Selected Journal Entries
March 20th
Today our training group met with the chief of the village Gourcy. He gave us very many blessings and thanks for our work and sacrifices. The old man was well educated and spoke fluent French. His house (compound really) was relatively large and belonged to many of his ancestors. There was an interesting discussion that took place through the thick language barrier. As one might expect, recent independence and interaction with foreign culture have had a dramatic impact on traditional life for these people. While attempts at local democratization have not been able to take hold, the combination of education and prosperity have the begun the inevitable domino effect of individual empowerment. The chief understood that his role in the community was changing, but he seemed to be struggling to adapt, instead of struggling to resist. I have learned the next group of volunteers will be working on projects for girl's education, a very surprising enterprise considering the vastly male dominated culture. I was please to be so well received and found the formalities amusing. When greeting a chief, always kneel so that he is higher than you, and support your right hand with your left, as if you need aid because the hand of such a great man is so heavy.
March 27th
Today is the 3rd day with my host family in Yako village, it is also Easter Sunday. I got up at 6:30AM as I am accustomed to now; it is too bright to sleep any later, and the courtyard begins to bustle with that days preparations. After on night of the suffocating heat inside the tin roofed house, I have slept outside with the protection of my mosquito net. This seems to be a normal practice for this time of year.
As it is Easter Sunday, I attended mass with one of the other 5 volunteers stationed with host families in Yako. The formalities of a catholic mass become more taxing in the African sun, and for all I could understand, the priest may have well been speaking in tongues. The combined heat and odor of 2000+ sweating worshipers caused me to vacate the sanctuary about halfway through the service, and I spent the remaining 90 minutes having a conversation in the baby French with the woman who sells the dolo (the local home brew, tastes like a fresca wine cooler) to the exiting masses.
She, like the daughter (eldest, Marietou) of my host father, remained in school here far longer than the average female in this country. Even though the women here do the vast majority of the manual labor, and show a deference that goes beyond courtesy and respect, they manage to carry themselves with a quiet dignity of the highest magnitude. The ultimate goal of a Burkinabe woman is to marry a successful man and bear many children. As a side note, polygamy is a widely accepted practice.
After 2 days, my host sister made some less than subtle suggestions that I might make a good husband, or her a good wife. After all, I am a ticket to America, where the money falls from the sky and streets are paved with gold. She wanted to "meet my parents soon" and wondered if "they liked Africans". All innocent questions if taken out of context. However, I am quite comfortable around her (she sits 3 feet away at present) but it may just be the silence I appreciate.
The father of the family is an interesting fellow. With his sunglasses on, he's a dead ringer for Ray Charles. Apparently he as literacy in Arabic but speaks French reasonable well, but to fast for a novice like me. I often have his daughter transcribe the most difficult parts of our conversations. Attempting dialogue in my shitty French is mentally draining, but with the aid of my classes, I am progressing rapidly. After the other 9 weeks of training, I will certainly have an acceptable level of fluency. I digress, the father was in a traumatic motorcycle accident about 2 years ago. After being his by a car, the bone above his ankle must have completely broking. Having obviously not received the proper care, his leg, in the area has healed at an obtuse angle, causing him to walk with a seemingly painful limp. After yesterday, I do not have to imaging what an accident like this would look like.
The Yako volunteers were walking back from the market in the Afternoon. As we approached the major intersection in town a car made a sudden left turn onto the street we were walking down, at that same moment, striking a heavyset woman on a moped. The woman bounced off of the windshield and was hurled in our direction, coming to a crash on the pavement 20 feet in front of us. Still conscious, she discovered the blood gushing from her head (of course there was no helmet involved), and then felt the need to lie there on the pavement motionless. I continued my approach, feeling the desperate need to help here but knowing that in truth, she may be hurt beyond any care available here. A crowd soon gathered, and a passing van was sued as a makeshift ambulance. The most striking detail of the whole occasion was the absolute lack of panic or emotion shown by anyone at the scene, especially the driver of the car, who got out and stood there like head just blown a tire. It is my opinion that a more familiar observer could have seen through his impenetrable emotional barrier, into the true devastation he must have felt in his soul.
March 29th
Aside from the frequent nose bleeds, I am surprised by my bon sante (good health). Despite satisfying my hunger with meat of unknown origin and meals of which the sanitation must come under question, my stomach has shown considerable strength. One member of our home stay group has already fallen ill. I feel bad for Cary, but she seems to be taking it all in good spirits. Ca va aller (it will pass).
The 5 of us are bonding well. We have "miller time" everyday after class. Today we bought together 15 meters of cloth, and took it to Malcolm's ("X") house. His host brother is a tailor, and he gave us a great deal on our future threads. The whole experience was a triumph, because we managed to bargain and discuss in French. Independence approaches.
