picture post

here is my house from a bit of a long view...I live in an condo type thing next to a bunch of 3eme students who share two of the others
when I go down those stairs and keep going straight I get to the house where the sisters live, as well as to the general area where I go to find people to hang out with

this is my bit of the building closer up

flowers in a little jar on the ledge of my living room window sill
the pretty braided grass (upper left hand corner of the photo) was made for me by one of the girls here, and my camp counselor heart loves keeping all things like that

some wall deco near my door...pictures, calendar, pretty things

trinkets on my bedroom window sill...smelly good candle and pretty rock sent from home, accidental green theme
the wall that you can see out of my window goes around all of the school grounds

here are some lovely hills as seen over the wall of the ground of Ste B's...actually a lot more beautiful in person

life on the hill

I had two nice blog entries lined up for you today...unfortunately, one of them has humorously gone missing -- I must have saved it to the wrong place -- so you will all have to wait, fittingly, to hear about my SAGA OF THE CHAIRS.

Also...scope out my new address, located on the right hand side of this here webpage. I took out the little tip about addressing me as Sister, because who knew I'd be sharing a post office box with four nuns?

And now...a blog entry.

June to September. A whole New England season has come and gone!

I don’t really know what to expect from the season changes here. I know that the rain is going to stop making appearances sooner or later…no one here really seems sure when, the season has been so sporadic and unpredictable. The green grass and green leaves will eventually disappear and all will be red and brown again! It’s hard to imagine.

My life on the hill out here in Kongoussi has been flipped all around! The girls have arrived and classes have started and I’m working on finding my niche in this place for a second time.

So…what is my living sitch?

It’s not a village, because there aren’t families or houses. It’s not really part of the town because it’s so removed on its little hill. It’s not like the summer camp situation I know and love…it’s a school for sure, and it doesn’t have the same flavor of American culture. …and it’s not like college because the girls are under age 18 (some of them well under).

But it IS like a village, because it’s so small and intimate and there really has to be a community going on. And it IS in Kongoussi, connected to the town. There are some pretty dorm-like dynamics as one might expect from a group of girls living together at a school, and it’s also kind of like summer camp, with all the singing and laughing and girls everywhere in groups.

But even though I live right next to a bunch of giggly sixteen year old girls who demand that I teach them how to say “fart” in English, I’m not a camp counselor…I don’t have to check up on them or keep them occupied. And despite my proximity and living arrangement, I’m not an SA (or RA for those non-Mount Holyoke goers), I’m a neighbor…but I’m not REALLY a neighbor because it’s not a neighborhood and I’m a pretty cool age-gap away from them all, and also a girl like them and also a nasara novelty. And I’m not a teacher, so what am I doing here on their campus? I’m applying some of my life lessons of years passed and suspend a need for definition so that I can understand this as it is and not try to fit it into a mold that doesn’t necessarily work.

The feeling of having too much free time, not having anything to do…it’s a veritable Peace Corps guarantee but it hasn’t yet really occurred for me. I feel like I always have somewhere to go, someone to talk to, some group to find and causer with…often I feel like I’m missing out on something when I take time in my room or in my kitchen. There are places to go in town, errands to run, spots to hang out, marché ladies and shop owners to talk to, organizations I could introduce myself to, Justin’s clubs that I could attend, tipsy dolo drinkers who will seemingly always insist that I stop under the trees. Here at the school there are the girls who cook and love me, the (now quite busy) Sisters, Sister Elizabeth especially who always has time for me and always lets me accompany her to do whatever task she’s running about doing at a given moment, and my twenty 3eme neighbors as well as 180 other students I can be around, if only just to break the ice and say hi. There are classes to attend in a school building that is literally a 30 second walk from my front door, teachers to observe and to talk to…

…I also feel as though the undefined and unstructured nature of the GEE program is being interpreted a lot differently here. Madame la Directrice of the college included me in the before-school teacher meeting and introduced me quite eloquently and correctly to the student body on the first day as a Peace Corps volunteer who is here to work for girls’ education in a broad sense, who will be getting to know the school for the first trimester before starting any groups or clubs, who is here like Robert was but not to be an informatique like him.

I feel as though I’ve been given a key to the school grounds, like I can go anywhere and observe anything and help out if I can but just hang back if I want. I feel so structured in my non-structure, it’s a little intimidating, especially since (as fellow boarding school GEE volunteer Rachel put it) this school is so high functioning already. Theatre presentations on social issues, honor roll and rewards for good marks, built in study hours, seemingly motivated teachers, an organized library, lots and lots of loud and proud young ladies…what do I do? Where do I start?

