and then there was a village
Let me begin today’s blog entry by stating that I had composed a rather wonderful, rather long blog entry two days ago, but by some unknown stroke of the keyboard, I had erased the entire composition. Not that any of you were disadvantaged in the whole process, but I nevertheless apologize.
This past week in Ouagadougou has been fun. I think I have seen/experienced it all. Whether it was my taxi driver casually taking out a guy on a motorcycle, or the old man with twelve toes on the side of the road selling pre-paid cell phone cards, Ouaga has a (mis)adventure around every corner.
Tomorrow, I leave for Pobé-Mengao, my village site for the next two years. Today is the last day in which I can buy a cheeseburger or chat with a familiar face. Today is my last day in Ouagadougou, for the next three months. The Official Swear-In ceremony (where we take the oath to be volunteers for the next two years) took place on Friday, the 25th of August. After a day of frantically seeking out random necessities for my new home (literally everything except the kitchen sink...and a bathtub), we put on our Friday’s best and took advantage of great appetizers and diverse company at the U.S. Ambassador’s house (a.k.a. the swear-in site).
Affectation and its sorrows
The act of being taken to your site of service is known as affectation. Since Peace Corps Burkina Faso has only a limited number of vehicles, not everybody can be affecté’d at the same time. It just so happened to work out that myself, along with 4 other volunteers, are the last to be sent to site. 15 or so left yesterday, 14 today, and we leave tomorrow. I did not anticipate their departure to be as emotional as it was, but you cannot deny the gravity of it all. 33 volunteers who have seen one another for the last 3 months, every day, all day, all sharing one amazing cultural experience, only to be spread out all over the country.
What I find to be hardest to believe is that even though I have been in Burkina Faso for 12 weeks, my actual job here has only just begun. Two years remaining. In many regards, it seems like a long time, but when I think about the reality of it all, that I will be living here for two years, building friendships and relationships, two years has the potential to go by very quickly.
The next step, as it were
It is a requirement that each new volunteer remain at his or her site for the first three months of service. Aside from traveling to the nearest market town, it is important that the volunteer not travel much when they first arrive. This is what they call the “Settling-in” period. Since my job involves interacting with the community, helping them jump start programs they want to do, it would be outrageous, let alone impossible for me to simply jump into town tomorrow and start doing all the things I think is best for their community. The first three months of every volunteer’s service is to get to know the community, to conduct informal meetings in an attempt to find out exactly what are the community’s needs, and to simply become a familiar face. Generally speaking we are told to do “no real work”; simply informal needs-assessments, but ask any volunteer and they will probably tell you that the first three months at site are the hardest. The adjustment from Pre-Service Training to life alone at site is anything but subtle.
On March 17th, 2005, with a tentative stroke of the keyboard, I submitted my Peace Corps Application online. One year 5 months and 10 days later, I am here, in Burkina Faso, a day away from beginning my two years of service.
Jusqu’á la Prochaine Fois
This may very well be my last post until around Thanksgiving, as that will be the end of my three-month lock-down in Pobé. There is an Internet café in Djibo (30 km away), however, it is exceptionally unreliable not to mention extortionately priced (hey, its the Sahel). In any event, I hope that this blog finds everyone well and in the best of health. To my friends and family, I miss you all and do not doubt that I am thinking of you all constantly. To any up and coming PCT’s awaiting Staging who happened to come across my blog, sorry I didn’t provide more substantive info, perhaps next time (trust me, blogs were my Rosetta Stone for Peace Corps prior to departure). To all, stay tuned.....
best,
Joel Turner (My name :)
Porgo, Joël (mon nom de Sananga)
Konfé, Boureima (mon nom de Pobé-Mengao)
p.s. apologies for the dismal lack of photos chez moi online...my camera decided to grow legs and walk away
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Thursday, August 10, 2006
the shortest long non-entry you'll ever see
Hello everyone. Just a quick announcement that in a short time I will have ALL my photos available online for viewing. I will let you all know when they are there, in the electronic flesh, but I just wanted to calm some nerves, in case people were in need of some pictoral proof of my presence here in W. Africa.
Tenative date... Aug 24th. Only a week of training remaining! Next entry will be in Ouagadougou...stay tuned!
Tenative date... Aug 24th. Only a week of training remaining! Next entry will be in Ouagadougou...stay tuned!
Sunday, August 06, 2006
adaptation
I wish I was once told that Peace Corps is an exercise in extremes. That way I could start this long-overdue blog entry by saying "I once was told that Peace Corps is an exercise in extremes." Since I think I am the first to utilize the expression, I hereby declare the phrase "coined" in my name.
