Thanksgiving et le Fête du Chef

For the first time since I was 4 years old, I did not celebrate Thanksgiving day with my family in Montrose. The holidays are an emotional time for many, and being a Peace Corps Volunteer in a far away land is hardly an exception. Not only am I lacking the family and the familiarity of the holiday…I am celebrating it in a country that hardly produces a climate of Holiday Cheer (I’m still negotiating the acquisition of a Christmas Tree…). But amid my worries of solitude, depression and the inevitability of eating Tô with Baobab Sauce on Thanksgiving, I was saved by a little bit of planning, a lot of friends, and a Pig.

Amid many options to spend Turkey day in various towns (Djibo, Ouahigouya, Bobo, Ouaga), I chose Fada as my destination, primarily because a good portion of my Pre-Service training group would be there, and lets face it, us GEE volunteers are pretty cool. My secondary RFD (reason for decision) was the promise of Turkey (a bird about as rare here as a killer whale in Colorado) and Pumpkin Pie. So, like the hyper-optimistic Candide in search of the riches of El Dorado, I Packed my Bag and journeyed East to Fada.

A Day that had potential to live in Infamy

My first mistake (actually my only mistake) upon arriving at Bobby’s house, 5:30 AM Thursday Morning was asking the obligatory “Is there anything I can do to help?” question. With a mischievous chuckle, Bobby hand me an unjokingly large knife and points to a dead pig that recently met its maker. “We’ve got one more Pig Joel, care to do the honors?” Keep in mind this is 5:36 in the morning, my hair is disheveled, and I haven’t even had my morning cup of Nescafé. Amid all conceivable appeals to humanity I manage to conjure in my head, I agree to slaughter the second pig. Without going into detail, after 4 stabs directly into the pig’s heart and after 3 endless minutes of it realizing its inevitable demise, it was dead. Where upon I claimed I had done my share of labor for Peace Corps Fada Thanksgiving 2006. Then I ate Pancakes. And life was good. The End. Well, not really, but you all know how the rest of the day went…just how all other Thanksgivings go. Except, the whole being in Africa Part. Did I mention the Pig tasted amazing?

The day after the day after Thanksgiving

So Fada is 495 km from Pobé-Mengao. Whether you’re in the Rockies or the Sahel (that’s where I am, FYI), 495 km is no short trek. So one could imagine my sense of defeat when I learned via a text message Friday morning that my Chief’s annual (yet unannounced) Fête (Party) was to fall on Saturday, Nov. 25. To the credit of Burkina Faso, their transportation system is relatively reliable and frequent…unless you live in the North (which, of course, is where I live). Does Joel suffer defeat and opt to stay in Fada to thoroughly digest his Thanksgiving feast from yesterday or does he attempt the impossible, a Fada-Ouaga-Djibo-Pobé death run in time to catch the tail end of the Fête? I chose cultural integration over gastrointestinal peace of mind. One bus ride to Ouaga, one bus ride to Djibo, a trip to the supermarket and a 28 km bike ride later, I arrive to home sweet Pobé at 5:24PM, Saturday.

True to Muslim tradition, the Fête du Chef is contingent not upon the calendar, but on the cycle of the moon. Ramadan comes the first day the moon appears in the Western Sky following the new moon. The Fête of Pobé falls 5 days after the following new moon. Does everybody follow? The party is essentially recognition of the main family that resides in Pobé-Mengao, the family of the Chef Konfé. About 90% of the inhabitants here are Konfé. With any fête in Burkina, food is the main attraction, however so bland. In addition to the fête’s honoring of the Chef & his family tree, it indirectly marks the end of the harvest, the end of 6 months of backbreaking labor out in the fields. No, for the next 6 months, until the rains begin again, many in Pobé will not work (in other parts of the world, this is called “unemployment”), as there simply is no work to be done. This is a concept I myself am still trying to reconcile. But unlike in the United States where one who “can’t find work” most often they can’t find work they want, here in Burkina, in the village setting, there truly is no work.

Me, however, being the Ultimate Optimist SLASH Cynic (if such a dichotomy is cohabitable), am determined to help change the status quo, here in Pobé. Sometimes all it takes is a new set of eyes and an attitude of potential. What I don’t have to offer is Money. And that is why I think change can happen. Because money won’t be thrown at the problem…but such is another debate, for another day.

My 3-month lockdown period is over. My work is beginning to take form, little by little; I’m teaching myself to be a volunteer. Stay tuned and I’ll let you all know how it goes. So from the headlamp lit mud hut in Pobé-Mengao, this is Joel saying, Happy Holidays, you know, ahead of time.