women contribute 100 CFA to the group funds, which, when substantial enough, will be used as a bank for women to take out loans for business endeavors. In the group there will be women who already have many kinds businesses—crochet, jewelry making, boutique owner, restaurant owner, etc. There will also be women who are exposed to risks like prostitution, who don’t know much about business or have any kind of skill to create a business (which has presumably lead them to prostitution in the first place). At each meeting, the women will make their contribution, and then they will be sensibilized in areas such as sexual health, nutrition, etc., and a business woman within the group will teach the women some skill or knowledge relevant to business. So for example, if a woman just learned how to make soap, she could take out a loan from the group to buy the materials and begin to sell soap, and over a period of time she will pay the group back with a small interest. This will act not only as a forum for women to start business, but for women to develop new business, whether in product or technique. Women have already been elected to positions and our first meeting was a success with over 50 women in attendance! The best part was that, while I was there, I did very little. The officers were the ones who discussed the mission of the association and its rules and regulations, while answering any questions the new members posed. I was simply used as a resource for clarification, which leads me to believe that these women are making this into their own. Other than this women’s group, I have not been up to too much else—I have adjusted to the relaxed, patient speed of village life. I have been learning Toussian, the native language of the ethnicity of my village, a language with no alphabet and only spoken by about 30,000 people. My best friend in village calls it the Chinese of Africa, because a Chinese person can understand it. My brother confirmed that, unfortunately, this is not the case. I have just begun a girls club and am working on a "health buddies" project with the school, but I am not far enough a long with these projects to report anything significant other than the uplifting enthusiasm and smiles of some wonderful children who I'm thrilled to work with.

So, overall, I would say that I’m very happy here. I recently celebrated my year anniversary in Burkina Faso (with probably a bit too much wine…), and come December I will be in Takaledougou for one year. It has flown by and I see the following year flying even faster. Now that I have about a year to go, I have thought more about what to do when I’m finished. Before arriving in Burkina, I seemed to have my whole life planned. Now, I’ve seemed to go back to the drawing board. I feel like I was in Paris: fortunately, I have many options. But there are so many I feel lost. I’ve thought about extending my service here for a partial year, I’ve thought about teaching English in France for a couple months, I’ve thought about grad school—but that opens up a whole other realm of options like location and major that I can’t begin to address. I could certainly do all of them, but the order is difficult, as is the timing. You might be thinking that I have plenty of time to decided, but you’d be surprised to learn that, here, months fly by sometimes faster than days or weeks.

I can't believe I'm saying this, but: I've been busy. Too busy to get online often or even write a proper blog post. The past two weeks I've been working a girls camp in village. In May and early June, I organized and selected a small group of girls to participate in a 5 week long camp during their summer break. Then, I left for Ghana, came back, celebrated the 4th of July, and started camp immediately upon my return to village. Probably very, very poor planning on my part. But with the help of some incredible fellow volunteers and some smart, hard working young girls, I don't think the first week could have gone any better.

For the first week, these 10 girls and I (and, for the first week, several very helpful volunteers) discussed life skills issues such as gender and culture, role models, risky behaviors and decision making skills. Honestly, I know not everything stuck--these are topics that they have probably never talked about and it was addressed in a way they were not use to. They didn't even know what it meant to have a role model. But now they do, and if that's the ONLY thing they got of the first week, I would still be thrilled, because the idea of a role model could have an impact on them for the rest of their lives.

This past week, and the following three weeks, the girls are split up into two groups: Health and Commerce, each meeting once a week. The health group will be discussing the various health issues that face the village and work to create sensibilizations (informational sessions, whether they are purely sessions or take the form of theater sketches or informal talks) to inform the rest of the village how to better take care of their health. The commerce group will focus on the importance of record keeping and budgeting, and we will be developing a product to sell to the village for, hopefully, a profit. On the third day of the week, all the girls reconviene to share what they learned and also to learn english (at their request!). These are girls who are busy all day washing clothes and dishes, going into the fields to help their families farm, cooking--and yet they are voluntarily taking time out of their days to spend with each other and learn. And what is even more surprising is they come early! Their enthusiasm and high spirits are truly inspiring, and its keeping me going during rainy season, when most people in village are busy out in the fields.

So, Ghana was great. In many, many ways. I spent nearly two weeks in Ghana with a group of fellow Burkina PCVs. Ghana is the paradise of West Africa: lush green fields, clean (depending on the beach, some were covered in human waste…) pristine beaches, beautiful castles, lobster, a variety of cold beers, burritos, ocean water... We began in Accra, the capital of Ghana, which is the closest thing to an urban, western looking city I have stepped foot in since October of last year. Accra, in my newly developed perspective, is a booming city. All the streets were paved, and paved evenly. There were over passes and streetlights and sidewalks. There were many, many tall buildings. There were toilets (instead of latrines). The electricity didn't cut out. A laminated, multiple-page restaurant menu serving sandwiches, muffins, crepes and a variety of other diverse foods unheard of in Burkina was looked through with far too much excitement. We were even thrilled to find (and keep, of course) discarded garments and trash on the side of the road that was perfectly fine and need not be thrown out. Accra, essentially, was the big rock candy mountain to a Peace Corps Volunteer living in Burkina. From Accra, we went to Cape Coast, a cute port town, home to the Cape Coast Castle and probably the most picturesque views I have seen since coming to Africa. Several castles line the coast of Ghana, as they were once used to keep far too many Africans in far too small, unkempt spaces to be shipped to Europe and America as slaves. The floors, while made of rock, were covered in a thick layer of what looked like tar. Our tour guide explained to us that this layer was actually human waste of these tortured Africans that had long since become one with the castle. From Cape Coast we headed to the National Park. Unfortunately, we saw no exotic wildlife like monkeys or elephants, but we did nearly die on a canopy walk! Wooden platforms were suspended 200 ft high on massive, beautiful trees which were connected by a thin, wobbly bridge made out of some rope, metal, and a little bit of plastic. You’d think it would be these bridges that would be unstable. It was actually the wooden platforms that proved us wrong, when one fell about a foot and a half down the tree as 9 of us stood atop it. Two fellow volunteers had their hands trapped between the tree and the metal cords that become taught against the tree from the fall, and the rest of us panicked, unproductively, with our lives flashing before our eyes. Their hands were quickly freed, though, and we all managed to return to solid ground. And after calming down a bit, we all ranked our near death experience as one of the best parts of the trip. Naturally.

The rest of the trip was spent beach side, relaxing and eating burritos as often as we could. I don’t think I’ve ever appreciated a vacation as much as I appreciated Ghana—running water and electricity for 2 weeks in and of itself was a luxury. Throw in some wonderful friends, great food and drink (including lobster and red wine, a classy touch to a classy vacation), shopping, the beach, and an exciting near death experience and you’ve got yourself an incredible time.So, all in all, the past two months have flown by in a wonderful way. And it appears as if the next two will fly by the same way. Right after my girls camp finishes, my parents and brother, who is just coming back home from his two year Peace Corps service in China will be flying into Burkina for a two week visit, and then I will go completely crazy in Paris with them, not knowing what to do with myself first. It has been 10 months since I've seen my parents and nearly a year and a half since I've seen my brother, so I am so thrilled to see them.

Four people attended my 2-day agriculture formation.

It took a lot of time and reflection before I could say this with a sense of accomplishment. Time, energy and emotion were invested into this project--searching for and collaborating with a counterpart and trainer, developing a theme for the formation and going door to door to inform the 2,500 inhabitants of my village. And after waiting 2.5 hours on the first day of my formation inside an empty classroom, four people walked in.

The following week, I planted Moringa trees with the students at the school garden (see some of it on youtube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zvXPjZlbCpU). Hundreds of children were there to watch and to plant. They asked for seeds as if it were candy, pushing and shoving each other at times just to get more seeds to plant. Over 100 seeds were planted that day, all by the students themselves.

Several days later, I had my first soap formation with the womens group in my village. All 6 of them were eager and attentive--I barely even lifted a finger to make the soap. And before the soap even hardened, people crowded around to watch and ask for prices. And the women really did it all; they were so excited they even told me they wanted to finance a building just for making soap.

So whether its four people or a whole classroom full of people, I've learned that something, anything they can take away from a formation or a lesson is meaningful. Its not about numbers or times here--its about quality. And when two women walked away from the formation, with money in their pockets from avid customers, referring to me as Amanda Traore (the family name of the chief's family), I must be doing something right.

So, last month was not my best, though it was certainly a character building experience. I hope I didn't worry anyone with my last post. Granted, I was discouraged--as anyone would be if their puppy was whacked with the blade of a knife--but, dogs are not as valued here as they are in the states. When there is food on the ground (meat, in the middle of being cut for dinner, no less. A very valued commodity) and if we were as poverty stricken as the villagers are here, perhaps we would treat animals the same way if they came near us mid-meat preparation...Right?

But, just like Buddha's scar, things are getting better. Much better than expected actually. I'll try to go in order.