P.s. It is fucking hot in Africa
March 30th
Today was a good day. The bikes have arrived and my life is suddenly considerable easier. Having never owned a ride of such quality, the device is especially pleasing to me. 21 speed with a suspensions system and repair kit. Tres jolie.
I had and interesting "ever moment" today; never have I "EVER" eaten at an establishment of such questionable sanitation as I did today at lunch. On the recommendation of a visiting language coordinator, our small group patronized the local spot closest to class that day. On approach, I noticed that the kitchen was contained to the porch and front "lawn". I was not actually alarmed by this, as many restaurants cook outside to entice the people that pass by. I soon realized that this practice was necessary because the interior was entirely the size of a small bedroom. One half of this tiny room was used for dining, and the seating available to us consisted of one of the only 2 tables. the other half of the room was used for storage: storage of utensils and of waste, that which could not be used for food was left to decompose for our pleasure. Decomposition is a very rapid process in 110 degree heat, and this creates an ideal environment for the common house fly. I have come to truly detest these creatures because there is no escape from their harmless and annoying presence. But here, in that landfill of a restaurant, there were 100 flies for every person. It was truly a biblical plague. Determined not to flinch in the face for Peace Corps standards, I sat down for a meal, among the roaches, the flies, the mysterious dung on the walls, I sat, and I ordered food. Now I was thankful that it was prepared at any distance from the filthy interior. To everyone's surprise we, by some divine miracle, avoided the transmission of some malicious bacteria or virus. At this point, I fell like I could step in front of a bus, and my body might be strong enough to take the blow. We were all impressed with ourselves, but if such an occasion arises again, I will surely decline it.
Today was our first encounter with the director of the Lycee (High School). The man seemed very accommodating and thankful of our presence, but he could not have known just how little we understood of what he was telling us. I may be wrong, but I feel that my French is the most advanced out of the 5 in our group; even still he spoke so fast that I only caught the most general points of his speech. What I did understand was that each of us is assigned a professor at the school who will give us the proper training to be satisfactory (or excellent) teachers in the Burkina Faso education system. I look forward to having my own class.
Lastly, I have finally been able to touch on a few adult subjects using my baby French. At first I felt quite triumphant about making attempts to explain the events of 9/11. But alas, the more effort I put into it, the more discouraged I became.
P.s. The stars are beautiful in Africa
April 2nd
As one might have predicted the longer you stay in Africa, the less romantic it seems. Still, the victories outweigh the difficulties. Tomorrow I return to Gourcy to catch up with the other volunteers, I look forward to hearing their stories. Everyone in our group of trainees is a top notch individual, I hope we al make it through the entire 2 years. I AM NOT A QUITTER. We have a might fine April fools trick for the others. After claiming a surprise dinner at the hotel, we will have the staff bring out the most disgusting plate of food we can find in town (believe me, you have no idea what these people eat, the kind of things the butcher throws out). Of course we will have prepared a real feast in the meantime: fruit salad and pizza, the rarest of commodities. I expect the best.
I've been here for half a month, I'm 1/60 of the way through my service. It's probably best that I not keep track of such things. It seems that time carries very little meaning for the natives of this country. No one seems to be on time for the meetings, the busses follow a very flexible schedule, and only the professors seem to demand punctuality. I suppose that with such a vulnerable infrastructure, which operates at the him of nature and luck, one must get used to delays.
There is supposedly a grand party at the ritzy restaurant in town this evening. The Jar din du Maire is truly an oasis in the sahel. The other volunteers in the smaller villages are rightly jealous of us in Yako. A large courtyard with 4 large gazebos which double as dance floors complete with disco balls and flash lights. The flood is good, and a bit expensive. Best of all the drinks are cold (coca fanta and local beer). They even have a star trek pinball machine (the classic kind, with Captain Kirk). The think that is most perplexing to me is that no matter how modern or civilized an establishment or house may be, nobody in this country has ever attempted to master toilet seat technology. I never look forward to squatting over a hole in the ground...Ever.
Anyways, my host sister has done so much work for me, and even cooked lunch for class today. She's been worked to the bone for her 17 years, so if her father gives permission, I will pay her way into the party tonight. She deserves it, but I hope he doesn't take it the wrong way.