I guess I’ve got the trimester to figure that out. And really I’m pretty proud to be able to test run this new GEE direction. I do have a lot of girl scout camp counselor/director, sexual health educator, tutor, peer mentor, all-girls school attend-er experience to draw from, and if I can make any sort of contribution to a program that is already sustainable…well that’ll be pretty cool. …and fortunately I have a pretty good small-victories perspective, so I can get satisfaction out of the handshakes, smiles, finger snaps, and every day conversations too.

out of the gate and to the marche

Pedal pedal pedal, out of the school gate, down the little rocky hill, mini mountains in the distance rolling and beautiful covered in green grass and little trees.

Pedal pedal, past the tall fields, around the little bend, up the small but steep incline onto the goudron (which is how one refers to the paved road, literally “tar” en Francais). Whew. It’s hot, but it’s not a bad hot.

Pedal some more down the road, rockin’ every Moore greeting I know as I pass the benga maize and gateaux vendors, the dolo drinkers, and the causer-ers who scatter the route. Most people wave back with a smile, some engage me in a bit of a prolonged greeting test of my skills, some call me over – “waka!” – to chat more in-depth. Sometimes I stop to talk. At this point it’s usually the same thing…I should stay and drink dolo, I should buy everyone dolo, why do I pass every day and not stay, I should teach them English, I should put this baby on my back and take him with me, ha ha ha. I usually click my helmet back on (that’s right mom) and say goodbye when I’ve backed myself into some sort of conversational corner…such as accidentally agreeing to take the baby.

Pedal pedal pedal my way down the goudron and into town. Get to the round point (roundabout…rotary…everywhere I’ve lived there’s a different word for these things!) and follow it to the other side, keeping a strategic eye ahead of me to view the bike/moto/pedestrian/animal/sometimes bus or car situation since the stop signs in place are strictly ornamental.

I park my bike on the side of the street and descend down a small incline past women grilling corn and into the first phase of the Kongoussi marché. Enter past the boutiques on the perimeter, a hello to my friend who sells bread and Nescafe, past the young guy always lounging on his tall chair in front of a table full of pills and bottles that I’ve never stopped to examine too closely for fear of picking up and examining something that will provoke an unwarranted reaction. Here there are mostly women vendors, seated on the ground behind pagnes that are covered in whatever fruits or vegetables or herbs or other edible products they are vending. Each product occupies its own section on the fabric spread out in front of them, and within that section the particular fruits and such are arranged in neat little groups – one something stacked upon a triangle of three other somethings, perhaps, to be neatly exchanged for a single coin.

I enjoy walking through this section of the market. There’s a bit of a path created by rope tied to the shade-giving trees as well as the way the women have spread their things out, and I wander around slowly, testing out my language skills encore. I get lots of laughter and encouragement from the vendors who marvel at the white girl who “speaks” Moore – “Nasara gombd Moore!” they laugh to their friends – even though every day that I stop to chat with them I use the same greetings, phrases and four or five verbs.

Past the food vendors to enter phase two of the marché, booths and shops lined up all along the edges and all throughout the middle, creating aisles to walk through. Step into this shop to scope out plastic things you might need for your house – buckets and baskets and cups, oh my. …or step right up over here if you’re looking for t-shirts of various styles and designs. You a Bob Marley fan? You’re in luck! Gaudy jewelry, nail polish, Barack Obama key chains, soap, lotion, lollipops, glasses, flashlights? All can be found in this shop over here. There’s no shortage of plastic woven mats and pagnes. Fresh meat cut off of this newly slaughtered goat that you see hanging by its feet through the prison bar type window right here? Sure thing!

I haven’t purchased meat yet. I’m a little a-scared.

…but I do enjoy walking through the inside of the marché, too. It’s mostly men that run the boutiques and stores in here, though there are women too. There are a couple of corners where I can go to be assured friendly conversation…conversation that means well, at the very least. I wonder if I’ll ever get sick of being asked if I have a husband.

So. The Kongoussi market. It’s a very nice market indeed. Whenever I head into town I head into the market, even if I don’t really need anything. It’s full of lots of things, lots of people, and not a whole lot of pressuring to buy. Also not a whole lot of bartering necessary, I’ve found. Perhaps I settle for prices that are a bit inflated but really I don’t think that can be avoided and I’m not going to make a routine out of dueling to the death over 50 cfa. Often the food women will slip an extra tomato or onion into my bag with a smile. I’m sure karma comes into play somehow!

