Dark Continent, Iluminated?

“I arise in the morning torn between a desire to save the world and a desire to savor the world. This makes it hard to plan the day.”

-E.B. White

What is the Africa Question, anyway? I once thought I knew it. To add to such audacity, there was a time when I thought that maybe, just perhaps, I knew the answer. The reality is there are as many answers to the Africa Question as there are Africa Questions. To say it is a complex continent does not even begin scratch the surface of the issue. To highlight this aphorism, try beginning to understand the intricacies of one African country. Then try to understand the intricacies of one ethnic group within one country. For every step towards the specific, you find that using the word “complex” to describe Africa is a gross understatement.

After personally accepting the fact that I probably will never understand the etiology of the plight of Africa, I am thankful to know that I have seen at least a slice of this place. Many of my perceptions of this continent are validated through various observations, conversations, experiences. But it is through seeing and doing that I have realized that myself, and the rest of the world for that matter, know so little about this place. I know that is not why I am here. I am not a cultural anthropologist, nor a historian, not even a cartographer. I am a Peace Corps Volunteer.

The other day I was having a conversation with a fellow GEE volunteer. Tim is nearing his close of service and is in the process applying to Law School. Seeing as how Peace Corps is a recent and intense chapter in his life, he feels compelled to incorporate some of his impressions into his cover letter. We began discussing the concept of activism in community development. To what extent is going against the grain a necessity to elicit social change? We as PCVs are taught that cultural sensitivity is paramount in our interactions on a community level. We are, after all, guests in this country. The question arises: Does attention to cultural sensitivity and the practice of social activism, in a community development setting become mutually defeating? I would like to think not. Volunteers are somewhat of an anomaly. We are often able to mobilize groups of people that would otherwise take no interest. It is a frustrating reality, but oftentimes people will only show up to an AIDS sensibilization because they know that the Amercian in their village will be presenting something. In many villages, conducting a session on the importance of the use of contraceptives or the dangers of female genital mutilation is exceptionally taboo. Cultural traditions and taboos are deeply rooted, regardless of their disasterous effects. If a volunteer was to be culturally prudent, then this subject may very well remain off limits. Is this acceptable? Both cultural sensitivity and an ability to challenge deeply rooted beliefs must coexist in the job description of a volunteer. Long story short, I think this is much of what a PCV, in Burkina Faso at least, must strive for.

It is both exciting and incredibly frustrating being at the bottom looking up. Amid it all, I believe that grass-roots development is the most effective, rewarding form. The conversations, debates and stories I have shared with my friends in village will always remain. If I am able to leave knowing that I helped one student understand the concept and importance of critical thinking and independent thought, I would consider my two years a success. But it all has its drawbacks. For it is at the grass-roots level that you cannot escape the frequent realization that perhaps our work here is making no measurable difference. On a macro, bureaucratic level, where figures and statistics are the language of development, it is very easy to be optomistic. Burkina Faso has reduced the incidence rate of HIV/AIDS to 4%. In many regards, this is cause for celebration. But what about the volunteer that sees with her own eyes the devastation of AIDS has caused in her village? Numbers are deceiving and in some respects, insulting.

My biggest challenge is fostering sustainability with my efforts in village. I don't want my projects and activities to exist in a vaccum. It is very hard not to throw money at things in village. Kids don't have enough notebooks? Sure I'll give the school $30 bucks so they can buy 120 notebooks. I'll feel good and then 1/5 of my school will have one notebook for one subject. But what happens next year? Will I give another $30 dollars? Is it not better to work with the school to find a locally feasible, sustainable approach to ensuring that students will have enough school supplies? It is better, but it is fighting against the status quo. Altruism and charity, in many respects, has hurt my village, especially my school. Why should a school director try to find ways to raise money for more desks when there is the constant possibility that some NGO from Germany or France or the U.S.A. will throw $2,000 into the school? What has transpired is a sit-and-wait system. Should one be surprised then when I, an American (de facto affluence included), moves into Pobe-Mengao, aiming to improve the lives of my new neighbors, and am immediately and persistently asked for money?

I guess it all comes down to how you look at it. I try to see through the incessant requests for cash and focus on the core needs, all the while evaluating to what extent I can be of help. I've never given a cent to a cause in village (aside from buying tea for those that come to the Women's Association meetings), and I'd like to think that I am still welcome. Just as Africans have come to expect money, many of us from the economic north feel it natural to give what we can in dollar signs. It is a challenge, and I am still trying to rid myself of such instincts. I am still confident that change can occur without grants or gifts.

Depending upon how you define development, it can be said things are getting better. Africa, the Dark Continent, is lighting up. With the help from a handful of NGO's, Guinea Worm has been practically eradicated in Burkina Faso. More and more women are seeking pre-natal consultations, due to greater availability and awareness of its importance. Cell phone coverage, and subsequently, cellphones are just about partout. It may be another 20 years before my village gets electricity, perhaps 50 years before anybody has plumbing. But my next door neighbor is able to call his brother in Cameroon and then check European football scores from his cell phone. Is this a good news? It all depends on your level of analysis. Cell phones do not eradicate poverty. It is just another example of how the world is getting a little flatter. Problems still exist. They will continue to exist. To what extent, I guess we will see. While people are debating whether Africa is a continent, a country, another world, whatever, the people of my village will continue doing what they know best: Living.

13 months, 2 weeks

"C'est pas facile, deh?" With an obligatory smile, I assure the bush taxi driver that I have been in many a cramped vehicle in an attempt to get from point A to point B. So as I climb into the very very back of the tiny Peugeot truck, I throw a couple parting blessings to my colleagues in Korunfé, I soak up the fresh air that came with barreling down a pot-holed, washed out road at 50 mph....and I realize, this is unique.

And sometimes, a little fun.

If a friend or other loved one was able to come visit me for just one day, one 24 hour period of time, I would take them on public transport. A close neighbor of mine once said, "I never feel more like a volunteer than when I am on transport." I have no choice but to agree with her. Few other experiences offer a traveler with such a candid, inviting look into the life and culture of Burkinabés. So many of my favorite memories come from going between point A and B. Whether it is riding in the back of a truck with two camels and a cow or it is helping push the bus through a waist-deep river, few transport experiences are without memories.

"You see the thing is," a friend starts, "your bus is either going to get you there on time or you're going to have a good story to tell when you get to your destination. Either way, the trip allows itself to be worth it." I've made it halfway through my service here in Burkina Faso. If one was to ask me in what way have I changed the most, I would say that I have perfected the art of patience. I know many would be quick to compliment me on such an accomplishment. But while I do see it as an accomplishment, it was anything but a voluntary undertaking. It is, for lack of a better explanation, a means of survival, being a 20-something from the West, transported, courtesy Air France into the daily grind of a land not forgotten, but simply never known.
So whether I am sitting on the side of the road, profiting from the shade of the tiny Peugeot, waiting for the driver to walk 5km to the nearest town to find a litre of gasoline, or I am sitting in an empty classroom, waiting for people to show so a meeting can start, I have learned that here in the Faso, patience is not simply a virtue, it is also a necessity.

I know it may not seem it, but sometimes, it isn't easy.

