So I will, after all, have classes tomorrow. Planned out ones with notes and activities and such. Way to go, Miss Responsibility.
As it turns out, it makes more sense to go do Ouaga errands on Thursday rather than tomorrow. My travel partner will have just returned from an 80k round trip bike ride and might like a day to relax...and if I CAN teach my classes, I should.
Soo...I will.
These next few days are weirdly packed...PCV visits, shopping and Christmas prep, classes, Christmas cooking, Ouaga money retrieval, Christmas...making sure I don't miss any of the holiday throwdown that'll be going on.
Now I must go to the post and then brace myself for the walk home, whereupon I will have to get gallons and gallons of water because I am out.
...& then I will sleep like a baby with my new soft warm blanket. Mmm winter.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Failure is not an option
(From 15 November 2010)
I am sitting in the salle d’informatique with my mixed class of new students, having given them a free day since we had a test last week. After my first four classes this morning I’m feeling kind of lame just sitting here not guiding…the morning kids demanded a lot more attention and help. These guys (gals) (whatever) are content to practice typing or play spider solitaire and they have a combination of smarts, experience, and maturity to be able to figure things out on their own a little more than the younguns do. Also, all of the 5eme students who are normally in the class are not here today because they are calculating grates with their head teacher, so I am left with just seven students.
Tiny!
Sitting here not doing anything teacher-like makes me sort of rethink my initial plan to not have class next week. The 22nd is the last day of classes…and mayhaps one of my only chances to get to Ouaga to sort out some money stuff before going on my all-important vacation at the end of the month. Why introduce brand new stuff the final class before vacation, I asked myself. Isn’t everybody ready to just go home? I figured I just wouldn’t have class, that way kids could get ready to go home and I could go into the big town and run my errands.
Man, that looks kind of bad when written out, especially when you consider that I’m only with these kids for an hour a week each. This is something I would never get away with as a teacher in the States but it is perfectly logical thinking here in Burkina. Obviously the last class means that classes are already over by then. Duh.
But I’ve got some plans for the next trimester, ones that I’m actually going to make work instead of just thinking and talking about. I’ve decided that I want all of my students to have a passing grade in my class. This trimester, about 10 out of about 125 didn’t. This is not abnormal—if anything, it’s an abnormally low number of non-passing kids—and usually students are just expected to work harder and bring their grades up. But I’m going to have an extra class for the students who did not receive passing grades this trimester…not sure yet if I’ll make it mandatory or not. I’m also going to have extra sessions after the first devoir (test) I give to help the students who did not score well on it. I’ll also continue offering review/practice sessions before the devoirs. YOU WILL SUCCEED.
I’ve got another idea, something that I’ve tossed around my own head several times but haven’t really aggressively pursued. Sister Elisabeth has a civics course with each of the four classes, one that often turns into an hour of free time when she is off doing other things (as she is wont to do). I would like to create some discussion topics and goal-building, future-thinking, health-focusing activities to have in my back pocket so I can fill in for her some times when she’s not going to be there. If she gets on board with this idea, it could potentially work out fabulously. She’s not gonna be in class, she gives me a holler, the girls know I’m coming in to lead some stuff with them and then boom, an hour’s passed and life has become a wee bit more empowered.
That’s right. I’m a Girls Education and Empowerment volunteer. That means more than just letting sassy-mouthed Marguerite borrow my bike. Anyone out there want to hold me accountable?
(I just turned around to check on my girls…one of them has written “Bonne Année Miss Molly, I Love You!” in pretty colors in Paint.)
Well, I suppose I should wrap this up and dismiss this class for purely selfish reasons that include wanting to go into town to meet Thomas and his brother for whatever it is we’re going to have. Dinner? Drinks? Polite conversation? Whatever it is I’m looking forward to it because I have yet to meet Thomas’s lil bro and it’ll be, to use one of the most commonly used and drastically oversimplified adjectives in Burkinabè French... intéressant.
I am sitting in the salle d’informatique with my mixed class of new students, having given them a free day since we had a test last week. After my first four classes this morning I’m feeling kind of lame just sitting here not guiding…the morning kids demanded a lot more attention and help. These guys (gals) (whatever) are content to practice typing or play spider solitaire and they have a combination of smarts, experience, and maturity to be able to figure things out on their own a little more than the younguns do. Also, all of the 5eme students who are normally in the class are not here today because they are calculating grates with their head teacher, so I am left with just seven students.
Tiny!
Sitting here not doing anything teacher-like makes me sort of rethink my initial plan to not have class next week. The 22nd is the last day of classes…and mayhaps one of my only chances to get to Ouaga to sort out some money stuff before going on my all-important vacation at the end of the month. Why introduce brand new stuff the final class before vacation, I asked myself. Isn’t everybody ready to just go home? I figured I just wouldn’t have class, that way kids could get ready to go home and I could go into the big town and run my errands.