Today our training group met with the chief of the village Gourcy. He gave us very many blessings and thanks for our work and sacrifices. The old man was well educated and spoke fluent French. His house (compound really) was relatively large and belonged to many of his ancestors. There was an interesting discussion that took place through the thick language barrier. As one might expect, recent independence and interaction with foreign culture have had a dramatic impact on traditional life for these people. While attempts at local democratization have not been able to take hold, the combination of education and prosperity have the begun the inevitable domino effect of individual empowerment. The chief understood that his role in the community was changing, but he seemed to be struggling to adapt, instead of struggling to resist. I have learned the next group of volunteers will be working on projects for girl's education, a very surprising enterprise considering the vastly male dominated culture. I was please to be so well received and found the formalities amusing. When greeting a chief, always kneel so that he is higher than you, and support your right hand with your left, as if you need aid because the hand of such a great man is so heavy.
March 27th
Today is the 3rd day with my host family in Yako village, it is also Easter Sunday. I got up at 6:30AM as I am accustomed to now; it is too bright to sleep any later, and the courtyard begins to bustle with that days preparations. After on night of the suffocating heat inside the tin roofed house, I have slept outside with the protection of my mosquito net. This seems to be a normal practice for this time of year.
As it is Easter Sunday, I attended mass with one of the other 5 volunteers stationed with host families in Yako. The formalities of a catholic mass become more taxing in the African sun, and for all I could understand, the priest may have well been speaking in tongues. The combined heat and odor of 2000+ sweating worshipers caused me to vacate the sanctuary about halfway through the service, and I spent the remaining 90 minutes having a conversation in the baby French with the woman who sells the dolo (the local home brew, tastes like a fresca wine cooler) to the exiting masses.
She, like the daughter (eldest, Marietou) of my host father, remained in school here far longer than the average female in this country. Even though the women here do the vast majority of the manual labor, and show a deference that goes beyond courtesy and respect, they manage to carry themselves with a quiet dignity of the highest magnitude. The ultimate goal of a Burkinabe woman is to marry a successful man and bear many children. As a side note, polygamy is a widely accepted practice.
After 2 days, my host sister made some less than subtle suggestions that I might make a good husband, or her a good wife. After all, I am a ticket to America, where the money falls from the sky and streets are paved with gold. She wanted to "meet my parents soon" and wondered if "they liked Africans". All innocent questions if taken out of context. However, I am quite comfortable around her (she sits 3 feet away at present) but it may just be the silence I appreciate.
The father of the family is an interesting fellow. With his sunglasses on, he's a dead ringer for Ray Charles. Apparently he as literacy in Arabic but speaks French reasonable well, but to fast for a novice like me. I often have his daughter transcribe the most difficult parts of our conversations. Attempting dialogue in my shitty French is mentally draining, but with the aid of my classes, I am progressing rapidly. After the other 9 weeks of training, I will certainly have an acceptable level of fluency. I digress, the father was in a traumatic motorcycle accident about 2 years ago. After being his by a car, the bone above his ankle must have completely broking. Having obviously not received the proper care, his leg, in the area has healed at an obtuse angle, causing him to walk with a seemingly painful limp. After yesterday, I do not have to imaging what an accident like this would look like.
The Yako volunteers were walking back from the market in the Afternoon. As we approached the major intersection in town a car made a sudden left turn onto the street we were walking down, at that same moment, striking a heavyset woman on a moped. The woman bounced off of the windshield and was hurled in our direction, coming to a crash on the pavement 20 feet in front of us. Still conscious, she discovered the blood gushing from her head (of course there was no helmet involved), and then felt the need to lie there on the pavement motionless. I continued my approach, feeling the desperate need to help here but knowing that in truth, she may be hurt beyond any care available here. A crowd soon gathered, and a passing van was sued as a makeshift ambulance. The most striking detail of the whole occasion was the absolute lack of panic or emotion shown by anyone at the scene, especially the driver of the car, who got out and stood there like head just blown a tire. It is my opinion that a more familiar observer could have seen through his impenetrable emotional barrier, into the true devastation he must have felt in his soul.
March 29th
Aside from the frequent nose bleeds, I am surprised by my bon sante (good health). Despite satisfying my hunger with meat of unknown origin and meals of which the sanitation must come under question, my stomach has shown considerable strength. One member of our home stay group has already fallen ill. I feel bad for Cary, but she seems to be taking it all in good spirits. Ca va aller (it will pass).
The 5 of us are bonding well. We have "miller time" everyday after class. Today we bought together 15 meters of cloth, and took it to Malcolm's ("X") house. His host brother is a tailor, and he gave us a great deal on our future threads. The whole experience was a triumph, because we managed to bargain and discuss in French. Independence approaches.
P.s. It is fucking hot in Africa
March 30th
Today was a good day. The bikes have arrived and my life is suddenly considerable easier. Having never owned a ride of such quality, the device is especially pleasing to me. 21 speed with a suspensions system and repair kit. Tres jolie.