…but now it’s time to leave. I’ve got my purchases in my bag, which is slung over my shoulder, and I head up to my bike and if I have nothing else to do while in town I turn it towards my home on the hill and pedal pedal pedal away.

Kongoussi

The cyber cafe in Kongoussi is located along with the local radio station on top of a small mountain with a panoramic view of other small mountains as well as the town below. Fields and trees and hills are greener now than they've been yet this year as the rainy season has hit its peak. The clouds that fill the sky keep some of the heavy heat out of the air, and it's possible and even probable that if you wait for it you'll be able to experience a stream of fresh air breezing past your face.

There are four computers in this little turquoise-walled room, each travelling at the speed of snails. The keyboard of the one that I finally got to work after a half hour of patience sticks with almost every keystroke, making my French-keyboard prowess even more difficult to increase than it already is. The web sites don't fully load, so it's difficult to tell where I have to click to make things happen.

Ouaga time went by like a blur. Dinners and celebrations with friends abounded. I spent some time in the med unit relaxing from a bit of a parasite infestation (blastocycstis hominis, I later learned...how freaking cool sounding is that?). Swear-in was great. The speaches were touching. My complet was lovely...sparkly golden swirls on blue green pagne fabric with a dark phoenix design all over, simple shirt, simple skirt. I wore silver high heels that helped me reach the sky. My friends all looked beautiful. We went out drinking and dancing that evening, talking, laughing, clearly some crying. Next day was surreal...early morning car departure, me and Charley on the road north to Kongoussi, talking and looking out the windows, all of my stuff in the backseat. Got to the school, up on the little mountain...smiling Soeur Elizabeth there, Peace Corps driver changed the locks on my door, got into the car, I hugged Charley goodbye, away they drove. Deep breath in.

The campus of the school where I live is big and wide, beautiful, set atop a hill off the road, out of the town. I have privacy, a space of my own. The Soeurs (Sisters) are smiling, friendly, worldly, open minded. They invite me to eat with them, we causer (co-zay, chat) on their porch. The students arrive on the 15th...for now there are about 10 girls who live there, the ones who cook and clean and a couple of students who live too far away to go home for the summer. They have all been friendly and respectful...some speak French, some laugh and encourage my "bilfu bilfu" amount of Moore so that I can talk with them too. They work during the day, pulling up the long grass, washing clothes, feeding the animals...talking with each other, sometimes talking with me. Right now, my home is a peaceful, tranquil place.

Soon there will be twenty times the amount of girls there. I will meet the teachers and perhaps some parents. Though I am not supposed to work during my first three months at site, I will be able to keep myself busy sitting in on classes, attending teacher meetings, figuring out how the school works and what it needs and what I can do to help facilitate those needs being met. Eeeek.

For now, I am spending my days in different ways. Often I make the 3km bike ride into town. I stop along the way to causer with the people I've met thus far...Soeur Elizabeth's sister who works at a small business in town, a restaurant owner who has the same name as my lil' bro(what what Samuel!), the various women and men in the market. I went to an English Club meeting last week with my PCV sitemate and really loved it so I think I'll go again. I've stopped by the bus garre to ask some questions about transportation. I ate grilled corn on the cob with the girls who work in the alimentation across from the marche, sat down to shoot the breeze with a bread man, with the girls who work at a telecentre, came up with new and exciting ways to not give strange men my cell phone number. I buy phone credit from different people all over Kongoussi so that no one will know how much money I drop on in-country text messaging. Sometimes I stop to chat with the people who sit and work along the side of the road on my way to and from the College. I ordered chairs and a bookshelf the other day, they should be finished and at my house tomorrow...and then I will be able to start making ly house a home, piece by piece, little by little. Sometimes during my trips into the market I buy a thing or two to meet this end...a bucket, a mat, a ladle. Food to prepare. I've been doing that too...experimental cooking. It usually turns out ok, but then again it's only been a week. The other day it rained and I stayed in reading some of the stuff I was thrown during PST. Thinking about my life here. What I'm doing, what I can do, how to fill my days with measurable, meaningful, managable things.

I'm off now to go do some of those things. Talking, walking, seeing. Maybe I'll cook myself a good lunch.

I'm going to be really happy here. It's alredy difficult, and it'll be difficult again. It's much different than what I thought it would be, even though I thought I had no expectations. Surprise, surprise!