Funerals: I know I was saying things were getting better, and now I decide to talk about funerals. But funerals are a much more positive event here than in many Western cultures. When its hot as hell, the wells are drying up and no one has any money, people spend what little they have on massive, 2 to 3 day funeral fetes celebrating the past death of a family member. Enough liters of dolo (locally brewed beer out of millet, tastes kind of like cider if you've lived in Burkina Faso long enough) and kilos rice and sause for everyone to enjoy. There's music and dancing. Several animals are slaughtered and eaten (as gruesome as it looks, I don't mind it nearly as much when I know literally EVERY part of the animal will be used). In a time of the year where people are burning in the relentless heat, anticipating the rains that will signal the begging of intensive work in the fields, it is a perfect time to enjoy oneself.

Agricultural Formation: I had organized a three-day agricultural formation on the maximization of small farm land plots and on the production of cereal grains. I found someone in village who I thought would be a great help to me in organizing the project. He was absolutely fantastic--motivated, hardworking and very knowledgeable. He really good charge of the planning of the formation, which I was refreshing from the typical inept mentality that transcends village life. And the community has been incredibly receptive. The formation was postponed to the 16th to the 17th of this month so I'm really keeping my fingers crossed. Will make sure to take plenty of pictures too.

RAIN: rainy season is upon us lucky Southern folk of Burkina. I have never been in such awe at the sight of a rain storm. Its beautiful here. All day is spent sweating out everything you could possibly have in your body. Then, the sun begins to set and the winds pick up, kicking up waves of sand and trash that line the ground as a wall of thick dark clouds inch nearer. Then, the sky will just open up, unleashing massive amounts of water. Rain drops will pound against the tin roofs, too loud to hear anything else. And the temperature will just drop radically (by radically I guess I mean from 110 to 80...).

Satellite Villages: I visited a satellite village (a village in the same health district, and thus "members" of the CSPS in my village) and was in complete shock at their state of livelihood. No money. No market for food. Completely isolated with nearly passable roads (if you even want to call them roads, they were more like paths). Ridden with malaria and malnutrition. And, on top of all that, they had no water wells or pumps. A woman showed me a cooking bowl full of the water she and all the villagers use: it looked like she scooped it out of a muddy river or puddle of water. And that's exactly what she did. This is a village that needs serious help, and while I was there just to shadow the nurse to give vaccinations (only four that day...), there was nothing I could do at the moment but slip on my overpriced gortex rain jacket and be on my way. Even since being here, I've never felt such a painful guilt such as that moment.

Busy month ahead: While I have learned by now that nothing seems to go as planned, I'm keeping my fingers crossed for the rest of this month because I have a lot going on. I will be holding an interest meeting for a girls camp I would like to run over the school break, I will be presenting on Moringa to the school and we will be planting Moringa seeds in time for rainy season. And I will be making soap to sell with a woman's group I am a part of. So, while it's not always easy, I'm hoping for the best.

Every Peace Corps Volunteer undergoes some serious challenges in their two-year service. Sometimes its the unbearable, unavoidable heat. Sometimes its coming back to village with so much motivation and enthusiasm to take on all sorts of projects for the community, only to be stifled by the slow, inert culture of the villageois. Sometimes, its feeling more alone than you ever have before. And sometimes, its your neighbor hitting your dog with a knife.

This is how I spent the eve of my 6 month anniversary in Burkina Faso:

Trying to stop the bleeding after my neighbor hit Buddah right on the bridge of the nose with a knife. Then, while securing Buddah with one hand, cleaning the gaping hole in his face and attempting to forge a makeshift lampshade out of a file folder to prevent him from scratching at it. Then, the next morning, I carried now 15-20 lbs. Buddah (still sporting his lampshade) 1.5K away to the CSPS where I was hoping he could get some stitches. No one was there but the maternity nurse, who made no effort to help Buddah or comfort my sad, tired, tear-stained self. After trying to deal with the fact that I was incredibly upsest and no one seemed to care, I couldn't help but wonder how much worse this would be if I were a pregnant woman ready to give birth, or someone with a terrible illness or serious injury. No one would be there to help me, and I would have to wait over an hour before the doctor finally arrived. How do the circumstances at the CSPS motivate anyone who needs help to go to the CSPS when no one is readily available to help them? And how can the affectation of more staff be justified when not enough people go to the CSPS? But I digress.

After struggling to put iodine on Buddah, the doctor told me there was no way Buddah could get stitches so he'll have to heal on his own. Which is happening very slowly, but hopefully surely. My neighbor feels terrible, and I trust him when he tells me he didn't mean to (a Burkinabe would never kneel down to a dog to apologize unless it was genuine). And if you didn't see the cut on his face, you never would guess that Buddah was in any pain. So really I'm the only one who needs to get over it, which is happening quicker than I expected. But I really don't have a choice.

But a PCVs service wouldn't be so memorable and filled with valuable lessons if it weren't filled with an abundance of challenging, uncomfortable situations. If I don't get anything done in village (which I will make sure is not the case) I will still walk away with many more times the experience, understanding and patience than I could get from any other 2 year period.

So, in honor of my first 6 months here, I would like to make a list of all the challenges I have so far endured:

I have (consistently) gone without running water and electricity. I have managed to sweat 24+ hours without stopping. I have (presumably) had more creatures crawl near or on me while I sleep than I care to think about. I literally thought I was going to die via scorpion. On the bright side, this has only happened once. I have conquered every bacteria and parasite that has attempted to wreck havoc on my intestines (though not without the loss of some dignity). I have biked several miles on gravel, dust filled roads (uphill, both ways…).I am dealing with the struggles of overcoming language barriers in a bilingual community (or perhaps I’ve just become really good at pretending I understand).The wells are drying up in this heat, so I am currently living with very little water each day for washing, bathing, cooking and drinking.

I have experienced moments where I have felt more alone that I ever have in my entire life. I’ve taken the role of man, woman and child since I’ve been here, none of which seem to fit. I have been asked time and time again for money and gifts, which is never a comfortable conversation to have. Similar to the previous point, I have been immediately labeled based on the color of my skin. I have been proposed to on too many occasions, in which I either say I’m already married or I’m single and don’t want a husband, or something in between. My inconsistency will probably cause me some trouble down the line… I have been stolen from. I have been made very, very uncomfortable. I’ve experienced my first panic attack (I’d like to think my anti-malarial medication has something to do with it). I have been the butt of many, many jokes. I have been without the luxury of a nice western toilet. I have witnessed children getting beaten, children and adults alike defecating in the fields, and girls far too young to be pregnant.And now, I have mended the knife wound of my poor puppy.

I realize that this post is entirely depressing, but in a way I can't help but feel a little proud that I've managed to endure these hard times. So if this is what my first 6 months has been filled with, I'm ready for the next 20. I just hope my dog is left out of it.

In all development work, one of the major issues is of sustainability. If you find a problem and develop a solution, that solution must maintain even after all the NGOs, IGOs and westerners have packed up and moved out. That's why (a lot of) development work has failed so miserably in the past: an NGO comes in, gives money or builds water pumps or mosquito nets or food or medicine or whatever, and leaves--without teaching the villagers what or how or when. So the villagers use it (if they even know how to) and when its finished or broken its over and they wait for the next rich westerner to give them something else. And the more this happens, the more the behavior of the villageois is reinforced.

Here's a Burkina specific example: the Burkina goverment, along with an international organization (perhaps several, none of which I care to name right now) developed the idea to conduct vaccination campaigns at the village level for things like Polio, Elephantitis, Meningitis, etc. because very few people take their children to the CSPS to get these vaccinations administered (even though they're FREE if the child is under a certain age). So, these several day-long campaigns are composed of going from house to house, finding the target population (in many cases, its children), administering the medicine, marking the target population with a marker, marking the house and leaving.

So what are we teaching the villageois? What has been reinforced? Essentially, we're encouraging mothers, fathers and children to stay in their homes and do nothing but wait for doctors or westerners to give them something for a disease they have no understanding of. They are not learning any lessons about the importance of these vaccinations, the diseases they're preventing or the necessity to go to the CSPS themselves--unprovoked--to take preventative measures.

Here's another example: mosquito nets. I have heard way too many stories of NGOs giving mosquito nets to every family in a village--and even though everyone now has a net to sleep under and prevent the deadly disease of malaria--they don't use it. We westerners fail to realize that its not necessarily the lack of a product or administration of a service that is the problem, but its the comprehension of what the problem is, where it comes from and how to go about preventing the problem that is truly in need.

PCVs aren't exactly like NGOs because we stay for two years--but the same kind of problem arises--unfortunatly fairly often. As a volunteer (and I can second these sentiments) its so easy to get discouraged when you don't see any visual successes (like a school or running water or what have you), so we end up investing our time in these kinds of "monuments" only to discover a year or two or ten later that our monumental project has been completely neglected.

I read a letter yesterday from the Country Director of Cameroon, who goes into great detail about this "Edifice Complex." He reinforces the idea that the best monuments are typically the living, breathing ones--the people who have been influenced and invested in the intangible messages you have helped produce and spread in your service. You may never see the fruits of your labor during your service, but the impacts has the potential to last far beyond a box of mosquito nets.

That being said, it is incredibly difficult to restrain from being cynical in a world that demands cadeaux because they are so habituated to recieving gifts from white people with no idea what to do with it. This cynicism in no way will deter me from trying many (MANY) overly ambitious projects during my next two years....