Here's the thing: for me, a one Joel D. Turner, PCV Burkina Faso, hindsight most certainly is not 20/20. Rather, it is cotton candy, balloons and gumballs, sno cones and other things that are sweet and wonderful. I didn't choose this method of outlook, but alas, I air on the side of positive. But it really isn't always like that. It just depends on how you look at it all. I could have hopped into that mini truck which happened to have 31 passengers (this truck is the size of a Buick LeSabre) and had the most discouraging, horrible day of my service up to that point. It was hot, I had a goat strapped above me that could have decided to relieve its bladder at any moment, a young child was expelling her mucus onto my pants, and an old man was trying to give me his grand-daughter as a cadeaux. But you have to take things in stride.

While it is true that I have reached the halfway point of my Peace Corps service, the reality is that I am much more than halfway through it all. After all, I applied for Peace Corps 16 months before I left for the Faso. While I wasn't picking rocks out of my lunch in the heat the entire time, Peace Corps has definitely been a part of my life for longer than the last 13 months and two weeks.

So what does this all mean? Mid-Service Crisis. No, I'm not going to go out and buy a Camel or anything rash like that...but it is a significant period of reflection for many volunteers. Peace Corps has been a part of my life for some time now, and the thought that it will some day (within the next year, give or take) be a thing of the past is a very sobering reality. Life in Burkina is real in every way America is fake...and Peace Corps Burkina is fake in every way America is real. I have no genetically modified tomatoes nor re-runs of Melrose Place, but I have no credit card bills nor junk mail. Same same but different, only...different.

Logistically speaking, I am here in Ouaga this week doing (incidentally) Mid-service medical. It is not a comprehensive medical check, but I do get a physical, dental check-up, and I even get to poop into a cup three times over the course of three days to see if I have any latent amoebas, worms, 25 cfa coins, etc lingering in my system. Thursday and Friday us GEE's have our 2nd year In-Service training. Just another opportunity for us to swap ideas and head back to site with an armful (or three) of resources, xeroxed sheets of info, and so on.
I head back to village for one week, where I can tend to my Eggplant crop and my Sunflowers (they are now 3 feet tall!). Rumor has it I will be cultivating corn and watermelon this rainy season. Following my week in Pobé, I return to Ouahigouya, to work another couple weeks with the trainees. Like I said in a previous post, they're a good group, and I really look forward to working with them again.
THEN, and I must say I am so excited about this, in August, my wonderful friend Shannon will be coming to visit me! So Shannon, if you're out there, don't forget to bring insect repellent. And be sure to bring me a t-shirt from Prague. Okay. Enough said. Until next time.

Be well.

j

On the road again

I'm going back to village tomorrow! After spending 35 days living out of a backpack and a messenger bag, I finally return to Pobé-Mengao. I left at the end of May and embarked on a series of adventures; a little travel, a lot of work, little sleep. I really have no intention to spend this much time out of my site ever again. It just so happened to work out this way, as I had trainings, then vacation, then more training, and lastly, the past week spent training new trainees. I am all trained out.



I am trying to neglect the reality that 2 weeks after I return to my site, I must return to Ouaga for my Mid-service training. Why all the training?! I'll tell you why? Its summer. Low work season in village (for volunteers, that is). I have been staying in cell contact with friends in Pobé, and they gave me three pieces of good news.



Piece of good news #1: It finally rained, I mean really rained in Pobé! The rains came late this year, so people are getting nervous...but one week ago, my village got their first real rain (they refuse to count little 20 minute rains..go figure). This, of course means people are not out in the fields, growing their means of survival, between now and October.



Piece of good news # 2: Pobé-Mengao won the Mayor's cup soccer competition! Beginning in April, all the villages in the department of Pobé-Mengao take part in a soccer tournament. Nevermind the fact that Pobé is the largest village in the department, I have every right to be excited for my home team's success.



Piece of good news # 3: 29 out of 32 CM2 students passed their C.E.P. exam! Background: CM2 is the equivalent of 6th grade and at the end of the year, each student must take the exam in order to continue on to 2ndary school. According to my colleague Hamidou, this is the highest passing percentage he has ever seen. So who wouldn't be excited? The closing ceremony for the primary school is on Monday. If I had the means, I would bake a cake!



My last two weeks have been spent working PST (a.k.a. stàge) here in Ouahigouya. It has been a lot of fun getting to know the new trainees. They seem to be a really strong group and I am pretty confident they will all be upstanding volunteers. And they're a lot of fun. Spending time in Ouahigouya always makes me a bit nostalgic, seeing as how I spent my first 3 months of my Peace Corps life here...add to that spending 6 days a week working stàge, at times, I myself have felt like a trainee once again. But not quite. Spending time here has taught me a few things. First of all, I am so thankful that stàge, for me, is a thing of the past. I forgot how grueling it really is. 6 days a week, 9 hours of session a day...and at the end of the day, I return to a host family that speaks no English, minimal french. You have no free time.

Secondly, I have been able to see how far I have come in the past year. I came to Burkina Faso with minimal French. Spending time with the stagiares has allowed me to see how far I've actually come in the past 13 months. Aside from French, I have learned so much about the culture here..arguably a much more difficult language to master. I'm still not there...but I'm pretty happy with my progress.

Lastly, working stàge has helped give me fresh ideas of what I can do in village. I have, believe it or not, learned a lot from the stagiaires....they are full of so many good ideas, I couldn't help but take note. My biggest goal for the upcoming school year is to work more closely with the APEs/AMEs (parent associations) in regards to capacity building. I'd think the APE and AME in Pobé are well-functioning, but there is so much more that they can do.



I can't recall the last time I have been so exhausted. I look forward to returning to the slow life in village. There is much to think about, much to process. Its been a long time out of site.



Thanks to everybody that has sent kind words re: my blog. I am glad you enjoy what I have to say. You know me, I like to stay in touch with friends...I have no doubt the same will continue heading into my second year of service.



That being said, until next time.



j

Banana Pancakes, etc.

I hope you all have taken the opportunity to see my Ghana Photos. If a picture speaks a thousand words and I posted 55 photos, then it is sufficed to say I have already written quite the novella about my trip to Ghana. Before I was able to let my woes drift away like the coastal winds, I had to first GET to Ghana. Hardly a timely process. Our destination: Green Turtle Lodge in the Western Coastal Region of Ghana (about 80 km from the border of Cote d'Ivoire). First leg of the trip, a 1000 kilometer bus ride from Ouaga to Kumasi. This bus trip can take anywhere from 13-48 hours, depending upon myriad nail-biting factors ("will my bus get a flat? Will we be attacked by road bandits?" etc). Upon arriving in Kumasi, Ghana's second largest city, one must then find a Tro-Tro (this is the Ghanaian term for Bush Taxi..generally a minivan turned bus). From Kumasi to Takoradi (a semi-large coastal city) is 5 hours. After arriving in Takoradi, one must find another tro-tro or taxi to take you the 45 km to Green Turtle lodge, an exceptionally off-the-beaten track but not short on amenities all-inclusive budget beach resort. And like that, you are there. We left Ouaga on a Saturday morning and arrived at Green Turtle Sunday afternoon. Well worth the drive.

There are so many stories, so many mishaps, I will not be able to share them all, but I will talk about a few memorable Ghana moments.

