The Land of Plenty

I am writing to you from the capital city Ouagadougou after taking a brief hiatus from village life and it has been a pleasure cruise since I stepped off the bus. Even the transportation on the way here was more enjoyable with black leather seats and curtains over each window to shield you from the glaring afternoon sun. I checked in to the volunteer transit house which is essentially a youth hostel considering we're all such spring chickens, and we need a place to crash. If you traveling through ouaga for medical or work purposes you get to stay for free, otherwise its a pricey 2,000CFA a night, roughly $4.

I immediately dropped my things and my clothes to indulge in the first hot shower I had had in a month and then unpacked and scoped out the living room to see who was staying there. Luckily it was also the weekend of the AIDS task force meeting so a good number of people were there and I got lots of hugs and 'oh my god i haven't seen you in so long's, it was great. We all decided to make dinner together so everyone was bustling about, chopping this, soaking that, grilling this, drinking that, it felt like thanksgiving in college all over again, we even smoked a hooka!

But now my stay is coming to an end and I am honeslty looking forward to getting home. I have been living out of my backpack and forgot to bring my loofa so I never feel 100% clean, that requires scrubbing. Apparently my hangar was set up in my absence, which is good since it was promised to be done the week before Christmas, ha! By the by a 'hangar' is a covered porch sitting area made out of straw that is vital for the hot season since sitting inside is apparently suicide and staying out of the sun is a requirement. I also bought my own home improvements including wooden pegs for hanging stuff, paint for covering the brown water stains, and bug spray for killing unwanted visitors. Amy is the queen of jinxing and I think she rubbed off on me when she came to visit my village for market day to have lunch. I was bragging about the condition of my home and how I had only seen one cockroach since I'd moved in, a miracle by Burkina standards. So of course the next day I see two more. ;(

Life in village is a constant suprise and certainly takes a degree of patience and acceptance because it has been the same for the last 50 years and and no effort on my part can make it change faster than it wants to. I can hopefully be a catalyst for change but the ultimate choice still lies with the villagers and over them I have no control. Their choices are not always the obstacle to change but their perspective on their range of choices. Because of the heavy emphasis on religious piety there is a prevalent prescription to fatalism. At least once a day I hear the reponse to any number of problems being, 'Dieu est grand' 'God is great.' Whoever they are talking to will undoubtedly nod in agreement and take that as confirmation that God will take care of you if you are faithful to him. This explains a wide array of cultural practices such as traditional medicine. "Because they can't heal his soul," one woman explained to me when I asked why she wouldn't take her child to the health center. For 1,000CFA the local healer can fix any sickness and give you a benediction, a hard bargain to beat.

Little by little, doucement, doucement they tell me, and with no alternative I believe them and live by example and motivate change when I can. I'm also trying a new tactic of enjoying life in village and to that end have taken deeper breaths and attempted to accept my surroundings for better or worse because they are home. Thanks to everyone for their support, it means more to me than you will ever know. One man in particular, the man in fact, has helped me in so many ways and I wouldn't have made it this far without him.

Take care and be well,
Caitlin

I live in Camp Burkina, for serious

So if anyone was planning on visiting you'll be pleased to know you have your choices of accomodation, there's my house, and then there's the tourist camp on the other side of my village. You can imagine my suprise when I walked into this enclosed parc to visit a friend who also happens to be the cook, and said she could help translate something for me from Sonhrai to french, when I looked up to see a family of french tourists sitting around reading with their kids chasing a few chickens in the yard. I chose not to introduce myself, I didn't even know where to begin "Hi, My name is Roukietou, I live down the street", so I translated my piece and went on my way. The poeple who work there have actually proven very motivated in collaborating with me on development work so if you can get a french/english translator you can read up on what the organization does in the four villages throughout Burkina where they have camps set up.
http://www.tourisme-dev-solidaires.org/

And I thought I would share some pictures of my new home:
http://www.tourisme-dev-solidaires.org/misc/Koirezena/galerie.html

Don't worry, more will be coming from my point of view cause I have never seen that tomato salad in my village. But I do know the woman who is carrying a tray on her head is named Lela, she speaks great french and has a baby boy who has dimples, I guess that's one of the differences between me and a tourist. But a taste is better than nothing, so come on down, the weather's great!

O, Africa...

I meant to write about my day last night while soaking my feet and listening to the BBC - but once I started pumicing I had my hands full.

So I was on my way home from the health center, feeling especially sly and clever after evading a dozen 7 yr. olds by hiding behind someone's hut until they had run to the other side of the field yelling "Nasara! Ca va!" before realizing I had changed direction. Haha, suckers, I thought as I waved and continued happily unaccosted on my way. I actually felt proud for having outwitted a bunch of 2nd graders - this is what four years @ McGill has prepared me for.