I hope this entry finds all who read it happy, healthy, and enjoying all that they are doing with their lives. So much has happened I don't even know where to start. One thing I know for certain is that my Peace Corps experience has been a series of phases. Myriad phases, actually, some of which overlap one another, which can make processing this whole experience rather difficult...but I will delve into the phases of adaptation, so you can catch a glimpse of life here.
phase I: physical adaptation
In time and with the aide of frequent, violent, immobilizing rain storms I have rendered myself more or less adapted to the hot climate here in Burkina Faso. Two mornings prior, the temperature in my room had dropped to a bone-chilling 78.4 degrees. I exited my house to find Limata, one of my two mothers, sitting in front of the fire she had made to heat up water, shivering. She had wrapped an extra pagne around her body to help keep warm. Now I am not going to lie: for me, Mr. Colorado, ski/snowboard bum, winter enthusiast, t-shirts and chacos in February, 78.4 degrees had a little bit of a bite to it. Still not cold, but it came close. It was wonderful. Physical adaptation, they say, is the easy part. Now that sleeping in a room at night when it is over 100 degrees is a commonality and the occasional 78.4 degree morning requires me to contemplate cracking out my Patagonia R1, I can successfully move on to Phase II: cultural adaptation.
Phase II and its façade of futility
No matter how you attempt to seek similarities, things here are just different. While it must be prefaced that few U.S. Americans know that Burkina Faso is a country, let alone a state that hosts over 60 ethnicities, some Burkinabé misconceptions of the U.S.A. are quite extraordinary. For example, according to many Burkinabé, there are no Black people in the U.S.A. Only white people. And we are all rich. And there is no manual labor. In the U.S.A., all manufacturing, all agriculture, everything, is carried out by machines. While this isn't too far from the truth, we are a far cry from living like the Jetsons. Or are we? It has been two months since I've been in the states.
There is a phrase here "Americans have watches Burkinabé have time". I cannot begin to successfully stress how true this statement is. Throughout PST, I have lived in a village with three other stagiares, Aisha, Chrissy, and Theo. We have various meetings with various groups in the community. Let us say we are planning a meeting with the APE (think parent-teacher association). We, the PST's, would like to have the meeting at 2pm .
Do We....
a) tell the APE the meeting starts at 2pm
b) tell the APE the meeting starts at 1:30pm
or
c) tell the APE the meeting starts at 1pm
If you picked A, congratulations, you've just wasted half of your afternoon, waiting for the group to arrive. If you picked C, DING DING DING, you win! Because the APE members will leave their homes at the time you establish the meeting to commence, it is best to allow one hour, and here's why: After they leave their home, they will probably forget a few things and have to return to their courtyard, but on the way back, they run into their brother-in-law. In Burkinabé tradition, you never sacrifice the opportunity to salutate people, especially family. After 10 minutes of chatting, another brother-in-law arrives. 10 minutes after that...you get the picture. Each member will stop and chat with every person that crosses their path between point A (courtyard) and point b (the school). If I had more time, I'd draw a map, as this is serious stuff here. This is very close to an exact science. If APE member A, B, and C all leave their homes at 1 pm, they will all manage to arrive within 5 minutes of 2pm. No joke. Let my tone not suggest frustration. In fact, it is quite the contrary. I admire a community, a culture, that places personal relationships over deadlines. I can only begin to muse how fewer stress-related ailments the Burkinabé have than their developed country counterparts. Their actions, while lax, do not suggest laziness. Hard work is requisite for survival, just as is an emphasis on community support.
Not all roses...but then again, what is?
One final word about manual labor. I must speak to the unbelievable strength and unrecognized hard work performed by the women of Burkina Faso. Their job is 7 days a week, 18 hours a day. It begins at 4 am and ends long after dark. They cook for their entire family (which is anything but a simple chore, as familes frequently number over 50), they retrieve dozens upon dozens of gallons of water daily, all carried on their head, they clean their courtyards, they bear children, oftentimes once every year, between the ages of 18 and 30. In between household chores, the women take their children and join the men in the fields to cultivate under the hot sun. The women have no rights. Most women, almost all in villages, are forced to marry their husband at the age of 17. And somehow, for some unbeknownst reason, other than a potential lack of consciousness to their unfair situation, these women smile. They laugh. They sing and on occasion, they dance. They are stronger physically than any man in the village, but their culture convinces them that they are weak. They are taught to serve their husbands, to not talk back. I wish I could say I am painting an exaggerated, or a worst-case scenario type picture, but I am not.
And supposedly, this is where I am supposed to come in. Joel Turner, the fearless, sensitized, gender equitable PCV. Easier said than done, right?
Same same but different different
Long story abbreviated, things here are just different. Burkina Faso, much like any developing country, holds onoldson to its traditions, and because of this, one finds priceless gifts of hope and frustrating walls of futility. They are not overcome by making a buck. Burkinabé truly do place People over Profit. But with this benevolent cultural externality, there exists a challenge to change the things that hinder the autonomy and well-being of many. There is no continuum of goodness. Burkina Faso is not a bad country, nor is the United States of America superior. You cannot rank countries, because in doing so, you rank people. And that's just mean, now isn't it?