The Border

There are only about 412 things one must do when crossing the border and if you forget one of these 412 things, you will probably be denied entry. So I made sure I had my passport, my visa for Ghana, my renewed Burkina Faso visa (so I could get back into BF), my World Health Organization Immunization Card with proof of Yellow Fever vaccination, and of course, Cash in hand to exchange into Ghana's ridiculous currency, the Cedis.

So this is how it goes: The CFA (Burkina's currency) is roughly 500 francs to 1 US dollar. The Cedis is 10,000 to 1 US dollar. So, if Joel has 150,000 CFA (essentially 15 - 10,000 cfa notes) and would like to change it into the Cedis, how many suitcases of cash will he get? In truth, I do not know, but my 150,000 CFA turned into 3.5 MILLION cedis. Let me also mention that the largest bill in Ghana is a 20,000 note. So 3.5 million divided by 20,000 equals 175 notes. But I was given half my cash in 20,000 notes and half in 10,000 notes. So I was carrying around close to 300 bills. If you see my photos, you'll know what 3.5 million Cedis looks like. I'll tell you right now, it is a hassle.
To make the chaos of the border crossing all the more tumultuous, you have random men with duffel bags of money and calculators tied to lanyards around their necks, asking to take your CFA for Cedis. There exist no Currency exchange kiosks. Just weird old men with calculators and sacks of money. The potential to get ripped off is high, also considering some immigration officer just took your passport and WHO immunization card into some dark building and you see your bus inching closer to the border. Distractions abound. But I was on my game. I double-checked his currency conversion with my own calculator, and double counted the 3.5 million cedis. My passport, stamped and signed, was returned, along with my WHO card. I got back on to my bus, and slept, dreaming of the slow life on the beach.

Two Beaches, One Awesome Vacation

Essentially, my trip was split up into two parts: 4 nights, 5 days at the Green Turtle Lodge, then 4 nights, 4 days in the small fishing town of Busua. Both are considered to have the nicest beaches in all of Ghana, and I had no reason to dispute such a claim. Green Turtle is an "eco-friendly" resort...and I even have a hard time calling it a resort. The entire place uses solar power, as it is isolated from any town. Most nights we ate dinner on the beach under candle light. Meals included Swordfish with veggie curry and rice, Bangers and Mash (I believe it's British...sausage and mashed potatoes, so good!), and the always famous Ghanaian dish, Red-Red. The best part of all, aside from the huge waves and the obligatory relaxation is the price. I left green turtle spending 800,000 cedis, or $80. That's lodging, food, drink, everything.

While Green Turtle gave me the relaxation I needed, I was certainly ready to move on to Busua. Again, please see my photos, as I think they are the closest I can get to doing this wonderful town justice. We came during the rainy season, which means there were few tourists. I had no problem with this. Unlike most other tourist destinations, the locals of Busua were exceptionally friendly and engaging. They are no strangers to budget travelers such as myself, but I seldom felt as though I was out of place. We spent much of our time at the Black Star Surf Shop, owned by a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer who served in Bolivia. He opened shop one year ago and is currently the only Surf Shop in all of Ghana. His hospitality was greatly appreciated, so if you're reading this, Pete, I thank you a thousand times over. I hope your business takes off. I find myself wanting to describe Busua, so I can better portray the type of community it is, but I would fail at doing it justice. I have every intention to visit this place again. I miss it.

All Good Things Come to an End

The time finally came where I had to make the long journey back to Burkina Faso, the land of not so plenty. But for all the fun I had in Ghana, I was ready to return. After a painless taxi ride to Takoradi and a straight-forward Tro-Tro journey to Kumasi, I lucked out and landed the last ticket on the Monday night STC bus (this is the nice, A/C bus that usually requires advance reservation), 4 hours before its scheduled departure. I show up at 9pm Monday night, no bus. 10pm, no bus. The bus finally arrives at 2am. I board and happen to get the only seat on the bus without the ability to recline. "Oh well," I tell myself, "its only a 16 hour bus ride." The bus decided not to move until 4am. At 7:30am (Tuesday now), my bus, going full speed, clips the back corner of a parked semi-truck trailer, ripping the door off my bus and shattering the windshield and three side panes of glass. Those in the first 4 rows were covered in shattered glass, but thankfully, nobody was hurt. Rather than stop and investigate the damage, the bus driver refused to stop, fearing that the engine was damaged, and wanted to get us to the next town so we would have cell coverage (to call for a new bus) and food to eat. We arrive in the next town and spent 12 hours there waiting for a new bus. I guess I should have been upset and frustrated, but looking back, it was actually a fun day. I met many interesting people on my bus, including two Med Students from Georgia (the state, not the country), two documentarians from Ghana, a Malian mother that spoke perfect English, and so on. Had we not shared in the misery of transport, we probably would have never met. I am thankful for those conversations.
So, our replacement bus arrives at 7pm, and drives us the 8 hours to the border, where we slept, as the border was closed for the evening. After a simple crossing at the border, I arrived in Ouaga, 38 hours later, tired, but smiling.

Food.

You'd be surprised what items Americans typically place in the refrigerator actually "keep" and keep quite well, I might add, at room temperature. No, wait, BURKINA FASO room temperature (currently 112.2 degrees in my abode at the time of composition). I'll give you a short list of things I have in my not-so much climate-controlled pantry.

Butter: (Or as I like to call it, "Yes, actually I can believe its not butter"). My tub of Blue Band has lasted, in its semi-solid gelatinous form, for over 6 weeks. And yes, I am still alive.

Cheese: Vache Qui Rit or "The Laughing Cow" as it is called in the U.S.A. is the closest thing to a cow's greatest gift in rural West Africa. It's not really cheese, but it can certainly taste like it, if you are not a discerning cheese consumer. My current wheel of Vache has been lurking in the shadows of my kitchen for four weeks now. I had a wedge of the creamy not-so-mozzo substance last night. Tasted delectably good.

Peanut Butter: I never put Peanut Butter in the ice box, but I know many of you have your Skippy hiding somewhere behind your Hidden Valley Ranch Light and the two year old bottle of Worcheshire Sauce. My Peanut Butter has withstood 6 months of seldom comfortable temperatures, and I'll tell you what, even Choosey moms would go for my jar of Jif.

Grape Jam: Perhaps the weakest in my Pantry arsenal, the Jelly, Jam, & Preserves category generally survives 8-10 days before it decides to create its own ecosystem under the jar's lid. It is a game of timing, really. If I buy a jar of Jam, I must be prepared to consume it several times daily, in an attempt to evade the mold community which wishes to take residence.

Mayonaise: If this was the Perishable foods Olympics, then my jar of Mayonaise would take home the gold. Im not a fan of Mayo, but sometimes a certain recipe calls for its lard-based self. So I must keep it on hand. After 9 solid months in my kitchen, my jar of Mayo is going strong. I even used some today for a tuna salad sandwich.

So next time you return from the grocery store, arms filled with bottles and jars that say "Refrigerate after opening", stop and ponder whether or not the item truly requires a chill....and then proceed to place it in the fridge. Have a popscicle in my honor. I've almost forgotten they exist. Enjoy the photos.

j

Note from afar

Now I know I said it would probably be June before I was back in the land of civilization...but I needed to come into the capital for a few days so here I am, in the cyberspace flesh, saying hello. Can't say much has changed since I last wrote in April. The heat is still there; however, it did RAIN in my village for the first time last week. Now when I say "rain" I mean the wind picked up to about 45 mph and I was able to feel, in the midsts of dust, tumbleweed, flying buckets and trash, a few drops of water in the air. It was all mother nature could do to provide us very water-hungry Pobe-ites with a taste of the rainy season to come.