Almost to my door I hear Aminata calling for me to come over. Across three courtyards and over a small field, "Come!" she yells repeatedly until I acquiese and trudge through the sand in her direction.

One recurring cultural phenomenon we've noticed is the prevailing theme of "too many chiefs and not enough indians." Accordingly if anyone in a group has the slighest bit more experience than anyone else than they are automatically the self-proclaimed expert. By using the phrase, 'Il faut que...''It is necessary that...' or by simply telling someone what to do it implies a sense of authority and wisdom on the part of whoever is doing the telling. This explains why I will never fix a hole in my own bike tire because within minutes of taking out my bike repair kit every boy over the age of 10 is magically also a handiman - and why Aminata feels perfectly justified in commanding me to come. She's in her own courtyard making her the chief, it's cultural I tell myself, as I assume the role of indian.

After the typical greetings she asks me if I'm going to watch the dancing. When? I ask. Right now, she says. I hesitate remembering my plans to go for a run, do some much needed laundry (this indian has been going commando) and wash the dishes form this morning - welcome to my world, thrilling, I know. I only hesitate a moment thanks to one friend's words of wisdom, "If you're ever invited to go somewhere, accept!" So I did. I dropped my bag off at home, locked the door and announced I was ready. Aminata decides to wait until I am done to tell me she has to change clothes. So we trudge back to her courtyard where I sit with her grandmother, making small talk and shaking hands all the while until Aminata announces it's time to go. Next we head over to her friend's courtyard to make one final costume change (she decided on the irridecent green mumu instead of the blue soccer jersey, good choice) and put on makeup. This entails taking a mini bottle of talcum powder, pouring it on an old t-shirt and rubbing it all over your face achieving a paler complexion and lovely, if not over overpowering, scent. Next comes the eyeliner in the form of charcoal mixed with water in an empty plastic cylinder. This concoction is applied around the eyes, tear-like lines under the eyes, and a dot between the eyes all using a toothipck sized stick. If I had one word to describe Burkinabe people, resourceful. I was then told to hold still as they played 'dress up the nasara' and gave me the blackhead looking dot and the prison style tear lines, but I was spared the eyeliner.

All glammed up we hit the trail and as we near the market center can hear the drums and whistle blowers getting louder. We come upon a circle three people thick with an oval space cleared in the middle for the dancers. In pairs they start from one end of the oval and using simple gestures keep time with the drums until they've reached the other end and then do a little catwalk to get back to the starting point. Two couples alternate this dance/fashion show increasing intricacy and rhythm of their movement with the increasing tempo of the drums. By the fifth turn the men are shaking in a full body "shimmy" and the drums are going full speed until it all cuts out and there is a few minutes pause before 2 new couples volunteer or are pulled out of the audience to participate. Throughout the catwalk dancing there is full on audience pariticipation as women throw their scarves to the man they choose and he carries/ wears them and continues to dance. Women and children intermittently walk in the arena to put candy or cigarettes in the dancer's hands to encourage them. At the end of each turn they drop the candy in a box in front of the drummers, but hold on to the cigarettes.

This is all a very well regulated event with 2 drummers banging on empty oil barrels with an animal hide stretched over the top. Then there's the two whistle blowers who helps keep the beat, motivate the crowd to clap and maintain the size of the dancing arena with long branches that sing through the air as they whip the ground along the border and consequently any child sitting too close to the edge. There is always a frenzy as they reinforce the periphery and the crowd resembles a punk rock mosh pit where the average age is 9. Standing next to Aminata I am trying to decide if someone is grabbing my butt on purpose before realizing it is just my western concept of personal space that has no merit here as Aminata spits in her friend's face for throwing her scarf in the ring and still laughing, her friend spits back. I can't help but smile and apply my former residence's national anthem to modern times, "O, Africa."

Mmmm, sheepmeat

Less than 6 ft. in front of me I watch as two sheep slowly back up, lift one front leg and charge until their skulls make a sickening crunch on impact. If unphased their violent ritual will start again until one or the other falls or retreats behind the rest of the herd who remain uninterested and quietly munching rocks for iron supplements. This all takes place in the front courtyard of the headnurse, while the other health worker is busy making tea, pouring it back and forth, 20 maybe 100 times until there's 2 inches of frothy foam in each glass. It's my daily green tea cappucino of which I'll drink at least 3 before insisting I've had enough since I can barley see straight from all the caffeine pumping through my veins.