...But the heat might. Its now in the 100s--even at night. Even with fans blowing in my face I cannot stop from sweating. Not just sweating, but sweating A LOT. And CONSTANTLY. I'll let your imaginations run wild as to how lovely I might look completely dripping in sweat in a conservative top and shirts or pants that fall below the knee...

Some of you may have already heard, but sometime last week a Peace Corps Volunteer in Benin (a country bordering Burkina) was murdered in her village late one night. She was described as being very well-respected and well-liked within her community, and was nearly finished with her two years of service. She was 24 and a college graduate of William and Mary. I am overwhelmed with sadness, concern and even fear, but I have been reassured by the PC Burkina Faso staff that this was an isolated incident and (I agree) this in no way reflects the people of Benin or any other country or village in West Africa. Despite the anxiety I'm having over the news, I still feel very safe in my village and will take all the advised percautions to maintain that safety. I'm also currently in the middle of three full weeks of in-service training out of my site, which is probably best given the timing of this sad news. I had had a great last few weeks in village that I would love to share with you at a later time. I just ask that you keep Kate in your thoughts as I know it is a difficult time for her family, friends and fellow PCVs in Benin.

Monday and Tuesday morning of this week I went to the CSPS, as I normally do, but these times were different. Each morning there was a different young girl there with Palu (malaria). The first day, I found her passed out on a path near the CSPS--the infermery nurse and I carried her into the clinic. Palu. The next day, I walked into the infermery the next morning to find another young girl, looking weak and tired with an IV drip. Palu.

Wednesday, I walk through the gorge with Tene (my neighbor and closest friend in village) to Beregedougou to buy produce in their grand marche. While we're there, Tene and some other women from my village stop by a quartier to pick up mangoes. Not just 4 or 5. They each fill 30-40 liter metallic basins FULL of mangoes--I would say that's about 40 or 50 mangoes. But what was even more incredible is that these women carry these mango-filled basins on their heads (two additional women were needed to just lift the basin up on to each woman's head). And what is even MORE incredible is that these women walked down and up a gorge (which I would say is more like a hike since its steep and very uneven) back to village to sell these mangoes on the side of the road. They sell these mangoes for 25 CFA each--that means four mangoes cost about 25 US cents. So if each woman sells all the mangoes in her basin that day, she makes about 1000 CFA, or $2 US dollars. That's less than what she spent on produce for her and her family in Beregadougou.

Thursday, Tene falls ill. Instead of working all day, cooking, cleaning, and selling mangoes until 8, 9, 10 o'clock at night, she sleeps, too weak to move. I ask her, "Will you go with me to the CSPS?" and after agreeing with me. each time she would make an excuse "Tomorrow, we'll go together." Friday, and today (before I left to come to Bobo) she went back to work ask if everything was fine, but I can tell she's not herself. It could be a lot of things--I'd imagine it's Palu based on what's been happening in village, but I'm no doctor. But she works too hard, she doesn't get enough nutrition in her diet, she carries ginormous mango-filled basins on her head up and down gorges.

So here's the issue: When you've lived all your life one way (and that way is to stuggle just to make ends-meet), when you work all day, getting water to cook, clean, drink, wash yourself, wash your kids, wash your close, selling fruit on the side of the road to have money for the next day, cooking meals for your family--how can you have the time or the effort to even the intuition to make a change in your life? If Tene skips half a day of work to go to the CSPS, she loses money--for the cost of medication and for the loss of income for that day selling. So, people like Tene make excuses and wait, until its too late. So as a volunteer, I see that something needs to change. But the way of life here is so ingrained in people here, that I wonder sometimes how something so new and different (like taking preventative measures when it comes to health) could be receptive to my village. When your life is one big struggle to make ends-meet (though you could never tell by the smiling faces and optimistic attitudes of the wonderful Burkinabe) do you have room to try something different? Can you afford it? I'm keeping my fingers crossed that you can.

Friday I travelled around my village with my Coges Treasurer and the maternity nurse, giving Polio vaccinations to every child under 5. This is because many babies are NOT taken to the CSPS when they're born and are NOT brought in to recieve vaccinations (the CSPS is far, its hot as hell, there's so much work to be done at home, one doesn't think to go in for something preventitive) . Later that day, I gave a presentation to 3 classes in the school, the desks were table-style, meant for 2 people per desk. There were 4-5 children at each desk. And when there's no money and home is a kilometer or two away, they don't eat lunch. And they're water pump is broken, so they have no water unless they want to travel far to get it. Money is needed, but the hard part is getting it, because there is nothing. And once there is money, the harder part is creating something new that is sustainable in a village that has lived the same lifestyle for decades without time to think of how to make the future better because the present is just too immediate.

Now that my bat problem has been resolved, thought I'd take you on a little walking tour of my house. It lacks a lot--paint, more furniture (I got the furniture made when I got there), some personal touches, but, little by little, it will feel like home. Definitely want to share some insights on my village, but I'll wait till next week for that.

Part of the main room to my house

The "dinning area," if you will.

The hallway that leads to 4 rooms and an indoor bathing room (straight down the hall).

The first room to the right, my bedroom! (Ignore the personal items...)

Study/Dressing room, the second door on the right.

Kitchen (the two giant basins are my "dishwasher").

Annnnnd we can't forget the giant bats that live in the tree outside my house!

After finding a dead bat hanging on the underside of my cot (which I swore I felt something perch below my neck the week before and convinced myself it was nothing...), I began to wonder if a had a problem. Then, after hearing bats flying through my house each night as I lay in bed, nestled securely under my mosquito net, flashlight at hand, I began to suspect that yes, yes it is quite possible that I have a problem. And finally, after my neighbors pointed out the tree in front of my house that's home to a swarm of giant bats, which make the loud, beeping noise each night I assumed to be some sort of electronic device (silly me...), I knew for sure this was a problem. Every night this week, once the sun sets, I become weary, uncomfortable, and completely paranoid. I hold 2-3 flashlights at a time, examining the walls of every room before I enter.

Now a lot of the physical challenges here I am proud to say I have adjusted to rather well: I don't mind taking bucket baths, squatting over latrines (which I have managed to adjust my "schedule" to avoid the cockroaches that infiltrate my latrine at night), sleeping on a cot, boiling and filtering all my water, biking and walking to most places...lack of air conditioning and electricity--its all been reasonably painless. But bats. Bats are different. Bats have wings. And disease. And they make creepy noises and defecate in my house. I'm not the only one with a bat problem here, a friend of mine has a problem far worse than mine. Not only was she bringing a stick in to her bathing area with her to fend off the bats as she bathed, but she also tried to convince herself that the 10 bats flying around her as she ate dinner was a sort of "natural ceiling fan."

I hope it doesn't seem like I'm complaining. Yes, it sucks. And it really sucked when Buddah started acting strange and I flipped out thinking he had rabies and would die (turns out he has worms, and that has been promptly resolved!) But I didn't want to write about how sucky it is--I simply wanted to tell you of a recent bump in the road I've encountered--a necessity in life. What makes it difficult is that, as a volunteer, my community and the board that manages the money for the health clinic (the Coges) are responsible for my living situations. So any problems I have that I need resolved comes out of the budget for the health clinic and sometimes out of the villagers pockets. That certainly makes it very difficult to demand repairs when one of the major problems in my community is lack of resources for medicine. And when my "necessities" like a bat free home are much higher than the necessities of the villageois.

In other, more exciting news, I have my first two presentations in French! Sure, my Coges members may have been 2 hours late to the meeting, and they may have demanded to leave when the clock read 12:08 (repo begins at 12:00 and lasts until 3:00), but I think they got the message, understand the participatory needs assessment activities I'd like to conduct with my village to get a broad, diverse idea of what the villagers think are some of the big health problems in the village, and I think (I hope!) they're excited to get started. This month should be busy--not with fending off bats (hopefully)--but with meeting with all different kinds of groups in my village to assess the problems in the community and potential, sustainable solutions to remedy these problems. I'd also really like to meet with groups that are interested in doing income generating activities and set up some groups of my own, start working with the school, etc. So unless a freakishly large, fearless, mutated breed of bat moves into my house, I doubt this month could go badly...It is beginning to get a bit toasty here (its 104 today and at night it only gets down to the 90s...) so sleeping will be difficult, with or without bats. So please feel grateful wearing your heavy coats and long underwear in your 0 degree weather!

During stag the staff showed us a graph of PCVs emotional well-being during their two years. For the first three months, there was never a plateau or standstill on that graph—it looked like a sound wave with an ear-drum bursting frequency. And I can only confirm this emotional roller coaster that this graph portrays.