The main reason I am writing today is to inform you all that I have posted several more photos on my Picassa Photo gallery. I know many of you are probably asking, "what and where is this 'Picassa Photo gallery', joel?" Good question. I have not added a link to the photo page on my blog site, so if you look to the left of these words, somewhere in between my contact info and the books I have read, there should be a Photo link. Simple, no? I tried to get a good mix of both village life and volunteer life, because I believe that for me, both are equally important. I learn a lot about life here, how to do my job, etc, from fellow PCVs. Not to mention a little cultural familiary (i.e. good American converation) is always a welcome break from life in village. So I hope you enjoy the photos...I tried to make the captions as explanatory as possible.

I leave tomorrow for village. There are only a few weeks that remain before the end of the school year. My theatre/debate club is currently working on a piece to present to the community May 20th. It is a sensitization on the importance of sending girls to school and the dangers of Forced Marriage (namely, it greatly hinders the educational opportunities of a girl). A dance will follow and it should prove to be a very good time.

I have recently (in the past two days) decided that I am going to pack up my beach towel and board shorts and head to Ghana in June. I am hoping to leave June 4th. It will be my first major journey in Africa, and I am exceptionally excited. Future trip plans include possibly going to Niger in July, Mali in August. As I have said in the past, the summer months are very difficult workwise, as everybody is working in the fields. I do have tenative plans to start a debate camp for a week or so at the Junior High. I have some interested students, so it has potential to really work.

Well, I am out of time here on the internet. So I will leave you all with my swiftly-typed words, chocked full of typos and marginal sarcasm, pack my bags, head back to village, and hope you all enjoy the photos and the like. Oh yeah, and enjoy the coming summer! I miss you all.

j

heat.

That's right, ladies and gentlemen, its that time of year here in Burkina Faso...the much anticipated, hardly celebrated hot season. Though it has come late this year (much to my elation), it is nevertheless here. My digital thermometer has been a particular device of interest among villagers, as we are now able to see how hot it really gets in village (the hottest its gotten, in the shade... 118). Many have said that the best thing to do when it gets so hot is absolutely nothing. I took up this advice, but I have found that it is actually cooler in the Primary School during the hot hours of the day (noon-5) than under my nifty hangar. One reason: AIR FLOW. Yeah, didn't take that into account when I insisted, during the cold season, that my neighbors build an extra brick wall enclosing my mini-courtyard. Essentially I made myself and oversized dutch oven. Great for pineapple upsidedown cakes, bad for a one Joel Turner, heat-exhausted PCV.

So yeah, I am now spending my afternoons either under other, more adequately-ventilated hangars, or at the primary school, working with the CM2 students (equiv of 6th grade, btw). I hold review sessions with them as much as their teacher will allow, where we tackle any of the 13 (more or less) subjects they will be tested on in June to see whether or not they can go on to Junior High. We have fun during the review sessions, playing jeopardy-type games to test their knowledge and otherwise hone their competitive tendancies. But I worry that for the most part that the majority of the students have an overwhelming lack of understanding of the material at hand. Most students memorize the material, so unless you pose a question in a specific manner to which they've been exposed, they will have no idea what you are asking. By no means is this the fault of the students. If anything, it is the less than satisfactory education system as a whole, one that lauds information storage and all but ignores the importance of critical thinking...but I think I've already expressed these qualms, so I will leave it at that.

I am currently in Ouahigouya, my old Pre-Service Training stomping ground, for a grand total of 20 hours, as I had to use the internet/computer for some work-related matters. It is 80 km from my village, a direct route on a horrible road...this is my closest access to internet.

I have to say village is going well, despite the heat. There is a certain comradery that exists between myself and people in village. An unspoken (well, it is oftentimes spoken) recognition that we're in this together. We're enduring 110+ degree temperatures, without electricity, fans, a/c, cold water, etc. As I say in village, "oui, c'est grave, mais qu'est-ce qu'on peut faire?" (Yeah, it sucks, but what can you do?).

Unless something comes up, I plan on being in village until the month of June. So I hope until that time, everyone remains happy, healthy, and loving life, where ever you may be. Rest assured that I will be doing the same.

A different kind of "work from home".

Finally, back in the comfort of my own home. My trips to Ouaga, where, incidentally, I have access to the Internet, are generally so action-packed, I seldom have the time to breathe, let alone write a coherent, Blog-worthy entry while I am sitting in front of a strange device known as a PC.

9 PM and it’s a temperate 91 degrees in my home. Who am I kidding? I’m sweating up a storm. I have been in this country for over nine months and I still live like an American. You see, 9 months out of the year, it is generally too hot to do anything inside the house. For most “au village”, the home is a place to put one’s belongings and, in the event the temperature drops below 80, a place to sleep. All household activities take place outside. I addition to the house, most courtyards have what is known as a hangar, essentially a semi-permanent awning made of several 7-foot long logs and a pile of Millet and or Corn Stalks (dried) which are draped on top to create an outdoor shaded area. This is where the men spend much of their day, sipping on tea, talking about life, football, etc…while the women are generally doing laundry, pounding millet into flour, and/or fetching water from the pump.

I, myself, have quite a lovely hangar (see photos). It is extra tall and completely enclosed, for my privacy and avoidance of that pesky star known as the sun. In time, I will be sleeping under this hangar, as the Solar Oven known as my house will soon be impossible to sleep in. In the meantime, my hangar space has become not only a social hotspot for wandering men in search of hot tea and broken-French conversations, but also my very own, fully functioning workspace. On Thursdays and Sundays a handful of attention span challenged 12-year olds come by my house to study. Normally, I snag their workbooks, see what they’ve been studying, then I quiz them orally. After a few weeks, I casually mention to my friend Salam that I want to create a cement chalkboard on the side of my house. Two days later, Salam arrives with a 4’x7’ wooden chalkboard, ready to go. And like that, I have myself an education center.

In fact, I’ve found many ways to do my work from home: Our newly formed Women’s Empowerment Association holds its meetings under my hangar. I will be sure to take plenty of photos to give you all a virtual tour of my pad. While I love the idea of “ doing development from home”, I do try to get out into the community, chatting with friends, telling the old guy selling tomatoes, for only the 500th time, “no, I don’t have a wife” and “NO, you need not give me one”. In many ways, being the only white member of a village of 7,000 makes me a novelty. But at least now, after 6 months in my new home, I am a familiar novelty. I hope this short entry, brought to you by Air Mail and then my kind father finds you all well.

Thanks for reading

J.

(From Letter Dated 6 March 2007)

That Which Empowers All.

Hello friends and blogger-goers. I'm back in Ouaga after what seems like only a few days (it has been, in fact, 17 days since I was last here). Myself, along with a handful of other GEE compatriots are in town to meet with a "Consultant" from D.C., I believe, to discuss the GEE program. It's my understanding that our overall project plan for GEE is taking on some changes, so they have called in a few volunteers to provide input (they also are visiting many volunteers at their sites).