I hope this entry finds all who read it happy, healthy, and enjoying all that they are doing with their lives. So much has happened I don't even know where to start. One thing I know for certain is that my Peace Corps experience has been a series of phases. Myriad phases, actually, some of which overlap one another, which can make processing this whole experience rather difficult...but I will delve into the phases of adaptation, so you can catch a glimpse of life here.
phase I: physical adaptation
In time and with the aide of frequent, violent, immobilizing rain storms I have rendered myself more or less adapted to the hot climate here in Burkina Faso. Two mornings prior, the temperature in my room had dropped to a bone-chilling 78.4 degrees. I exited my house to find Limata, one of my two mothers, sitting in front of the fire she had made to heat up water, shivering. She had wrapped an extra pagne around her body to help keep warm. Now I am not going to lie: for me, Mr. Colorado, ski/snowboard bum, winter enthusiast, t-shirts and chacos in February, 78.4 degrees had a little bit of a bite to it. Still not cold, but it came close. It was wonderful. Physical adaptation, they say, is the easy part. Now that sleeping in a room at night when it is over 100 degrees is a commonality and the occasional 78.4 degree morning requires me to contemplate cracking out my Patagonia R1, I can successfully move on to Phase II: cultural adaptation.
Phase II and its façade of futility
No matter how you attempt to seek similarities, things here are just different. While it must be prefaced that few U.S. Americans know that Burkina Faso is a country, let alone a state that hosts over 60 ethnicities, some Burkinabé misconceptions of the U.S.A. are quite extraordinary. For example, according to many Burkinabé, there are no Black people in the U.S.A. Only white people. And we are all rich. And there is no manual labor. In the U.S.A., all manufacturing, all agriculture, everything, is carried out by machines. While this isn't too far from the truth, we are a far cry from living like the Jetsons. Or are we? It has been two months since I've been in the states.
There is a phrase here "Americans have watches Burkinabé have time". I cannot begin to successfully stress how true this statement is. Throughout PST, I have lived in a village with three other stagiares, Aisha, Chrissy, and Theo. We have various meetings with various groups in the community. Let us say we are planning a meeting with the APE (think parent-teacher association). We, the PST's, would like to have the meeting at 2pm .
Do We....
a) tell the APE the meeting starts at 2pm
b) tell the APE the meeting starts at 1:30pm
or
c) tell the APE the meeting starts at 1pm
If you picked A, congratulations, you've just wasted half of your afternoon, waiting for the group to arrive. If you picked C, DING DING DING, you win! Because the APE members will leave their homes at the time you establish the meeting to commence, it is best to allow one hour, and here's why: After they leave their home, they will probably forget a few things and have to return to their courtyard, but on the way back, they run into their brother-in-law. In Burkinabé tradition, you never sacrifice the opportunity to salutate people, especially family. After 10 minutes of chatting, another brother-in-law arrives. 10 minutes after that...you get the picture. Each member will stop and chat with every person that crosses their path between point A (courtyard) and point b (the school). If I had more time, I'd draw a map, as this is serious stuff here. This is very close to an exact science. If APE member A, B, and C all leave their homes at 1 pm, they will all manage to arrive within 5 minutes of 2pm. No joke. Let my tone not suggest frustration. In fact, it is quite the contrary. I admire a community, a culture, that places personal relationships over deadlines. I can only begin to muse how fewer stress-related ailments the Burkinabé have than their developed country counterparts. Their actions, while lax, do not suggest laziness. Hard work is requisite for survival, just as is an emphasis on community support.
Not all roses...but then again, what is?
One final word about manual labor. I must speak to the unbelievable strength and unrecognized hard work performed by the women of Burkina Faso. Their job is 7 days a week, 18 hours a day. It begins at 4 am and ends long after dark. They cook for their entire family (which is anything but a simple chore, as familes frequently number over 50), they retrieve dozens upon dozens of gallons of water daily, all carried on their head, they clean their courtyards, they bear children, oftentimes once every year, between the ages of 18 and 30. In between household chores, the women take their children and join the men in the fields to cultivate under the hot sun. The women have no rights. Most women, almost all in villages, are forced to marry their husband at the age of 17. And somehow, for some unbeknownst reason, other than a potential lack of consciousness to their unfair situation, these women smile. They laugh. They sing and on occasion, they dance. They are stronger physically than any man in the village, but their culture convinces them that they are weak. They are taught to serve their husbands, to not talk back. I wish I could say I am painting an exaggerated, or a worst-case scenario type picture, but I am not.
And supposedly, this is where I am supposed to come in. Joel Turner, the fearless, sensitized, gender equitable PCV. Easier said than done, right?
Same same but different different
Long story abbreviated, things here are just different. Burkina Faso, much like any developing country, holds onoldson to its traditions, and because of this, one finds priceless gifts of hope and frustrating walls of futility. They are not overcome by making a buck. Burkinabé truly do place People over Profit. But with this benevolent cultural externality, there exists a challenge to change the things that hinder the autonomy and well-being of many. There is no continuum of goodness. Burkina Faso is not a bad country, nor is the United States of America superior. You cannot rank countries, because in doing so, you rank people. And that's just mean, now isn't it?
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