I think its best to paint a picture of the situation, because it’s the situation, not necessarily the string of events, that cause such emotional reactions. So imagine having three months in a completely foreign country. Its certainly shocking to be placed from one of the richest countries in the world to one of the poorest, but those first three months were very, very structured and very much so secured in an American bubble. Now fast forward to after training: I'm placed in a village of 2500 people, yet in many ways completely alone: the only one of my ethnicity, language, culture, personal beliefs, perspective, the list can go on. Not only am I completely alone, but I’ve gone from a jam-packed schedule to no schedule at all. And I've been given many more responsibilities than I had before: cooking, cleaning, furnishing your house, etc. I was, in a way, completely dependent on my host family, staff, and peers during stag, and I was ready for independence. But the struggle now is that there IS independence sort of but because I have no sense of direction, no idea of who is who, no idea what is where, and no real idea of what to do, I still have to rely on many people—so the independence was at first very much an illusion. And while I had no routine at all in my first week or so in village (and thus the supposed freedom to do as I please), I also did not have much control over my routine because I was at a complete loss of how to occupy my day. So all these dichotomies pulled me (and continue to pull me) in different directions.

Add on to that my role as a woman: I’m a third gender as an American woman. I can relax and drink with the men, but I identify with the women (I also cook and clean like the women). When the days go well, I feel as if I’m bonding with both genders. When days suck, I feel even more alone than I did before.

So during this incredibly fragile moment in my transition into my village, I am incredibly reactionary to every change in my environment: if one too many kids yell Tubabu at me and demand a cado (gift), I get pissed. If I get nothing accomplished during the day because everyone is gone or out in the field, I get pissed. If someone makes the tiniest comment about the low status of women, I get REALLY pissed. But someones I don't get angry, I just get sad and isolate myself in my house. It really depends on the day. Every hour of every day is a different set of emotions, and it can even be more upsetting when I realize I have no control over it.

So take all these things: the physical and emotional isolation, the complete lack of structure that had been so comforting before, the opportunity of independence but the inability to attain it, the house not quite feeling like a home, the inability to communicate with people, and just plain being the “black sheep” in a small, tight knit community. Not only that, but add the fact that, since this is a village, my every action is pivotal to my acceptance and integration into the community.

All the said, I’ve found it incredibly difficult to reign in my emotions (which, coincidentally, makes me even more emotional). So when one little thing does go wrong, the factors of my environment are unable to comfort me, and a start to lose it. Sometimes I’ll lose my temper, others I’ll refuse to leave my house. And sometimes, I’ll be a little too sassy with people (typically men, since I’m probably the only woman who can stand up to them without being smacked in the face).

That being said, I had a REALLY good week (other than my typical sass I throw to men), which made writing this entry fairly difficult. I found out there will be running water in my village in about three months, and I have found ample opportunities for small enterprise development--while not my "job" per say--would really help my village.

But first, let me entice you with my new puppy, Buddah:

Buddah is about 6 weeks old--I got him a week ago, only to feel like a single parent with postpartum since he arrived. When hes not peeing, pooping, eating and whining, hes sleeping--he hardly bares and calming quality I hoped him to have when I got him. But I know in time it will pay off--a gaurd dog, a garbage disposal, and a cuddle/playmate all in one!

So I realize I’ve spent a lot of time talking about the culture and lifestyle of my village and my slow (very slow…) integration into the community, but I’ve done very little talking about what my job entails. For the first three months (until mid-March) I am not to do anything that my “real” job entails. The first three months is the “Etude de Milleu,” in which I am to spend my time—not only integrating into my community, which is paramount for the success of my next two years—but to perform various studies with my community to determine its needs (particularly health needs) and effective strategies to fulfill those needs and ensure their sustainability—even after I’m gone. Being that this is a village without the technological advances many Western countries have made to enable continuous, regular and stable livelihood throughout the whole year, this is a village (like most in Burkina and other African countries) whose inhabitants’ lives are incredibly interconnected with the seasons, crop production, religious holidays, money--everything.

So, now that I’ve been here for a full three weeks (I can’t believe it!) what have I learned? Well, there is one CSPS in my village, and that CSPS is not only the rural health clinic for my village, but for 6 other satellite villages—the closest being 13K away and the farthest being 25-30K away. The CSPS is composed of an infirmary (a room with a few small beds) a maternity (one birthing table)and a couple offices for medicine and consultations. Most CSPS clinics have pharmacies as well—mine does not; so if someone needs medicine, it might be at the CSPS—otherwise they would have to go to another CSPS or to the district hospital. There is one Major, my counterpart, who is the doctor and head of the CSPS; there is one infirmary nurse, one birthing nurse, and one assistant. These four people are responsible for the 2500 people in my village and the other hundreds of people that inhabit the other 6 satellite villagers. The clinic is closed every Sunday. Everyone takes a 3 hour siesta (called a repose here) from noon to three. There is no electricity and no running water. There is a solar panel, but I’m not quite sure of its purpose, because the refrigerator that holds vaccines runs off of a propane tank.

You would think this would cause complete chaos: if all the doctors in your community did this, there would be lines of people bleeding and crying and in labor and waiting for hours to see the doctor when he or she was available. That’s not so much the problem here, rather, it’s the exact opposite. Instead of a massive line pouring out the door to see the doctor (especially given the high rates of malaria, meningitis, upper respiratory infections, STIs, HIV and AIDS, and diarrhea), the four nurses here spend a lot of their time outside the CSPS, waiting for someone to show up. I go to the CSPS most mornings before the repo, and in the 3 to 4 hours I’m there I see no more than 4 people there at a time—maybe 7 or 8 people total during that time span. Perhaps its a bit more when its vaccination day. But none the less, when there are 2500 people in my village (so not even including satellite villages), and when the birth rate is much, much higher here than in the US, and when there is only 40 some babies recorded as having vaccinations for the year 2008, something is seriously wrong. I biked 13K and back to the closest satellite village for their vaccine day—maybe 15 mothers showed. If motivation is low to begin with, add an hour plus bike ride and no other real means of transport and you have a bunch of people who just aren’t willing to seek medical attention when they may really need it.

And what only complicates the problem is the livelihood of the villagers: they’re nearly all farmers, so they’re constantly planting, cultivating, harvesting, or selling their produce on the side of the road or in the marche. And if a rainy season doesn’t produce a healthy crop—that means less money, more work, and less time and money to spend on one’s health.

So what am I to do? Not only is it important for me to address specific health problems within the community (water, sanitation, STIs, diarrhea, infection, malnutrition, etc.), but I need to be able to get the message out to as many people as possible—probably the most important people being the ones who don’t go to the CSPS in the first place.

It most certainly seems like a very complex, complicated problem that an etude is necessary for. But just as my integration into the community is foundational to a successful two years, the community’s participation and active involvement in the etude is foundational to a successful future.

Well what can I say about my first week at site? It honestly has felt like one very long Mefloquin dream (Mefloquin is the anti malaria medication I have to take, which can have a tendancy to give people very bizarre, intense dreams). After spending two days in Banfora buying necessities for my house, I rode in a Peace Corps van with all my belongings 15K away to my new home for the next two years. I pulled up to a massive welcoming party, with villagers, dancing, and bylophone playing galore. It was so touching, having so many people put such time and energy into my arrival without even knowing me. But I have certainly felt like a member of this community the minute I jumped in the dance circle.

No lies here: my house is ginormous: one large 10 x 20 living room that connects to a hall way with an indoor bathing room and four 8 x 10 rooms. This is a house meant for a large family, not me. And with the limited budget I had for furnishings, its looking pretty desolate. I've already commissioned some furniture to be made and I've spoken with some people to have my walls cleaned and painted, so it will feel like home in no time at all. I must say though, I'm feeling pretty cocky that my first house out of college is (comparatively) a mansion—just don't tell anyone there's no electricity or running water!

So what have I been up to for the first week? The timing has made for a very interesting first week, as there was a fete for the New Year as well as a marriage. So there has been lots of dolo drinking (dolo is locally brewed beer) by everyone (children included), lots of bylophone playing (there is a group here that has even toured through Europe!), and lots of dancing (everyone wants to see the awkward white woman dance, which has been unfortunate for me…). Because I'm living in the chief's compound, the chief's son—who may actually be the chief now since the chief is dead—has taken me EVERYWHERE. It has been incredibly helpful in many ways: meeting the important people in the village, knowing the ins and outs, learning how to greet everyone (half my day is spent greeting people), and just knowing my way around in general. I'd also say that, being associated with the chiefs son, I have a kind of immunity and protection here. However, because I spend nearly every waking moment with the chiefs son, I think by day 3 everyone was convinced that I am his new wife. I also feel as if I still have very little independence here, but I know that with time that will change.

So what else is there to say about my new village? Well, I've eaten papaya every day since I've been here. Everywhere I go I see massive mango trees. There is also pineapple, oranges and banana here. There is a village only 1 K away (I have to cross a massive gorge to get there, which is a beautiful site) that has electricity, which means I can have cold drinks and yogurt and charge my phone whenever I want! I am told I will be getting a puppy very soon, and I've decided to name him Marley (as alluring as Lieutenant Puppykins was, I don't think the people in my village could pronounce that). My name here is either Ama or Amada because "Amanda" is much too complicated. My name is also Tubabu to the children, which means foreigner. It is still beyond comprehension to me that the chiefs son has a Mercedes benz. I have spent more time in dolo bars than at the CSPS (on the chief's son's account), and I'm starting to wonder if I could conduct my sensibilizations at the bar in order to reach more people.