While my time in village was relatively brief, I found myself busy with, well, WORK. Before you all rub your eyes and verify that I did say the word "Work", keep in mind that while the PCV is "on the clock, 24/7 "...what many in the United States would consider "work work", I do about 3-5 hours a week. Nevertheless, I feel productive... on my game, if you will.

Women, namely Pobe-Mengao Women, rock.

My Women's association is off and running. While I was in Ouaga enjoying FESPACO, they had a meeting, where all 20 of the members cotiser'd (pitched in) 1,000 f.cfa (about 2 bucks) to the treasury of the association. They have used 10 of the 20,000 francs to purchase a demand for membership with the Provincial offices in Djibo. While such a following of protocol is not necessary, it is good to register your association with the government in the event that it grows or you choose to handle any significant sum of money, through savings and credit and or simple monthly dues. I recently learned that there is a department in the government loosely termed, "the morality police." They are known to check up on associations, savings and credit groups, no matter how small, to ensure they are not "bouffing" (West African slang for skimming the fat...stealing, if you will) the funds that members give. Personally, I am really excited to see the level of motivation and organization that already exists in the association. They even came up with a name for their association. Namanegb Zanga, Moore for "That Which Empowers All". I happen to like it. The English version, at least, has a nice ring to it. I cannot, for the life of me, pronounce the Moore version. Once we get the green light, so to speak, from the Provincial offices (you think U.S. bureaucracy is slow...), our plan is to kick off by having a General Assembly meeting with the entire community. Here, we will explain our mission (That being 1) Raise awareness about issues facing women, such as maternal health, family planning, HIV/AIDS, etc 2) Increase literacy among males and females in the community 3) help create small-scale savings and credit groups, primarily for women), and announce a tentative schedule of events. Since our association is made up of a bureau of 9 men and women and 11 representatives (all women) from each sector of the village, we hope that a "trickle-down effect" of awareness-raising with oversight on the part of the "permanent 9" will be the general method of action. Essentially, we sensibilize the 11, they carry the info to women in their family compounds, and thus the info spreads. Something like that.

What I love about this setup is that it shows promise of sustainability. Sensibilizations (awareness-raising) is a significant part of a PCVs job description, but what is the village to do once the PCV leaves? It is my hope that with this association, they will acquire the resources and know-how to carry this on regardless of Tall-White-Guy-Presence. Make sense? Its far from a perfect world, but it's a start.

Theatre/Debate

After what seems like 6 months (wait, it HAS been 6 months) of trying to get a Boys/Girls club started at the Junior High (C.E.G.) in Pobe, Kim and I finally smelled the sweet scent of success. We just wrapped up yesterday a shorter-than-desired Theatre/Debate camp with 14 C.E.G. students. All students were encouraged to apply to join the club, by writing a letter of interest. In the end, we received 14 letters. Hence why there are 14 members of our club (its complicated, I know). The idea of the club is simple, Kim, with a strong background in theatre as a means of raising awareness, would take up the theatre half and myself, having a year of coaching debate(for whatever it's worth), would attempt to introduce these teenagers to the idea of organized argumentation. We then took major issues facing people in village (such as polygamy, female genital mutilation, Forced Marriage) and filter the issues through the lenses of theatre and debate. Though our camp is over, we will continue to have weekly sessions. We hope to have an end of the year theatre presentation, open to the whole community. The assistant director of the C.E.G. even asked us if we would be interested in starting a debate class, 8 hours a week. I am still undecided about this, as I haven't really the expertise to lead a class on debate (in French, no less), but I must admit the prospect is highly compelling. Perhaps something to look into next year.

What I do the other 163 hours of the week

The beauty of life here as a PCV is even if you put in a full-day's work (2-3 hours) you still have a full day to relax, read a book, perfect your preparation of instant oatmeal, or knock back a cup of tea with neighbors. I recently received a care package from my wonderful friend, Wyndi. Aside from the usual but always welcome selection of goodies (Skittles, Caramel Apple Suckers...delicious), she threw a curve ball in this package in the form of a Sudoku puzzle book. I am not ashamed to say that I am scared of Sudoku's, what with their deceptively challenging layout and their eraser-friendly squares within squares within squares. With a sudoku, looks are most definitely deceiving. But seeing as how my Association meeting had come and gone and debate club wasn't for two days, I felt I could sacrifice an hour or two (or 14) for a few puzzles. After 4 hours of undivided concentration, a sensation I have not experienced since writing my Modern Political Theories term paper two years ago, I completed, correctly, my first Sudoku Puzzle. I was absolved of all logic puzzle ghosts.

Seeing as how one of the three goals of Peace Corps is "Helping promote a better understanding of Americans on the part of peoples served" and also considering that Sudoku's are the sole reason 60% of US Americans buy newspapers nowadays, AND, realizing that I still had only occupied 1 hour of that day with actual work, I thought I would take my sudoku puzzle book outside, and see if my neighbors would like to learn, thus working towards Goal #2 of Peace Corps. My first contestant: Maiga. 20-something, civil servant, well-educated, slightly resembles Dave Chappelle, perfect candidate for Sudoku exposure. After explaining the general rules of the puzzle, the 1 through 9's, the lines, columns, boxes (you ALL know what I'm talking about), he takes the book from me with functionaire-like certainty and says, "Joel, here is the strategy. You check to see if a particular number already exists in a particular line. If no, you can put it in a box." I chose not to argue with him...I let him have this moment of tutelage over me...even though he was explaining one of multiple necessary strategies. He continues, "Joel, this game is simple. Give me your pencil. I will be done in five minutes." Knowing Maiga's competitive nature, I had pre-traced a particular puzzle and we started together, working on the same Sudoku. After 45 minutes, I completed my puzzle. Maiga asks to see my puzzle. "Joel, all of your numbers are in different places than mine. What does that mean?" With calm humility, I tell him that he screwed up. Moments later, Bas, the local veterinarian, stormed up in his motorcycle. When he saw that Maiga was scribbling numbers into a book, he naturally asked what he was doing. Maiga proceeded to explain the rules of the game, only this time, providing the addendum "it's more challenging than one might think." Whereupon Bas retorts, "Maiga, this game sounds simple. I can finish it in 5 minutes."

And so it goes in village. There are always ups and downs. Nothing will change the inevitability of ebb and flow at site. The next few months will be the hottest of the year. Temperatures are already roaming between 90 and 107 (lows and highs) and are expected to get even warmer in the coming weeks. This will be a new challenge. Okay, it's going to suck. But if the presence of older volunteers is any indication, I think I'll survive the heat. I'll let you know how it goes in letters from village.

That's all the time I have for now. Expect a post that I wrote and mailed snail mail to my family in the US o A, whereupon my loving father will transcribe the written word onto the blog. I completely forgot what I wrote, it may be a lot of the same stuff here. I guess we'll all find out sooner or later.

Thanks for reading.

Wend na kond nidaare!

joel

the intensity of cinema.

I must admit that I like movies. No. Wait. I am sorry. I like film. Apparently there is a difference. Word distinction and other trivialities aside, I am currently recovering from my first African film festival. Well, I am actually recovering from my first Film Festival. FESPACO, or Festival Panafricain du cinema et de la television de Ouagadougou, is heralded as the biggest film festival in Africa. Culture buffs from all corners of the planet descend upon this otherwise difficult to pronounce capital city for 8 days of film, arts, crafts, and goat meat.