Man, that looks kind of bad when written out, especially when you consider that I’m only with these kids for an hour a week each. This is something I would never get away with as a teacher in the States but it is perfectly logical thinking here in Burkina. Obviously the last class means that classes are already over by then. Duh.
But I’ve got some plans for the next trimester, ones that I’m actually going to make work instead of just thinking and talking about. I’ve decided that I want all of my students to have a passing grade in my class. This trimester, about 10 out of about 125 didn’t. This is not abnormal—if anything, it’s an abnormally low number of non-passing kids—and usually students are just expected to work harder and bring their grades up. But I’m going to have an extra class for the students who did not receive passing grades this trimester…not sure yet if I’ll make it mandatory or not. I’m also going to have extra sessions after the first devoir (test) I give to help the students who did not score well on it. I’ll also continue offering review/practice sessions before the devoirs. YOU WILL SUCCEED.
I’ve got another idea, something that I’ve tossed around my own head several times but haven’t really aggressively pursued. Sister Elisabeth has a civics course with each of the four classes, one that often turns into an hour of free time when she is off doing other things (as she is wont to do). I would like to create some discussion topics and goal-building, future-thinking, health-focusing activities to have in my back pocket so I can fill in for her some times when she’s not going to be there. If she gets on board with this idea, it could potentially work out fabulously. She’s not gonna be in class, she gives me a holler, the girls know I’m coming in to lead some stuff with them and then boom, an hour’s passed and life has become a wee bit more empowered.
That’s right. I’m a Girls Education and Empowerment volunteer. That means more than just letting sassy-mouthed Marguerite borrow my bike. Anyone out there want to hold me accountable?
(I just turned around to check on my girls…one of them has written “Bonne Année Miss Molly, I Love You!” in pretty colors in Paint.)
Well, I suppose I should wrap this up and dismiss this class for purely selfish reasons that include wanting to go into town to meet Thomas and his brother for whatever it is we’re going to have. Dinner? Drinks? Polite conversation? Whatever it is I’m looking forward to it because I have yet to meet Thomas’s lil bro and it’ll be, to use one of the most commonly used and drastically oversimplified adjectives in Burkinabè French... intéressant.
Monday, December 13, 2010
New Information?
I am frustrated by everything.
...for the sake of an optimistic report on my life and not just a one line complaint, I will go ahead and list a few things that rarely upset me. But I will only do this if you take for a given the first statement of this entry, that I am frustrated by everything.
Some things that rarely frustrate me:
Certain kids in my quartier, such as Constantine and Edwige
...umm....
hm...
Being offered yogurt sometimes when I'm up by the nun house
ummmmm....
Ok I really can't think of anything else at the moment, I'll get back to you later.
...for the sake of an optimistic report on my life and not just a one line complaint, I will go ahead and list a few things that rarely upset me. But I will only do this if you take for a given the first statement of this entry, that I am frustrated by everything.
Some things that rarely frustrate me:
Certain kids in my quartier, such as Constantine and Edwige
...umm....
hm...
Being offered yogurt sometimes when I'm up by the nun house
ummmmm....
Ok I really can't think of anything else at the moment, I'll get back to you later.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
picture post
Today has been a productive, good day.
Here are some pictures for your viewing pleasure.
The lush green field of yestermonth is becoming bare again!
Goats frolicking on headbutting each other off of my wall.
Dishes drying in the sun.
Thanksgiving feast!
Taking on the key lime pie.
...it got the best of me.
Housecleaning day. Like the rugby batik on the wall?
Dirty, happy sandwich break on a trip to Rambo.
Centre ville Kongoussi, marché to the right.
Prisca and Rose while Rose studies. My little sisters of my village whom I love.C'est fini! Now, as per usual, I will leave the internet café to put some food in my belly. I'm thinking ragu de pomme de terre or frites and salade. With a big ol' Castle to drink.
Darling you’ve got to let me know…Should I stay or should I go?
(27th November)
The regional director of Peace Corps Africa visited my site; while we were talking about my experiences, he sincerely apologized for my service having been used as an experiment. (…Leslie and Rachel, no doubt the same sentiments apply.) A very appropriate, much appreciated apology, I think.
Because, you know, I’m tired. There are a lot of things about being an étranger for two years as you’re putting all of your energy into living, working, understanding and being a good neighbor that are exhausting. I’m doing so well at living, working, being in Lioudougou…think of how much progress I’d have made by now if I had been there from the beginning. I’ve thought many times, before moving down there and since, that this year in many ways will be a first year all over again, and that it might be worth it to stay a third so that I’ll have two in my new community, in the right place.