I can already tell that I'm going to miss the people here so much after my two years, and I can already tell how much I'm going to love it here. But I must continue to tell myself for these first several months that is a process. Its not easy now and its going to be challenging in many ways, but that is a necessary, crucial part of the process. This struggle is vital to my growth and my immersion into this community, and the most I can do right now is welcome the struggle and have the patience to endure.

Opening a present from Mom and Dad on Christmas :) thanks Mom and Dad!

[expect more photos, unfortunately this is all you can get at the moment because my connection is terribly slow!]

Today I'm moving into my new home, but I had a potpourri of posts I wanted to add today. So I realize that there is A LOT I have yet to talk about on this blog, and there are A LOT of pictures I'd like to post, so I thought a mixture of blurbs here and there would help broaden readers' perspectives on life in Burkina. So here we go:

Chain Restaurants:

In short, they don't exist here. Unless there is a starbucks or chipotle in an alley that I don't know about. In which case, I will scream with joy all the way there.

Clothes:

Pagnes are sold EVERYWHERE, which are sheets of fabric, colorfully designed. You can by 1 pagne (1 meter by 3 meters) for 3 bucks. Then you can go to a tailor (huge here, you can find as many as 30+ in any large city) and get it made into anything you like--dresses run about 8 bucks, skirts about 4.

Moringa:

Moringa is an incredible tree. Its seeds, when ground up, can purify water, its roots are used as an herbal remedy, and its leaves have ridiculous amounts of nutrition in it--TONS of iron, calclium, vitamin C, B and A.... And it has the capacity to grow like wild fire here, so I hope to use it.

The Fous of Burkina: A fou is, essentially, the village crazy person. There is at least one in every village, and they are not like any crazy person I have seen in the states—and yet they’re all crazy in their own special way. One fou in Sissamba biked two and from the water pump at least 20 times a day to fill up water in a gas container and put it who knows where. Another one in Sissamba, a foulle (the feminine term for crazy) was caught sneaking around in a PCVs room in the middle of the night. In Ouahigouya, there’s a crazy old lady in the marche who stalks and harasses nasaras (a.k.a. foreigners, a.k.a. me) until you either pay her to leave, run for your life, or karate chop her (I have yet to do the latter, but I’ve been temped to on several occasions). Another fou walks through the city wearing nothing but a torn shirt and a loin cloth (if you’re lucky). And just the other day I saw him bareback on a horse (I’d presume a stolen horse), riding with a vengeance down the goudron. Street Food: Probably the worst for you from a health and sanitation stand point, but it’s absolutely glorious. Fries plantains are a personal favorite, but there are also gato (fried donut without the sugar), sweet potato fries, and a variety of other wonderfully fried goods. Trash: Aside from major cities, there is little to no plumbing in Burkina. There are also no trash services. So, like every other Burkinabe here, I’ve grown accustomed to throwing my trash on the ground wherever I happen to be. It’s a terrible habit and I hope to just utilize my latrine as a garbage can for the next two years, but, when there is no one to come on over and take your trash for you every Wednesday morning, what are people expected to do? So they throw their trash on the ground, and burn piles of it on the streets. Money: It took me about 6 weeks to get adjusted to the prices here, and now I’ve become an even bigger cheapskate than I was back in the States. I can get a massive omelet sandwich here for 350 CFA , which is about 75 cents. I can get a cup of coffee (it’s no Starbucks…its actually Nescafe…but it sort of tastes like coffee with enough condensed milk…) for less than 25 cents. We got PC Burkina tshirts made for only 2,000 CFA a person—about 4 bucks. A twin size mattress costs about 20,000 CFA, 40 bucks. And these are the prices in the 4th largest city in Burkina—it gets cheaper in village. Bargaining for prices in the marche is huge here, so it has become a goal of mine to get goods for Burkinabe prices instead of nasara prices.

More to come, particularly about my site!

On Friay I was officially sword in as a Peace Corps Volunteer, and I have to say, it feels pretty good. I couldn’t help but get sentimental, because I’ve been wanting this for so long, and I’m finally here! The ceremony was great—the Ambassador came, the Country Director came, my host parents came, and the food was incredible. But there’s still plenty to do before I leave! We just finished 6 days of training with our counterparts, our supervisors and collaborators in our villages for the next three years. It was difficult, and certainly very awkward (especially knowing as little French as I do…). It wasn’t hard for me just because the first question my counterpart asked in front of the group was “So WHY are there so many women here?”; it wasn’t just because he asked me why I didn’t have kids and why I didn’t want any (at my age here I should have at least 1 kid); but it was primarily because I felt so incapacitated to express myself and to make ad adequate and accurate impression of my counterpart. If he was as sexist as his comment appeared to me, then how could I stand up to myself alone in a village with a very limited capacity in French? It’s difficult to describe the thoughts and feelings that ran through me when this realization struck me—like an angry hopelessness. But the more time I spent with my counterpart, the more I realized he is (and I say this with great pleasure) shy and socially awkward. I learned over time that my counterpart is actually one of the more mild mannered counterparts in the bunch. I realize now that this situation is just as new to him as it is to me, and this is a transition we need to make together. Many of the counterparts (most are men) dominated discussions and activities, and many of the women volunteers (myself included) felt repressed, ignored, and completely unequal. In the states, if someone ever questioned my role as a woman, I wouldn't hestitate to stand up for myself with complete confidence. But here, with people who have lived with very different cultures, traditions, norms and practices, and with a very basic elementary capacity for French, it has been incredibly challenging and emotional being unable to express myself and my entitlement to respect. I can only hope I can overcome this challenge and bring understanding to my village about the role of women and their need for respect and equality.

That being said, I have learned many exciting things about my village. I live in the Chiefs compound, near the CSPS (the health clinic) the ecole (village school), and right across from a field of sugar cane. There is a very small marche (market) in my village, but only 500 m from my house is another village which has a massive marche, selling everything I need according to my counterpart. There’s plenty of mango, papaya, guava, palm wine, and a variety of fruit and veggies to eat. I CAN definitely get a dog. There is a waterfall 1K away from my village. EVERYONE speaks Jula, not French (except for my counterpart, who doesn’t speak Jula…so we’ll be learning together). And, more importantly, I’ve learned of some of the serious health issues that face my village—malnutrition, palu (malaria), STIs, and domicile births. I also know that, even though I am heading out to my village on the 26th, I won’t be reaching my village until the 29th, enabling me to buy plenty of things to furnish my house. So it may be a little while until I update, but I will try my hardest to let you know how my first couple weeks go! I hope everyone has a fantastic holiday season and a fantastic season. I’ll be thinking about you all! And, as I know I’ve promised many a time, here are some pictures of some things I’ve seen in my past two months:

Me in Sissamba with a large group of kids following behind me :)

Doing a Malnutrition and Bouille (nutrient enriched porridge) session with Sissambans in the Marche

Weighing and measuring babies at the CSPSSome of my kids in front of my house in Sissamba

My room in Sissamba

My latrine in Sissamba...

Prayer in Sissamba suring Tebaski

My Host Fam and kids in Sissamba! Id list theyre names from left to right, but I dont know them all...

A Burkina sunset

With some of the kids during my last night with the host fam!Me and some of other PCVs during Swear In (all their dresses are tailored made for only 8 bucks!)

I could have made this post all about my site placement (which I got last week and will share at the end of this post), but I’d really like to talk about the Burkinabe woman. She is a powerhouse. Most in village, I’d say, are bigger than the men—bigger hands and arms (flashback to Seinfeld anyone?), broader shoulders, tall stature. And my God, I can see why! Her day starts somewhere between 4 and 5, when she’ll begin sweeping the compound, pounding millet, washing her children and feeding her husband. All afternoon she’ll spend working—in the fields, pounding more millet, preparing foods, washing clothes of a family of 15, carrying ridiculous amounts of large, heavy objects on her head over long distances…typically doing all of this WHILE carrying and tending to at least one small infant child (also, sometimes, while riding a bike….I’ll remember to take pictures next time). At night she’ll wash her children, cook for her children and husband, and do all the dishes. She is the nurturer, the disciplinarian, the provider, the brawn, the farmer, the seamstress. Her breasts have endured over 10 years of constant breast feeding…and don’t even get me started on how she must be feeling after birthing 10+ children! Day in day out the Burkinabe woman does this, and as tired as she looks at the end of the day—staggering across the compound with eyes half-closed—she gets up and does it all over again. Now, I’m not trying to say here that I want to do all these things when I grow up. What I’m trying to say here is, these women are freaking strong in every single sense of the word. Drop them off in the middle of nowhere and they could build an entire village if they had do. The men really better watch out, because if they ever piss off their wives enough, they are in for a world of pain and suffering. Because I highly (I emphasize, HIGHLY) doubt that a man here would be able to feed himself or care for himself or his children the way the women here do. During the day in village, I typically see the men in their typical gather places, shooting the shit, praying, whatever, while their wives are sustaining the welfare of the family. I’m not trying to bash the men here either—that’s just how it is culturally here. I think by the end of my time here, I will be just as blown away by these women as I am today. Incredible. So my site! BF PC staff displayed a huge map of Burkina and had two boxes full of slips of paper—one for Health volunteers and one for SED volunteers. Someone would read a description of a site from either box while the rest of the PCTs would guess who would be living and serving there for the next two years. With each site, I’d shake in anticipation. But once it was all over, I felt so incredibly relieved and excited. So here it is: Site: I emailed it to you, so I don’t think I’ll make it public on my blog for security reasons. If you don’t have it, let me know and I’ll send it to you!