Films were shown in at least 5 different theatres for 8 days from 8 am to 11 pm. I saw five films and I have to tell you, I am happy with that. I feel I have earned my debut film festival wings. Two nights ago I saw Un Matin Bonne Heure (Early one Morning). It was the story of two relatively affluent yet nevertheless disgruntled Guinean teenagers in the capital Conakry. During their summer vacation, they have no choice but to wallow in what they see as a dead-end life. Feeling that a simple, "good education", will not bring them success, they resign to the fact that an escape to Europe is their only option. The film footage is raw, the writing is at times, inconsistent (nay, unrealistic), but for me, the film was good enough to allow me to employ healthy criticism. Or what I pawn of as such.

Last night was, what I called, "Film Festival Marathon Madness night," involved "theater hopping" from one movie theater to the next, quickly slipping in line to catch the next film. The first first of these was Will Smith's The Pursuit of Happyness. I am sure many of you have at least heard of this well-trailered blockbuster. I chose this film over, say, Bunny Chow or Juju Factory (i.e., non-hollywood films) for two reasons. One, I have been in Burkina Faso for almost 9 months and part of me simply wanted to see a good new-fashioned Hollywood movie, with all its Pop-Culture familiarity and flair. Secondly, and more sociologically, I wanted to see an American Blockbuster in a quaint West-African Capital city, to see how people who have not been over-exposed to Hollywood films received the film. I spend so much time in village explaining to people that there is in fact poverty in the United States. That NOT everybody is rich. The concept of homelessness is lost of people who place family far above and beyond the pursuit of individuality. The movie, for all its cute Will Smith one-liners and sweeping musical processions, showed a part of America that we Americans easily overlook. The reality that homeless persons are People. They have a story to tell. I laughed a lot during the film, and yes, tears welled in my eyes. Is that not what a movie is supposed to do?

Following this 4:30 showing, myself and a friend hopped in a cab and bolted (okay, rather, slowly crawled in the horrible traffic) to the next theater, smack dab downtown. We didn't know what was playing, and frankly, we didn't care. I had received my Hollywood fix, and I wanted to simply jump into a theater, not knowing what I would be seeing. There is a certain excitement in seeing a film about which you know nothing. We ended up seeing La Vague Blanche, Moroccan film about a rich hotel developer and an out of jail drug dealer that cross paths when they collectively recover 20 kilograms of cocaine from the ocean. Think any Charles Bronson flick, spoken in Arabic, meets Carlito's Way. I got the feeling that most other people in this packed theater entered the room as clueless as us, because when the film started, and when people learned the characters spoke Arabic and the subtitles were in English (good for the 2 Americans in the theater, bad for the 250 french-speakers), there was a waterfall of murmured discontent for the first 10 minutes. A man next to me muttered in french, "I have NO idea what they are saying." Strangely, I found this to be amusing. I assured him that the dialogue was so bad, he wasn't missing much. All harsh criticisms aside, it must be said that this was this director's first full-feature film, and I have never experienced such a wide range of emotions of a single low-budget film in my life. I went from falling asleep to laughing until my side hurt, to actually sympathizing with the main character...and yes, my eyes welled with tears once again. The cinematography was horrible, the shots were too long, the dialogues were amateur at best...but I have never been more honest when I say that this director has an insane amount of potential. Following this 8:30 showing, we crossed the street and joined a mob of people waiting outside Cine Oubri, where the South African Academy Award-Winning Tsotsi was showing at 10:30. The film, spoken in Afrikaans, had English subtitles, so again, I was wondering how the largely Francophone audience took this. The film's studied and well-executed shots were in shocking contrast to the very slopping Moroccan film I had just seen. The cinematography was phenomenal. The lighting was a misty yellow-rust, accentuating the drudgery of Johannesburg Township life. My favorite part of the movie, aside from the simple yet masterfully-crafted character development, was the music. Heavy, loud.

So that, in a nutshell, was my FESPACO experience. I will be back online in 2.5 weeks when I return to Ouagadougou to celebrate the completion of service for the oldest group of Secondary Education Volunteers. Until that time, I will be in village, eagerly helping my new Woman's association get off the ground. Oh yeah, and eagerly catching up on my reading. So many books, barely not enough time.

I hope you all enjoy the quickly approaching spring. I can't tell you how much I am looking forward to the 120 + degree days which are due to arrive in a few weeks' time. I'll be sure to keep you all updated on my level of sanity. Until then, be well, everyone.

over.....and out. j

la prochain (quelque mois)

So if you pay any attention to my blog, you will have noticed that I changed the title of my blog. Why, a small handful of you may be asking? For accuracy's sake, that's why. Let us look at this objectively: "The Daily Musings of Joel in Burkina Faso." What is wrong with this? Well, for one, it is hardly a daily musing. If anything, it is an every 6 week musing. In an attempt to be both overtly honest and witty by employing franglais in my title, I have hereby renamed my blog to "The de temps en temps musings of Joel in Burkina Faso" (The from time to time musings...). It is certainly my hope to keep my blog as up to date as possible, but I am sure you are all able to bear with my sporaticism. And yes, sporaticism is a word I just created on the spot.

IST and what that really means.

So my time here in Ouagadougou (and clearly, the time spent in Ouahigouya) has come to an end. Tomorrow, I part for my village, where I will try to implement that which I learned during my in-service training. In all reality, I did learn quite a lot. The nice thing about having an in-service training is that I was able to bounce ideas off my fellow volunteers. When 15 others are trying things 15 different ways, we are able to determine what works and what doesn't. Yes, folks, our job is a a game of trial and error.

So what IS joel up to?

That is a fine question. Currently, I have 4 primary projects in which I am trying to get off the ground. It is my hope that 25% of my projects will have an air of success. So, first of all, I am working with members of my village to start community-based pre-schools. This idea came to me when I went to visit my friend Salam at his courtyard and I showed up in the middle of what appeared to be a class session. I asked him what the kids were studying, and he explained that he tries to teach his children basic french (the alphabet, simple words) before they begin primary school. Keep in mind, most children never speak a word of french until they are 6 and they begin CP1 (Kindergarten, essentially). What is exciting about this project is the idea came from a Villager, one who has a passion for education. Our next steps are to take his model, improve it a little, and motivate others to do the same in their courtyards.

My second project I have planned is to promote the planting and use of Moringa trees. The daily diet of an average Burkinabe is Millet (we call this Bird Seed in the united states). That's it. They eat this twice a day. Naturally, most people are devoid of necessary vitamins and minerals in their diet, thus leading to more illnesses, thus, a more unhappy life. The leaves from Moringas are rich in vitamins and the trees do very well in the otherwise hostile soil that makes up the Sahel. My job is to talk up Moringas, encourage mothers to mix the leaves in the porridge (millet, water, vinegar) they make for their children. First, though, I need to plant some for myself, so I have an idea what I am doing :)

Third Project: CM2 success. CM2 is the equiv of 6th grade in the United States of America. Students must take a relatively arduous exam in order to pass and move on to Junior High. One must graduate Junior high (9th grade, essentially) if they wish to have any opportunity in finding a job other than cultivator. So for the next few months, I am holding study Halls with CM2 students to help them prepare for their exam in June.