It's 3pm and we've already helped ourselves to a plateful of spaghetti and sheepmeat (same sheep standing in front of me I don't know, and don't care to ask). We pass around the pot of food to serve ourselves and of course they say I never take enough, "Il faut bien servir" "It is necessary to serve yourself well", "Il faut bien manger" "It is necessary you eat well." I usually have to snatch my plate away making it impossible to heap two more spoonfuls onto my plate after I've already said, "OK, ca suffit". It's not that I'm trying to watch my figure but when I spend 22 hours of the day in a dormant position and extra spoonful of white rice is not going to help anything. If it weren't for the caffeine rich tea I would recline in my wooden chair already sitting at a 45° angle and nap in the brisk 85°F weather. It's 'l'heure Afrique' and there's no where to be.

On a lighter note...

This is a poem created by our very own Aaron Kase for our health/SED training session talent show, it was a big hit of course since organized by Leslie and yours truly. ;) Without further ado....


Welcome to our world people, have a good night and don't forget to tip your waitress. Till next time, take care,
Caitlin

The daily commute

You know how a whale in the ocean constantly has a school of minnows in its wake - well in village, guess who's the whale. From my front doorstep to the health center, my usual commute along the sand dune next the the herd of cattle on their way to graze, I am accompanied by 2 - 8 children, they never travel alone. They giggle, whisper, test how much I know in Sonrai or chant my name, "Rou-kie! Rou-kie!", a veritable parade in which I am always the lead float. Along the way I practice my Miss America wave (elbow, elbow, wrist, wrist, wipe a tear, blow a kiss) as I greet every living creature we pass. If I don't they will undoubtedly greet me giving me no choice but to respond. Some of the families I know, many more I don't, but regardless as to whether or not we've been formally introduced they will pause what they're doing whether its getting water from the pump, pounding millet, gathering firewood, washing clothes, washing babies or going to the bathroom (this last one applies only to children who take two steps off the beaten path and pop a squat, I still don't know how to respond) and they yell over courtyard walls, across fields (of sand) to ask how I'm doing? How's my morning? Am I in good health? Are the people of my courtyard in good health? How are my children? In turn I give the appropriate one word response to each question to confirm; I'm doing fine (bansammi), my morning is good (kannkbanndi), I have my health (huksaabo), my courtyard is doing well (windogsaabo), and my children are good (koitiaysaabo). I have stopped arguing and trying to explain why I am 23 and have no children, but don't worry Tom, I still take the time to clarify that I can't marry them, their son or their sheepherder because I have a husband in America. They go on to tell me, Oh, he doesn't have to know, I tell them, Yes, but I would know - but in true patriarchal style this last point doesn't seem to register as a problem.

I did have a very enlightening conversation with my counterpart, the head nurse of the health center. Due to his fluency in french and level of education we can discuss almost any topic because this is, after all a cultural exchange and its fun to use the shock factor by just describing what its like in the US. "So, they don't practice polygamy there?" "No, it's actually illegal" (I don't bother to bring up Utah and the mormon tradition, that's a whole nother story) So we discussed why they still practice it here and why a man feels the need to have three wives and on average 15 children, but usually more. My counterpart told me that a man will usually ask his wife before taking on a second, but for her to refuse would imply that she isn't a social person and doesn't like people in general. If a man has enough money, then it would only be natural for him to want to share that with more people by expanding his family. And the two wives share the workload and typically get along to the best of my understanding so it's really a win-win situation. I have yet to find a woman with a clear enough undertanding of french or a translator who is trustworthy, to pose the same question but I will let you know when I do.

My counter arugment was to pose the possibility of a woman taking on two husbands, my counterpart just laughed wholeheartedly, as if this thought had never once crossed his mind. But this is the bulk of my work, asking questions, getting responses that would have social services up in arms back home and posing the one question that I never hear, "Why?" If your baby has not eaten in three days Why have you not gone to the health center? If you have a cut that is literally turning green and swarming with flies, Why don't you clean it with soap and water? If you are 21 and have had 2 children in 20 months then Why don't you take some sort of birth control? The answer is hopefully where my full time position will be of some use because it will address the sustainability aspect of my work instead of the typical band-aid donor solution in the form of more money. But I will cross that bridge when I come to it because first I need to know why. And before I can find that I need a translator who will honestly tell me what one woman just said. One man that I asked to translate for me told me that the woman I was talking to said she understood perfectly well, "Really?" I said, "Because she didn't even open her mouth." This is why two years is looking like an appropriate length of time to discover the source of the problems and address them in a manner comprehensible to everyone. Two years will most likely be insufficient but I will oblige to leave some work to be done for my replacement volunteer. ;)