Population: 2500

Location: South! Only 20K from Banfora, known for their beautiful cascading waterfalls—a big tourist site in BF. My site is actually in the BF tourism book for waterfalls as well. My village is also 60 K from Bobo, the second largest city in BF and a beautiful city (from the 2 hours I’ve spent in it…)

Perks: My house is HUGE according to my APCD. It has 5 rooms and an indoor shower. Its located in the chief’s compound, but has its own private latrine and courtyard. So I’ll have privacy and protection! I have no idea if there is a market in my village, but there is cell phone reception and a strong sense of community according to my APCD. This is a first generation site, which means I am the first volunteer here. This has its perks and challenges. I see it right now as building the foundation for future volunteers—which will be very challenging. For a village to get used to a ‘nasara’ in their village could take an entire two years. But, I have the opportunity to make a positive first impression on a community and set the bar high for future volunteers. I know its going to be the most challenging job I’ve ever had to do, but I know its going to be such an incredible experience! My mailing address will be changing in the next month—to what I don’t know…but when I find out I will certainly make sure to let you know! I’ve already gotten some letters, packages, and padded envelopes from friends and family (shout-out to the bro for sending me a post card all the way from China!!)—so thank you, thank you so much. I didn’t realize how special it would mean to me until I came here.

Currently sitting in the PC Transit house in Ouaga, spending a weekend here with the other Health PCTs. I just ate cheese pizza and ice cream for lunch--my first since coming here. Earlier this week, I was crowded around a small television in Ouahigouya at 5:00 am, listening to Obama's acceptance speech through the French dubbed translation. I'm pretty content right now.

Thought I'd post a little update on life in Burkina, since I haven't quite painted a picture of that yet. Here it goes...

Its hard to detail the past 3 weeks that I've been here because so much has happened. And while its gone by so fast, I feel like I've been here forever. So what can I say about Burkina Faso? I'd start by talking about the few cities and villages I've been too, but I think its important to talk about how a Burkinabe city is significantly , than an American city. In Ouagadougou for example, Burkina's capital, most of the roads are paved. Some of them are dirt. As a matter of fact, everything is covered in dirt. There are cement buildings along some of the more touristy parts of the city, and if they're not grocery stores, post offices, cinemas or higher end stores, the, they're fancy hotels that Westerns mainly reside. The smaller the shops, the marche (market), the boutiques (small grocery/convenient stores, hair salons—a lot of things in the non touristy areas are made of mud (maybe some cement) and wood with a tin roof. My initial reaction was that they looked like shanty towns—and to an American I guess they are. But the more time I've spent here the more I've realized that that's all you really need. Cities have electricity. Its not necessarily in the residential areas, and if it is, its not necessarily reliable. So why go to such extreme measures and expenses to build a house that, practically speaking, won't stay cool and well lit when the sun goes down? So that's Ouaga, and Ouahigoya is essentially the same but with fewer paved roads, less fancy hotels and buildings, and less reliable electricity. I'm definitely not complaining though—I think it has just enough to challenge and reward me. Yeah its hot and dusty and sweating all day and all night (literally dripping with sweat while I'm sleeping because its an oven in my room), but I can always a nice cold bissap (a plastic bag frozen with tea made from a Burkina flower…tastes like passion tea!) for about 75 cents, enjoy some brochett or chicken in a bag (skewered meat, and yes I think its glorious) and a cold Burkina beer with friends, or take a trip to a fancy Western hotel and pay 2 bucks to go into the pool. For the past two weeks I've been living with my host family in Sissamba, which is a small village 10 K from Ouahigouya. There no electricity in Sissamba. There are at least two generators in the village—one to power the discotheque in Sissamba and one to charge cell phones at the boutique which also charges the "cinema" (i.e. a 12 inch tv in a courtyard that plays old American action movies dubbed in French). After training, I come home with only an hour or two of sunlight and for the remainder of the night I spent with a headlamp strapped around my forehead, a flashlight in my hand and an oil lamp in my room. My room is one of many in my family's compound. Its made of cement all around, sans the tin roof and tin and wood door. Its one big room and one small room; the small room is just for storage, and my large room is for everything else. I have a bed and mosquito net, two tables, a water filter and a trunk to hold valuables. Next to my room is my latrine and shower area—its essentially two cubicles made of cement….one with a hole in the ground for, well, you know, and the other with a small drain for bucket baths. You'd think it would be hard to get used that kind of set up, but I honestly don't mind it. Its actually very therapeutic to be able to bathe under the stars! My host family is wonderful. There's my host dad, two host moms (though only one cooks my food and hangs out with me) and around 10-14 children (I don't know all of their names…and as far as I know there could me more of them). My host dad is the only one fluent in French, but the rest know some French and are fluent in Moore. They're all great, though it can be overwhelming to have them all surrounding me whenever I'm home. Its difficult to communicate, but I find it easiest to get along with the kids. I've played ware (which is called Mancala in the US but has a completely different set of rules in Burkina) with every child and adult in the compound (including topless women…which is pretty common. And no, I have no intention to participate in that cultural norm...). Most mornings I'll walk my bike about a mile to the village health center (where we meet for training, and where we often meet to begin our 10 K bike ride into Ouahigouya at 630am), and I'll walk with a couple of my kids and greet neighbors along the way. One time, every child a passed decided to follow me, and I got to the health center with 26 kids trailing behind me! I have felt only kindness and warmth from Sissamba people (aside from their jokes about me and scorpions…). After mentioning that there was a discotheque, you may have wondered whether I have attended. Answer: I have, but I am very reluctant to go again. I went with about 7 other kids in my family…all under 13 I would say. Once I got there, I was surrounded by a large circle of kids—none of them dancing. There was music playing and they all seemed to be waiting around for something, so I thought why not start the dance party?? So I do some pretty basic dance moves, using my hips, nothing too crazy. And I think that, if I point at them and tell them to come over, they'd start dancing too and they'd quickly forget that I wasn't one of them. I was wrong. They not only continued to stare at me, but they actually hid from me! So if I didn't stand out before I started dancing in a circle of 30 kids, I certainly did afterwards. Even Colin, another PCT who happened to be at the dance was embarrassed by me! So perhaps I'm just not cool enough for the Sissamban discotheque. The only other thing I can thinking about mentioning is the food. Other than being ridiculously carb-heavy, its pretty good. In village I'll have either rice or spaghetti dish with some sort of sauce for dinner and bread for breakfast. And gato (fried bread which tastes like donuts without the sugar) is glorious and copius. Two nights I was fortunate enough to get salad, but I haven't had any fruit in village. In Ouahigoya, I can get the usual rice or spaghetti, but I have a lot more options. They have yoghurt here which is different than in the states, but very good. There are always stands selling oranges and bananas. There are omlette sandwhiches, some fruits and veggies (cucumber, tomato, onion, lettuce, banana, guava, watermelon and apples), peanut butter, incredible chicken dinners, brochettes, fish, really good frozen lemonade in a bag—I haven't eaten anything that I haven't been willing to have again. Burkina is definitely lacking some critical food items though, like cheese (I just had my first cheese...one a cheese pizza here in Ouaga), chocolate (can get it, but its rare), granola, milk (here but hard to come by). Some PCTs have gotten sick, whether its because of poorly made food (people don't wash their hands with soap here…so giardia and a whole lot of other parasites are common) or because they're dehydrated, I'm not sure. Burkina was ranked the 3rd worst for GI problems in PC Africa last year (and was ranked 1st for the previous two years), so something is definitely going on. I'm one of the lucky ones who has been just fine so far! I wouldn't be surprised if I'll gain weight...I'm an eating fiend here (example: ate an entire bowl over filled with spaghetti...and then finished what was left on my friend's plate!)

The bad news is, I didn’t think I would be last Monday. Our first Sunday in Burkina was spent in village to be formally adopted into host families. The SED volunteers stayed in Ouahigouya, and the Health volunteers were split up into 3 different villages no more than 10K from Ouahigouya. I, a long with 4 other volunteers, am now a resident of Sissamba. I’m living with my host dad, his two wives, and many many kids (unsure which ones belong to my host family and which ones belong to others in the compound. Note that I said compound, not house. Its not a house with rooms, but rather a compound compose of many small buildings. My ‘room’ is a building at the far corner of the compound: it is spacious with two rooms, and is furnished with a twin bed and mosquito net, two small tables, a foot locker of sorts, and a water filter. I have my own “shower” area for bucket baths and my own latrine

Its Burkinabe custom to shower atleast twice a day: once in the morning before breakfast and once in the evening before dinner—it is unacceptable to eat and talk with people until you bathe. Once I bathe, I typically eat breakfast (bread and some glorious Nescafe instant coffee) with my main host mom, and I’ll eat dinner with my host dad outside with all his kids sitting and staring.

Day one went relatively well.

Day two, however, went a bit differently.