I had and interesting "ever moment" today; never have I "EVER" eaten at an establishment of such questionable sanitation as I did today at lunch. On the recommendation of a visiting language coordinator, our small group patronized the local spot closest to class that day. On approach, I noticed that the kitchen was contained to the porch and front "lawn". I was not actually alarmed by this, as many restaurants cook outside to entice the people that pass by. I soon realized that this practice was necessary because the interior was entirely the size of a small bedroom. One half of this tiny room was used for dining, and the seating available to us consisted of one of the only 2 tables. the other half of the room was used for storage: storage of utensils and of waste, that which could not be used for food was left to decompose for our pleasure. Decomposition is a very rapid process in 110 degree heat, and this creates an ideal environment for the common house fly. I have come to truly detest these creatures because there is no escape from their harmless and annoying presence. But here, in that landfill of a restaurant, there were 100 flies for every person. It was truly a biblical plague. Determined not to flinch in the face for Peace Corps standards, I sat down for a meal, among the roaches, the flies, the mysterious dung on the walls, I sat, and I ordered food. Now I was thankful that it was prepared at any distance from the filthy interior. To everyone's surprise we, by some divine miracle, avoided the transmission of some malicious bacteria or virus. At this point, I fell like I could step in front of a bus, and my body might be strong enough to take the blow. We were all impressed with ourselves, but if such an occasion arises again, I will surely decline it.
Today was our first encounter with the director of the Lycee (High School). The man seemed very accommodating and thankful of our presence, but he could not have known just how little we understood of what he was telling us. I may be wrong, but I feel that my French is the most advanced out of the 5 in our group; even still he spoke so fast that I only caught the most general points of his speech. What I did understand was that each of us is assigned a professor at the school who will give us the proper training to be satisfactory (or excellent) teachers in the Burkina Faso education system. I look forward to having my own class.
Lastly, I have finally been able to touch on a few adult subjects using my baby French. At first I felt quite triumphant about making attempts to explain the events of 9/11. But alas, the more effort I put into it, the more discouraged I became.
P.s. The stars are beautiful in Africa
April 2nd
As one might have predicted the longer you stay in Africa, the less romantic it seems. Still, the victories outweigh the difficulties. Tomorrow I return to Gourcy to catch up with the other volunteers, I look forward to hearing their stories. Everyone in our group of trainees is a top notch individual, I hope we al make it through the entire 2 years. I AM NOT A QUITTER. We have a might fine April fools trick for the others. After claiming a surprise dinner at the hotel, we will have the staff bring out the most disgusting plate of food we can find in town (believe me, you have no idea what these people eat, the kind of things the butcher throws out). Of course we will have prepared a real feast in the meantime: fruit salad and pizza, the rarest of commodities. I expect the best.
I've been here for half a month, I'm 1/60 of the way through my service. It's probably best that I not keep track of such things. It seems that time carries very little meaning for the natives of this country. No one seems to be on time for the meetings, the busses follow a very flexible schedule, and only the professors seem to demand punctuality. I suppose that with such a vulnerable infrastructure, which operates at the him of nature and luck, one must get used to delays.
There is supposedly a grand party at the ritzy restaurant in town this evening. The Jar din du Maire is truly an oasis in the sahel. The other volunteers in the smaller villages are rightly jealous of us in Yako. A large courtyard with 4 large gazebos which double as dance floors complete with disco balls and flash lights. The flood is good, and a bit expensive. Best of all the drinks are cold (coca fanta and local beer). They even have a star trek pinball machine (the classic kind, with Captain Kirk). The think that is most perplexing to me is that no matter how modern or civilized an establishment or house may be, nobody in this country has ever attempted to master toilet seat technology. I never look forward to squatting over a hole in the ground...Ever.
Anyways, my host sister has done so much work for me, and even cooked lunch for class today. She's been worked to the bone for her 17 years, so if her father gives permission, I will pay her way into the party tonight. She deserves it, but I hope he doesn't take it the wrong way.
posted by Adam Cohen at 4/05/2005
4 Comments:
WOw
Quite a FEAST after 20 days of starvation (for a voice in the wilderness)
1. WHat happened to that woman on the Moped--did she survive?
2. What CAUSED that accident and how do you make sure that the next time a driver sees you on your beautiful bikes he does not take you for a moped?!
3.You did not mention running water--is there such thing? Do you take a shower?
4. At least now you see the verity of the immortal statement: "Eat shit--1 billion flies can't go wrong!"
5. Counting days and marking notches makes you understand de Papillon on Devil's Island (Steve McQueen).
Cheers!
Peace was just declared in Ivory Coast. Good news.
wow...i'm speechless. Keep up the updates. p.s. don't break that girl's heart!
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