Fourth: Boys/Girls Club. My nearest PCV neighbor, Kim, and I are doing this jointly. We started a Boys and Girls club with Junior High Students last fall, but it fell through. But we're back. Our main goal is to instill crucial critical thinking skills, and to help students gain more self-confidence in this challenging period of life (Hey puberty is puberty, be you in Burkina or Boston). We have a week long camp (more of a teen forum) scheduled for their Spring Break).

Okay, I actually have 5 projects: Girls' Association of Pobe-Mengao. This, too, was the idea of a villager, not me, which makes me hopeful for its success. Essentially, we want to create an association that can provide resources, peer support, and simply a place to study for girls in my village. This, of course requires the construction of a building, so it is safe to say that this will be my biggest undertaking in the remaining 19 months I have here.

I will keep you all posted on how my work unfolds (or unravels, depending). I'm ready to get back and give it all a try...now if only I could do something about this heat...

Don't forget to check out my photos! I added some yesterday. http://picassaweb.google.com/thejdt

January and other things you tolerate

So, a month has passed, I am a little older, a little wiser, and I am quickly approaching 8 months in Burkina Faso. Wait a minute, EIGHT MONTHS? It seems like only last May I was saying goodbye to my friends and family as I timidly boarded a Skywest turboprop hitting all points unknown. But when I stop and let the incredulous sentiments of time actually spent here in Burkina pass, I realize that yes, I have been here for a while. Slowly, but inevitably, this is becoming home.

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.

Here's to the year of 007

Hey friends and family. Back once again. I feel compelled to apologize for my infrequent posts. While simply finding access to internet is a chore enough, finding the time when I am in a town that has internet (such as now) proves to be quite difficult as well. So while this post will lack in length and substance, it will hopefully make up for it all in sentimentality. I hope. If nothing else, I want to extend to all of you my holiday wishes. Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year! This was my first Christmas away from my family, and in an environment that is not at all resemblant of Christmas, at least for someone from Colorado. Today is January 1, 2007. I leave the comforts of Ouagadougou today, to journey back north, back towards home. For the entirety of my time here in Ouaga, part of me has dreaded the inevitable return back to Pobé-Mengao... who could blame me, right? There's no electricity there, there is no running water, and there are no other Americans that can share my many observations and musings. As much as the next person, I felt unready to return to work after a long vacation...but last night, as I was watching the fireworks from the roof of our transit house, as we tried to guess when the clock officially struck midnight (what can I say, our watches are all out of sync), I realized I am ready to go home. I remember saying it to myself. But then I realized I was speaking of my new home. Pobé-Mengao. I am ready to get back to work, to give this whole volunteer gig a go. Call it a fresh start, a New Years resolution, call it what you will. I want to say thank you for all the people that have sent me care packages. The day before I left for Ouaga, I went to my local post office in Djibo and was pleasantly shocked to find 6 care packages waiting for me! I am somewhat shocked that my plan to make a wishlist, whereupon I would seal it in an envelope, mail it home, and have my dad type it on to the blog, actually garnered results. In any event, thank you all. I've never been so ecstatic to receive Cumin and Thyme as Christmas gifts. As I have done in past posts, I may be writing my parents a letter from village, whereupon, if they are willing, they will transpose (I think that's the right word) my letter into blog form. My goal is to make smaller posts, more often, little dispatches from a little village in the Sahel. I plan to talk more about the environment there, the people, my work. More simple things, but things that are nevertheless noteworthy. I can imagine it is very difficult for someone who has never been to West Africa to have any justifiable impression of life here. But I at least hope I can shed some light on the culture here. But not today. Today, I hop on a bus, assuming the bus lines are running today, and I return to the land of no internet. To the land of dust, flies, and high-carb low-fiber diets. I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas. I should be back for a visit come next December. I will keep you posted on this development. Until next time.

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.

Joel's Wish List

Just received a letter from Joel and he asked that I post a wish list for those inclined to take pity upon his inability to acquire some of the tastes of home. - Virgil

• Nature Valley Granola Bars (regular, not chewy)
• Skittles
• Green Orbit Chewing Gum
• Dried Fruit
• Granola
• Powdered Coconut Milk
• Pilot Easy Touch Fine Point Pens w/removable caps
• Glide Floss
• Real Coffee
• Crystal Light
• Tyson Chicken in foil pack
• Beef Jerky
• Spices
• Basil
• Cumin
• Thyme
• Curry
• Oregano
• Black Pepper
• Cinnamon
• Photos of friends, scenery, etc.

How to Write a Letter and other Stories

other stories...

Hello all and greetings once again from Burkina Faso. I want to send a thank you to my dad for taking some of the letters I wrote home and retyping them onto my blog for you all to read. Believe it or not, such a tedious task is in all reality a convenient way for me to get my words out there for you all to read. The process is as follows: Let us say it is a typically hot Friday morning in Pobé-Mengao. I sit down on my metal chair in my recently cemented mud-brick home, pull out a sheet of paper, an imitation bic ballpoint pen, and I start writing (dear family…). Once I finish the letter, highlighting my triumphs, my shortfalls, odd encounters, et cetera, I sign the letter, stuff it in an envelope, address it aux États-Unis then let it sit on my cement floor until the next time I bike 28 km to my provincial capital, Djibo. Fast forward to the following Wednesday. I just biked 28 enjoyable yet equally cardiovascularly complimentary kilometers to Djibo. After an obligatory breakfast stop at Kiosque la Paix (Yogurt, baguette, and a cup of tea: $0.55), I hop on my bike and pedal to the Post office. After greeting the two gentlemen who run this dusty post that resembles a lonely alimentation in a sleepy Arizona border town I ask for the necessary postage to send my letters back home. After a joint effort of licking and placing the stamps on the letters, I take my modest pile and throw them in the mail drop, hoping that they do not fall between the cracks at some point on their long journey home. Fast forward 12-25 days and 6,000 miles. During lunch on some idle Thursday, my mother (or Father) checks their mailbox and finds to their utter glee that they have received a letter from their son all the way over in West Africa. After reading it and enjoying his rather clever quips about life and consequence and such in rural West Africa, my father sits down on his de facto trusty laptop and transfers my words written on weak dusty paper with a non-committal imitation bic pen to my blog site. And there you have it, the general process by which my experiences find their way to your eager eyes.

But not today. Today, I found internet.

It has been an amazingly indescribable past two months since I wrote you all last (without the aid of my loving parents to transcribe my letters). I still have one month remaining in the dreaded “settling-in period” of the 24 month term of service. As per the suggestion of my superiors, I have not started any real work in my village, but after spending several weeks doing nothing but drinking tea with neighbors and reading heaps upon heaps of William Faulkner, I have found it necessary to conjure up some ideas of what I can do in my wonderful little yet larger than life village. But such explanations can be saved for when I actually execute such things. Let us discuss what has happened.