After a day of language and health training, I took a bucket bath (which is actually very nice to take outside when the temperature begins to go down and the stars come out), wrapped myself in a pana (a large cloth), and headed into my room. I have two doors—a screen door and an aluminum door. Instead of closing the aluminum door, I thought it would be best to pull a curtain over my door to change. Immediately after touching the curtain, I felt a sharp sting on my finger. It felt like nothing I have ever felt before. I figured it must have been a spider or something, but the sun was down and I didn’t have enough lighting in my room (composed of lanterns and flashlights) to make out what had happened. I was feeling a little tense, being near to naked, blind in darkness, and trying to find out what had happened and where my clothes were. Once I threw some clothes on, I rushed to my med packet and French/English dictionary. Being completely ignorant of French, I found my host father, pointed to the word for “sting” in French, and pointed to a picture of a bug I had found in my med book. My host dad came into my room and looked around the corner nearest the curtain I had touched to find a scorpion.

So I begin to panic.

I pick up a list of important PC Burkina numbers and point to the medical number and find the word for “help” in French (its “aide” for anyone who is in a sticky situation like I was). But naturally, being in the rural village that is Sissamba with the only existent electricity coming from generators, my host father’s cell phone did not have reception in the compound—he had to travel about a mile away to make the call.

So I stay by the entrance of my room, at this point now surrounded by atleast 20 adults and children. I tell myself I’m not going to panic, I’m not going to cry, that everything will be alright. But time is passing slowly. One of my host brothers speaks French, so I begin to ask him questions, like “are scorpions poisonous?” and “are scorpions fatal?” Over and over a again my host brother said “Oui, oui.”

So I start to freak out. A lot.

The ugly cry comes out. I’m shaking. I feel weak. I need to sit down. The intense stinging and burning sensation spreads down my thumb.

And all I can think about at this moment is that I’m surrounded by people who barely speak French. I barely speak French. And I’m slowly dying in the middle of nowhere with no one who can understand me.

You learn French a lot faster when you’re in an urgent situation. I formed sentences like “when is my host dad returning?”, “will he be returning soon?”, and my personal favorite “I would not like to die!” The crying is uncontrollable at this point, and instead of helping comfort me or rubbing my back, I am just getting stared at by atleast 30 people at this point.

As I begin to seriously consider writing a goodbye letter, my host father pulls up on a motorcycle with my Language Teacher, a native Burkinabe woman. She tells me (in English) that the scorpions here in Burkina are not deadly. I’m relieved, to say the least, but would still like someone from the medical staff to verify. So a call is made, and within 20 minutes a PC van pulls right up to my door. The staff that showed up told me to pack a bag because I will be staying in Ouahigouya for the night. I’m rushed out of Sissamba on uneven dirt roads and taken to the PC medical office in Ouahigouya, where I’m given ample amounts of Benadryl and Ibuprofen.

Despite the poor cell phone reception in Sissamba, word still manages to travel fast. That next morning, fellow Sissamba volunteers were told of my unfortunate night by their host families…and for the rest of that week I have been approached by strangers asking how my scorpion bite is. I’m even called Nanga (meaning scorpion in Moore) by one of the host families. I’m trying to convince myself that this is all endearing and not mockery.

On the plus side (other than surviving, of course), is that I’m the first volunteer to have a crazy PC experience in our group, and my new nickname is the Scorpion Queen. I wouldn’t wish this experience on anyone, as its has by far been the most alarming experience of my life—thinking I would die in a Podunk village in Burkina Faso surrounded by no one who understood me and far far away from loved ones. But now that over a week has past, I’ve become pretty proud of myself to know that my eagerness and happiness here has grown exponentially despite such a traumatic event.

This is a post I wrote some time ago but never had a chance to post. Enjoy!

My experience so far with Peace Corps and Burkina has felt just like diving into a deep pool of water. At first, you feel the rush as your body enters. Then, you become overwhelmed, disoriented, unsure where you are in relation to the water’s surface; but once you’ve attained your bearings, you do everything you can to reach air.

After an incredibly quick staging session, 30 other PCTs and I (in either the Health or Small Enterprise Development programs) trekked from the Philly airport, to De Gaulle in Paris, and waited in De Gaulle for 8 hours before the 6 hour plane ride into Ouagadougou. With only 3 hours of sleep in our last night in Philly, I went 36 hours straight without more than 30 min total of shut eye.

The Ouaga airport is incredibly small. After claiming all of our baggage, the PCTs and I met up with some Burkina PC staff and got into PC vans to head to Hotel Excellence in Ouaga. I wanted to postpone any sort of judgment of the country until I had a full day to experience Burkina. It was difficult though, as one of the first things I saw out my vans window was a tall, dark, bearded man with unblinking, glazed eyes staring right at me, unsheathing what looked like massive samari sword. The ride to Hotel Excellence, the shanty towns we passed along the way, and our entrance into a beautiful hotel were completely overpowered by this overwhelming ‘holy shit what am I doing’ sentiment.

Every day since my first night has been nothing short of incredible though (granted, I guess there are many, many things better than a scary man with a sharp sword…). We arrived Wednesday night. Thursday we took care of some basic business (IDs, bike fittings, Language proficiency test, overview of what to expect, etc), headed to the Country Director’s (a great man) house for an incredible lunch, and then off to Ouahigouya, the PCT training site. We have been staying in 2-4 person rooms with electricity, a bug net and beds, and a bathroom (toilet, sink and shower all in one….but no door….). My adjustment to such a drastically different country thus far has been surprising. After my first night I’ve just taken things as they come. Ouahigouya is one of the larger cities in the north. It only has two paved roads. The rest are dirt. All houses I have seen have been made of mud or concrete (very small) with tin or thatched roofs. There’s trash, wild dogs, goats, donkeys, and people on mopeds and bikes all over the roads. I’ve already seen men and women carry baskets and boxes my size on their heads (sometimes, while biking and with a baby on their back!). The begins to rise at around 430 or 5, and begins to set at around 630. When its dark, its dark. No street lights, no flashlights, and yet everyone manages to hang out and see what they’re doing.

I got 3 shots today, 4 in the past 3 days, and will have probably another 3 or 4 before stag (training) is over. Training days will typically begin at around 8 and end at around 5, filled with language, cultural, and technical training. I (expectedly) scored Novice Low on the French exam (the lowest level…) so I will also be attending tutor sessions from 720-750 am and from 515-545 pm. So it’s a long day! We’re currently staying at our training site, but coming Sunday we will be meeting our host families and staying in a village nearby, where we will be eating, sleeping, and socializing with our Burkinabe host families, and biking to training every day.

I certainly wouldn’t say that I think these next 9 weeks will go smashingly. As a matter of fact, I know I will have a rough time. But so far I’ve been incredibly pleased with my patience and acceptance of the challenges and struggles that have thus far come from being in the second poorest country in the world. I know this will be difficult, but I am becoming more and more confident in the direction I am going. Two years does seem quite daunting right now, but I know the more I learn the more ready I’ll be. I’ve only been in Burkina for 48 hours and I can say with confidence that I know there is so much I will love here. Last night was our welcoming party. There was traditional music, dancing, and drinking, and I actually had quite the moment when we were greeted with open arms, drum playing, fresh water, and smiles from some of the locals. It was so touching, and I know that the rewards of my stay and work here will far surpass the struggles. You cannot find direction until you get a little lost and overwhelmed first.

In other news, the food I’ve had here thus far has been fantastic! Spaghetti, couscous with tomato stew-ish sauce, rice with peanut sauce, brushett (meet kabob with garlic and vegitables), Burkina beer—its all been surprisingly appetizing. No crazy bowel problems. Yet. Can’t drink the water. Will get a Burkinabe dress tailored for myself quite soon because they’re beautiful. Stag group is amazing, have already made what I can tell will be lifelong friends in the past 3 days.

With just about two weeks left (16 days, but who’s counting…) before taking flight to what will seem like an entirely different world, I have had to say a lot of good byes. Most of the time, the emotions that come with good byes hit me immediately after I say them and stay with me for days; other times, these emotions come before the good bye even takes place. I’ve had to bid farewells before , but nothing has been this emotionally draining and saddening as this. And it’s like this for a number of reasons: I’ll be in a third world country, void of so many familiarities yet chock full of sensory overloads and challenging situations, and it will be much more difficult to stay in touch with loved ones at home. But I think the most substantial reason for such overpowering feelings of grief is that I’m leaving a lot of meaningful people—the most meaningful people I have ever had in my life. It’s just as much a sentiment of loss as it is a sentiment of sadness. I have felt in the past few weeks that I am sacrificing friendships and close relationships by making this move in my life. And it causes such dissonance, wanting to jump head first into this new adventure that awaits me while emotionally beating myself up over the thought of potentially losing those who are dearest to me now. Relationships have always been of utmost importance, and yet with every good bye I have to wonder whether it’s worth leaving behind. And it scares me. It scares me that I'm leaving something that I can never have with that person again.