But this isn’t my first year, and I’m tired.
And I wouldn’t want to just do the little things I’ve been finding to do all over again next year. I’d want someone to work with to actually do things that are wanted and needed, and if I don’t find someone or something, I don’t think I’m going to want to stick around for another twelve months in the hope that I do. I think I’m ready for some professional growth, something challenging in a way that differs from the sort of hurry up and wait, cast your net wide, drop hints all over the place that you’d like to help out with things without ever actually doing anything, put up with sexual harassment challenges that so permeate life for volunteers here. I could GEE the heck out of somewhere. When I got my invitation in the mail, I would have sworn that this program was designed for me. What did I do in the five years before the Peace Corps that wasn’t Girls’ Education and Empowerment? As it turns out, I was put somewhere where, frankly, my presence wasn’t requested. I was plopped into a place where there wasn’t any community knowledge of or support of my program and told by my half of the equation (i.e., the Peace Corps, and not Kongoussi / Lioudougou), “Ok, go be a GEE volunteer now. Figure it out.”
But what is the role of the outsider in development? What is my role here? I have not ever been down with forcing my ideas on how things should work here, and why should I be? I’m a 24 year old girl, really. No more than a few months’ experience at any one time doing any sort of important work. A (very interesting and appropriate, but) highly theoretical degree (not that the degree itself is theoretical…or so I’ve been assured) from a liberal arts school doesn’t really stand on its own; what it’s done is lead me to this, my first real work slash life experience where I am forced to apply some of the thinking I’ve done. And I think that’s going to end up being a lot of what I get out of this.
If you divorce the Peace Corps from the Peace Corps, it’s pretty alright. I like my town, I like my community, I like living here. I’m figuring out things I can do to help. These days I’m conscious of the kind of citizen I am in my town, inspired by the insights of a PCV neighbor (neighbor!) of mine. Having the chance to live next door to people on the other side of the world who you would otherwise not have the chance to know is something truly amazing. But connecting back to the bureau is stressing me out recently, and I think this is due in large part to the fact that I feel like a nebulous volunteer, someone without a real program for whom none of the objectives and official bureau support has ever really applied. I’ve searched for ways to be involved and things that I could do to help my neighbors and my community, but not necessarily alongside anyone or towards any specific goals. The things that I’ve found to do that are wanted and asked for are things that I’ve had to make up as I go along. Not the way I wanted to do this, really, but you have to work with what you’ve got.
The Peace Corps is a good program for young idealists who are in-tuned enough to know that idealism isn’t enough, who want an important and fulfilling niche in the world but who don’t yet have the experience to find it. I wonder if, at the end of my two years here, I’ll have gotten all that I can get out of being a Peace Corps Volunteer in Burkina Faso. Maybe I’ll be ready to move on, to try another way of living somewhere, to put more tools in my belt.
It’s amazing how much—and how little—can happen in a span of nine months…so who knows.
I read a very good book recently, The Blue Sweater by Jacquiline Novogratz, that’s allowed me to start to articulate a lot of the feelings that I’m having about my time here, and what it means to be effective, and what I want to do with my life. She showed up for her first job in Africa pretty unprepared and learned a lot of important lessons sort of at the expense of herself…not really a bad thing in the long term, but not such a fun feeling in the present. She relates a lot of the advice and guidance she was given along her way, and a lot of it is the sort of advice and guidance I’m starting to seek. After living and working in Africa for a while, deciding what to do next and not being completely ready to leave (even though she’s exhausted by the contradictions and difficulties of pretty much every day of her life), she’s told by someone insightful and smart that being connected to your own home, your own community or culture, can help you in connecting to the wider world. …and I can see that, after over a year of living in Burkina. No matter how much effort and energy I put into living and integrating into my village here, it will never be my home. I can navigate through the culture here (exceptionally well, on a good day), but it isn’t my culture and it’s never 100 percent comfortable. And these are all things to accept if living and working in different parts of the world is what you want to do.
I feel stuck somewhere, in my brain, and I want to break through to some new degree of understanding about myself and about the world that I know is there on the other side. It’s like a heavy fog is obscuring something, and I’ve made progress towards it with books, with discussions, with living here…but nothing’s been quite enough.
The regional director of Peace Corps Africa visited my site; while we were talking about my experiences, he sincerely apologized for my service having been used as an experiment. (…Leslie and Rachel, no doubt the same sentiments apply.) A very appropriate, much appreciated apology, I think.