Ramadan and the art of being selectively devout

For those of you who pay attention to your Hot Air Balloons Calendars would have noticed that a week ago today was Ramadan. The thirty days that led up to October 23rd were the days of fasting for Muslims worldwide. Between sunrise and sunset, one is expected to eat no food, drink no liquids. The reality of the matter in my village is there were a few devout Muslims that participated in the fast the full thirty days, whereas the rest simply talked about how they should fast. Some donated a conciliatory day or two to participate in Islam’s most holy celebration. After all, the fast is not obligatory. And given the backbreaking labor that almost all villagers participate in during the harvest season, I blame not a single for not fasting…and I am humbled by those who choose to fast and work in the hot African sun.
With Ramadan, the day, approaching, I had no real idea what to expect. There was some talk of a big fête, but most of my neighbors remained ambiguous about this day and the events it would house. I awake at my usual 5:13 am on that Monday morning, fix my oatmeal and my cup of Nescafé, and begin to work on some French grammar exercises…at 9am, Amidou, my neighbor and closest friend in village, arrives in a very shiny, silky forest green Boubou. This is a far stretch from his normal attire which consists of olive-colored Levis and a grey tank top. If I remember correctly, he was even wearing dress shoes. Allons-y a la Mosquée, Joel! Not knowing what I was getting myself into, I threw on a pair of khakis and a Royal Robbins button-down shirt and slipped on my “dressy” Chaco flips and barreled out the door. Along the way to the Mosque Amidou explained to me that at 10am, everybody was to pray. Reminding him that I was not Muslim, he assured me, Prier n’est pas obligitoire – To pray is not obligatory. Waiting outside the Mosque was much akin to arriving at Church back home in the USA. The elders were lined at the entrance, and many handshakes were had. I took my place at the back of the courtyard (while there is a building, since it was Ramadan, there were far too many people to all fit in the Mosque) and then came the call to prayer. It is quite a site to witness over 1,000 men women and children participate in a Muslim prayer. All facing east, all participating in the same motions, the silence followed by a decisive THUMP! when everybody moves in unison to the floor. It was an experience I will not soon forget. Following the prayer, I spent the day eating. Everybody ate, all day long. I am convinced now that Ramadan, at least here in West Africa, is best described as Thanksgiving, Halloween, and Senior Prom, all rolled into one. After a day of eating various African dishes (believe me, they’re not as exotic as you might think), groups of girls, dressed up in their finest complets would come around and ask for cadeaux (gifts). Most people would give each girl 10-25 cfa (equivalent of about 2-8 cents). I gave out pieces of candy I had acquired in Djibo. At the end of the day, all of Pobé’s younger generation filed into a large courtyard equipped with a solar-powered fluorescent street light in the center, and then came the music. Over 2,000 under 30-something’s danced the night away in honor of Islam’s most holy of days.

The next major holiday is Tobaski (I hope I spelled that correctly), which comes 70 days after Ramadan. It is the Fête of the sheep. This is where many of the sheep are slaughtered and people eat a whole bunch all over again. This year it should fall on I believe the 29th of December.

I guess that’s all I’ve got for now. Better send this off and head back to my village. My closest PCV neighbor and I created a Boy’s and Girl’s club in my village and the informational meeting is tomorrow afternoon. Call it what you will, but it is my first venture into the life of a volunteer, so wish me luck! I certainly hope everyone is well, wherever you are, whatever you may be doing. Until next time!

Mini-Hot Season

Note: The following are excerpts from a letter from Joel written October 4, 2006.

I can’t believe its already October! I’ve all but forgotten what the weather must be like there right now. Here in Burkina, the Rainy Season is almost completely finished. We got a good rain last night, but unlike past rains, the earth sucked up the moisture instantaneously. October-November is known as the “Mini-Hot Season” as the decreasing rains means more chance for the sun to heat things up. December-End of Feb. is the Cool Season, where everybody wears coats and beanies (seriously). I am shocked at how sensitive my body has become to the changes in temperature. I can generally indicate a change up to ½ degree. But enough talk of the weather.

School has begun her. Yesterday I went and met the Director of the Primary School. He’s new, as all teachers and directors come from different places teach in villages. It called Affectsion. Since there is not enough (or sometimes any) qualified teachers to occupy a school, the government assigns all the teachers in the country to villages and towns. Generally, the newer the teacher, the smaller/more isolated the village. So teachers “Pay their dues” by teaching for 3 years in a particular place before they can be assigned to a more desirable location (which for most is the Bobo region in the South…least desirable is the North…go figure). Given the circumstances, I think that it is the best possible method, at this time. It gives newer teachers in small villages incentive to up their work performance, thus helping students and giving them an opportunity to “move up”.

At this point my plan of action is to be a familiar face around the school both with the teachers and the students. That nobody knows what I am doing is both intimidating and promising. People know I am to do work here, but what? Nobody knows.

My french is really coming along. I still have difficulty listening to people, especially if they are not as educated (equiv. of someone in America who speaks a lot of slang and has a general poor speaking quality). But among the teachers, they speak clearly, so I feel more confident when I speak to them. Today I was doing laundry. I caught myself thinking in French. You know how people say once you start dreaming in another language your relatively fluent? I wonder if this is the same thing? My level of vocab is not very high, but I find that I learn new expressions as necessary.

I have been reading a lot of books, which is good. I guess they are my new TV. The art of book trading among PCVs is very unique. Before leaving to your site for the first time most will grab a handful (or 4) of books from the PC hostel library. Each time you travel to a place where other PCVs may be, you bring a few or all finished books and exchange with the others. I brought with me George Orwell’s 1984. Since my reading of the book, it has passed through 4 other volunteer’s hands. So far I have read approximately 9 books, which is monumental for me. Currently reading “the curious incident of the dog in the nite-time” by Mark Haddon. I highly recommend it! It’s the story through the eyes of a 15 year-old autistic teen, of the murder of a neighborhood dog. He investigates the murder. Its all from his perspective, so it is very brain-teasing.

Happy 3 Month Anniversary of being in country!

Note: The following are excerpts from a letter from Joel written September 7, 2006.

Sorry, just a little self-lauding. … So I’m already beginning to be a familiar face around Djibo. People have actually called me by my name (my Burkinabé name) in the Marché. Sometimes I recognize them, sometimes I don’t. I’ve run into a couple of people from Sananga, believe it or not, who some up to sell stuff at the Djibo Marché. Anyway there is a certain niceness to be recognized as a familiar face.

…

So there was a scorpion in my house tonight. Not cool. Luckily my ZX/2 Chaco doubles as a Scorpion Killing Device. It was intense, but he/she is dead now. The End.

The rainy season is winding down her. It has rained once in the past week. Sometimes, the clouds will roll in, but no moisture comes. People say this is normal for September, but there is also a hint of worry. There are about 10 days of planting to go. That means after 10 days, there will still be need for rain for the tail end crops. Since Pobé has no Barrage(Reservoir), like Ouahigouya and surrounding villages, they only have the rainy season to depend on for growing crops. These villages with barrages can begin planting “dry crops” in November, crops that require no rain, simply light irrigation (potatoes, green beans, onions, etc.). For Pobé, after the rainy season, there is no real work for the greater population. Some people stay here and wait it out somehow. Granted, I have to experience the dry season, so I have no genuine clue as to the social plight (or lack thereof…).

Interestingly, during the dry season, there seems to be more things to do/acquire. Since everyone is working out in the fields right now, few have time to provide other services (bread-making, tailoring, etc.). During the dry season, there is wide variety of vegetables. Right now, during Pobés marché (every three days) tere are NO vegetables. In November, there should be a lot. It is confusing and even I have no clue what’s going on…

P.P.S: 10:40 PM and its 90 degrees in my house!