January was quite possibly the longest month on record. Sure, its 31 days like many other months, but the belligerent abundance of activities, holidays, social events, everything that made December fly by in a flash, made January a long month on the edge of the Sahara. I did have many firsts, however. One first in particular: I took up running for the first time in Burkina Faso. It has been a good 9 months since I last laced a pair of tennis shoes (actually it was the first time I have WORN shoes since April) and after 2 km, my body sent any signal to my brain it could find telling me that what I was doing was ridiculous and wrong. My lungs burned, my thighs ached, by feet longed for air...but I ran, nonetheless. And it got easier. After a week, the people in my village stopped trying to figure out what I was running from, and came to expect this nightly ritual. Truth be known, the “running season”, that being the window in which one can safely run without fear of dying is a relatively short period of time. Yes, I am speaking of the “cold season” in Burkina Faso. Sadly, this 2 ½ month period livable temperatures is nearing its end. When I return to site, I fear that it will once again be too hot to run (rather, too hot for me to want to run, thereby forming an excuse not to exercise, yet again).
The Hadj Cup
For several weeks, I noticed a significant amount of hustle and bustle throughout village. No, Pobé-ites were not flooding the local Circuit City for after-Christmas deals on Xbox 360's and iPhones, they were preparing for the return of a member of the village who had the opportunity to take her Hadj, that being, a pilgrimage to Mecca. All Muslims are to, if financially and otherwise able, make a trip to Mecca, the holiest of sites in Islam. She was able to go by the means of her well-to-do son, who comes from Pobé but lives in Ouaga.
Upon her arrival in village, there was a benediction in her honor, followed by a Soccer match. One team was a group of Ouaga-ites that grew up in Pobé, the other team, naturally was the home team. I was invited to this match, having no real clue how much of a spectacle it would become. When I arrive, there are only about 200 people gathered. By the start of the game, close to 2000 people have descended upon the village playing field (essentially the flattest, least obstacle-prone patch of land around Pobé). I later learned that the Mayor of my village, a very large, elegant man who owns his own 1992 Toyota Celica and has his own armed, yes gun-toting guards, put forth 10,000 cfa (about $20) for the winners, along with a trophy and two soccer balls. Tensions were high before the game, and that wasn't simply because these two guards seemed to want to use their .22 rifles as crowd control wands when the hoards of kids ballooned over onto the field. Tensions were high because a lot was at stake. Not just a chance to win more money than most will see in a year, it was a chance to make Pobé proud. The game was under way.
Pobé's team had the usual town suspects. Ghana (People just call him Ghana, like the country. He is from Cote d'Ivoire), a chain-smoking brick builder played defense refusing to wear shoes (he works barefoot, why not play barefoot?), has a clearing kick that can easily take the ball from one end of the field to the next. Dramane, the Junior High School director played right wing, carrying with him his always stern, forcibly serious attitude onto the field. And then there was Rasmani, the strong center, still in school, was later crowned the MVP, for scoring the two goals, the only two goals scored by either team, and thereby letting Pobé retain the first ever Hadj Cup trophy, and a little bit of pride for beating the younger, more “sophisticated” team from the capital city. I was proud of my team, and happy for my village. No hard feelings were harbored, and the close of the game gave way to a night of dancing.
That day at the soccer field, I felt less like I was in a rural West African village and more like I was in a small, tight-nit community, because that's where I was. The allure of being isolated, in the bush, if you will, has slowly been replaced by the reality of being in a community. It just so happens to be very far removed from the high-octane pace of the western world.
Seeing as how I am sitting in front of a computer, one could assume I have made it out of site and one would be correct in that type of assumption. I am currently in Ouahigouya, here for a week-long in-service training. All sectors of Peace Corps have two in-service trainings, an opportunity for volunteers to meet up with their fellow PCVs, share success stories in village, and hopefully learn some new approaches that can help us all at site. I should have internet access throughout the week, so feel free to drop me an email. Thank you again to all who have sent me care packages. I can't stress how much this has saved me. Thank you for keeping me in your thoughts, and for taking it a step forward and taking the trouble to send me some otherwise non-existent goods. That's all for today. Perhaps I'll follow up with another post later this week. I hope all is well back home.
Much love, Joel.
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