After a lot of reflection and talks with close friends, I see now that—no matter where I ended up after college—similar thoughts and feelings would follow. I was so used to being surrounded by loved ones in the past four years, whether at home or at college, that I failed to realize we’re all going through some serious changes right now. I have friends all along the east coast, west coast, mid-west, Europe, Africa, Asia—and no matter where we end up we have no choice but to deal with feelings of separation and disconnectedness. That’s part of the real world; I guess I was a bit too naïve and oblivious to realize it until it whacked me upside the head. And part of existing in the real world—for me at least—is to maintain connectedness in spite of such great distances. People change, jobs change, location changes, but relationships can still be embraced despite these changes. We’re all walking along a “lonely street of dreams.” We just need a little wifi and some cell reception every now and then.

Since contacting friends and loved ones, I have gotten an abundance of love and encouragement in return--and I am so grateful and honored to have such supportive people in my life. Since accepting my invitation, I have already began to feel alone knowing that I will be so distant and isolated from the people who have been near and dear to me. But reading your messages, emails, and talking with you has helped me realize that distance cannot destroy that closeness. So merci boucoup!

Another reason I am feeling rather thankful is this: about two weeks ago, I heard of many Peace Corps nominees (many of which were nominated for the same time frame as me) were sent an email. In a nutshell, this email said "Hey! So, uhh, ya know how we nominated you for September? Well, that's not gonna work out. And we only invite about 300 people between October and December, so you'll be considered for programs between January and June of 2009." 2009?! Really?! I nearly fell out of my chair reading about this, because I'm sure I would have received that same email had I not been persistent with my Placement Officer. I feel terrible for those who have to wait that long. I also feel terrible for Peace Corps, because the ONLY reason that email (while not exactly the most tasteful of emails) was because of budget cuts. Every year, more people apply to Peace Corps; and in the past several years, Peace Corps has had to make more and more program cuts, causing greater competition and a greater number of qualified, committed people turned down. I hope everyone who received that email gets placed next year, and I'm feeling even MORE grateful for having a timely placement!

So in the past several weeks I've been teaching myself French (can't you tell?!), studying for the GREs which I'm taking on Thursday (and which my success seems more like a shot in the dark than a measure of skill or intelligence), and starting to gear up for Burkina living conditions.

I've already bought: a pack (one of those big backpacks you typically see people take when they go backpacking through Europe), some conservative dress clothes (Despite the ridiculously hot temperatures and abundance of dust in Burkina Faso, the Burkinabe people place a great deal of emphasis on appropriate dress....that means everything must fall BELOW the knee), a "Bug hut" (I don't know what most Americans consider"hot nights" to be, but in BF it will consist of sleeping OUTSIDE because of ungodly hot temperatures inside...so this tent will protect me from hungry mosquitoes), some shoes, wicking athletic clothes, an ipod shuffle, and I'm currently look into a solar charger for batteries and small electronics. If you're interested in checking out a suggested packing list for BF, here's the link: http://www.peacecorpswiki.org/Packing_list_for_Burkina_Faso

What's crazy is that I have more than a month to prepare for all this, and yet there is so much left to do. And what's even more overwhelming is that I just want to sit, relax, and enjoy Western life and friends and family. Thinking about it though, I'd rather be under prepared in terms of gear than miss out on chances to spend time with people.

I guess I should begin with this: I'm going to Burkina Faso for the Peace Corps! Yay!

It happened quickly: I would like to think it was because my qualifications, my motivation and commitment, and my maturity and cultural awareness spoke for itself. Instead, I'm sure it was because I left three voice mails on my Placement Officer's (PO) answering machine all before 1 pm this past Monday. Most likely, a combination of the two.

I was driving home from work when my PO returned my call(s), so I managed to pull over in a parking lot to give her my complete attention (and to rip through my purse to find a speech I prepared, an attempt to convince her that I should be sent immediately...aka, late September...preferably to Mozambique). Instead, I got the following from her:

Getting an invitation to a program in late September was not an optionThere IS a program leaving mid-October that is a good fitThis program entails: working with a very (very) rural clinic, completely isolated, far (far) away from other volunteers and major cities. This program is not for everyone.I need to start learning French. Immediately.You would think, after waiting 7 months for an invitation, that I would be thrilled to get so much information. Instead, my stomach sunk and I had difficulty swallowing. Was I up for the challenge? I told her I was. I had a headache for the rest of the evening and couldn't sleep at all that night. Is this something I can really do? Will I be happy, or will this be one long, two-year struggle? I tried to picture myself hot, sweaty, covered with dust and dirt with only a bucket and a limited source of water to bathe myself. I tried to picture myself in my hut, alone, missing friends and family and all of life's familiarities. I tried to picture myself with some kind of stomach parasite....and a latrine. I tried to picture myself speaking French. It wasn't pretty.But the more I thought about it--about the opportunities for challenges, growth, lessons learned and experiences gained, about the friendships made and impact I can make--I quickly realized how lucky I am to have this chance in life, and I would be silly not to take it. Burkina Faso is the second poorest country in the world (http://hdr.undp.org/en/statistics/); the average Burkinabe makes approximately $300 US dollars per year (http://ouagadougou.usembassy.gov/economic_trends_and_outlook.html); they have one of the highest infant mortality rates of 86.02 deaths/1,000 live births; the Burkinabe people suffer from AIDS, malaria, hepatitis, typhoid, malnutrition, drought and desertification; most are illiterate (80.2% are illiterate), unemployed (77% unemployment rate), and in poverty (46.4% below the poverty line) (https://www.cia.gov/library/publications/the-world-factbook/geos/uv.html).These are the people who need help the MOST. Like I said before, I would be silly not to take this job. This is exactly what I've wanted to do.If that wasn't enough to help me re-discover my passion and eagerness to do this, I found this: An opinion article written by a Peace Corps Volunteer in Burkina Faso, entitled "A Lesson in Giving (http://query.nytimes.com/gst/fullpage.html?res=9505EFD81739F930A1575BC0A9659C8B63). I hope you read this piece in its entirety, but the jist is that this PCV (Dorothy) was beginning her 7km bike ride back to her village when her bike breaks. Its unbearably hot, and shes already tired. A villager appears in the distance, and without thinking twice, straps her broken bike on to his, convinces her to get on her bike, and LUGS both HER and her BIKE 7km back to her village in the sweltering heat. Here are the last two paragraphs to help emphasize the incredibly generous, honorable nature of the Burkinabe people:Two years ago, at the age of 27, I volunteered for Peace Corps service to ''give back'' to the world. Today, I realize I gained much more in return. I am no longer a volunteer, but I continue to work in the western part of the country. When I think back on that moment when I was stranded on that deserted cow path, there was a part of me that was calm, because I knew where I was. I was in a place where you never feel alone or abandoned because someone will always come along to help you; where a starving woman would give her last bowl of food to a stranger; where kids are elated to play with an old tire and a stick. A place where family unity is everything and the guest is paramount. To the Burkinabé, these principles are more than just cultural values, they are a way of life. Burkina Faso means ''the land of the upright and courageous people.'' It is one of the poorest countries in the world, but a place where I learned what giving truly means. Here's another quick story: a woman I was working with this week mentioned to me that her daughter's friend was in Ghana for the Peace Corps (just below Burkina Faso). During her two years spent in her rural village, 11 children were named after her. ELEVEN! That just goes to show how much of a positive impact one person can make on a village.So by the time I received my invitation yesterday, I knew I would accept it (at this time, still didn't know where I was going, so it was quite appropriate I came across that Burkina Faso article). Only smiles, squeals, and tears of joy (literally, I was choking up) when I read what my assignment will be for the next two years! Here's some info about what exactly I'll be doing:Program: Community Health Development Program

Orientation Dates: October 12-14

Pre-Service Training (in BF): October 15-December 19, 2008

Dates of Service: December 19, 2008 - December 19, 2010

Primary Responsibilities: Training and ensuring the continued function of a village health center management committee; Establish partnerships with community based organizations, train CBOs and ensure ongoing support to undertake health promotion and disease prevention activities (HIV/AIDs and reproductive health, Malaria and malnutrition); Educate and build the capacity of individuals, community peer educators and students on HIV/AIDS and reproductive health, Malaria and malnutrition.I'll be learning French, as well as another native language of my village. I will be the only volunteer at my post. I may be 25-50 Km away from internet or major cities.Despite my initial bout of fear (which I'm sure is normal), I could not be happier with my assignment. I think its exactly what I've been looking for: an opportunity to help some genuinely deserving people in need and to learn more that I ever thought I could about myself, my strengths and limitations, other people, another culture, everything. I am so thrilled.And come on, it's capital is Ouagadougou. That's incredible, I don't even know how to pronounce it, but it sounds amazing!

Today is August 7th, nearly a full seven months since I became medically cleared by the Peace Corps, and nearly one year since I first submitted my application. I was nominated September ‘07 to do Health Extension Education in Sub-Saharan Africa in late September ‘08. This might change. I was informed yesterday that the program I was nominated for is full, so now my application is considered a “priority” file, and my PO is trying to place me somewhere else, somewhere that may not begin staging until October, November or December. I cannot describe how anxious I have been these past several days, but I’m trying to keep positive! I am more excited than ever before to take on whatever assignment is given to me, and I cannot wait to begin this incredible journey thats in store for me. Well, I have to wait, but, you know what I mean…