Because, you know, I’m tired. There are a lot of things about being an étranger for two years as you’re putting all of your energy into living, working, understanding and being a good neighbor that are exhausting. I’m doing so well at living, working, being in Lioudougou…think of how much progress I’d have made by now if I had been there from the beginning. I’ve thought many times, before moving down there and since, that this year in many ways will be a first year all over again, and that it might be worth it to stay a third so that I’ll have two in my new community, in the right place.
But this isn’t my first year, and I’m tired.
And I wouldn’t want to just do the little things I’ve been finding to do all over again next year. I’d want someone to work with to actually do things that are wanted and needed, and if I don’t find someone or something, I don’t think I’m going to want to stick around for another twelve months in the hope that I do. I think I’m ready for some professional growth, something challenging in a way that differs from the sort of hurry up and wait, cast your net wide, drop hints all over the place that you’d like to help out with things without ever actually doing anything, put up with sexual harassment challenges that so permeate life for volunteers here. I could GEE the heck out of somewhere. When I got my invitation in the mail, I would have sworn that this program was designed for me. What did I do in the five years before the Peace Corps that wasn’t Girls’ Education and Empowerment? As it turns out, I was put somewhere where, frankly, my presence wasn’t requested. I was plopped into a place where there wasn’t any community knowledge of or support of my program and told by my half of the equation (i.e., the Peace Corps, and not Kongoussi / Lioudougou), “Ok, go be a GEE volunteer now. Figure it out.”
But what is the role of the outsider in development? What is my role here? I have not ever been down with forcing my ideas on how things should work here, and why should I be? I’m a 24 year old girl, really. No more than a few months’ experience at any one time doing any sort of important work. A (very interesting and appropriate, but) highly theoretical degree (not that the degree itself is theoretical…or so I’ve been assured) from a liberal arts school doesn’t really stand on its own; what it’s done is lead me to this, my first real work slash life experience where I am forced to apply some of the thinking I’ve done. And I think that’s going to end up being a lot of what I get out of this.
If you divorce the Peace Corps from the Peace Corps, it’s pretty alright. I like my town, I like my community, I like living here. I’m figuring out things I can do to help. These days I’m conscious of the kind of citizen I am in my town, inspired by the insights of a PCV neighbor (neighbor!) of mine. Having the chance to live next door to people on the other side of the world who you would otherwise not have the chance to know is something truly amazing. But connecting back to the bureau is stressing me out recently, and I think this is due in large part to the fact that I feel like a nebulous volunteer, someone without a real program for whom none of the objectives and official bureau support has ever really applied. I’ve searched for ways to be involved and things that I could do to help my neighbors and my community, but not necessarily alongside anyone or towards any specific goals. The things that I’ve found to do that are wanted and asked for are things that I’ve had to make up as I go along. Not the way I wanted to do this, really, but you have to work with what you’ve got.
The Peace Corps is a good program for young idealists who are in-tuned enough to know that idealism isn’t enough, who want an important and fulfilling niche in the world but who don’t yet have the experience to find it. I wonder if, at the end of my two years here, I’ll have gotten all that I can get out of being a Peace Corps Volunteer in Burkina Faso. Maybe I’ll be ready to move on, to try another way of living somewhere, to put more tools in my belt.
It’s amazing how much—and how little—can happen in a span of nine months…so who knows.
I read a very good book recently, The Blue Sweater by Jacquiline Novogratz, that’s allowed me to start to articulate a lot of the feelings that I’m having about my time here, and what it means to be effective, and what I want to do with my life. She showed up for her first job in Africa pretty unprepared and learned a lot of important lessons sort of at the expense of herself…not really a bad thing in the long term, but not such a fun feeling in the present. She relates a lot of the advice and guidance she was given along her way, and a lot of it is the sort of advice and guidance I’m starting to seek. After living and working in Africa for a while, deciding what to do next and not being completely ready to leave (even though she’s exhausted by the contradictions and difficulties of pretty much every day of her life), she’s told by someone insightful and smart that being connected to your own home, your own community or culture, can help you in connecting to the wider world. …and I can see that, after over a year of living in Burkina. No matter how much effort and energy I put into living and integrating into my village here, it will never be my home. I can navigate through the culture here (exceptionally well, on a good day), but it isn’t my culture and it’s never 100 percent comfortable. And these are all things to accept if living and working in different parts of the world is what you want to do.
I feel stuck somewhere, in my brain, and I want to break through to some new degree of understanding about myself and about the world that I know is there on the other side. It’s like a heavy fog is obscuring something, and I’ve made progress towards it with books, with discussions, with living here…but nothing’s been quite enough.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
re flec tions to come
I wrote a very thougtful post to post...but left it on my USB key at home.
So, this post isn't really about anything.
I need a vacation and I'm taking one the week after Christmas. None of my fantasy locations (Belgium, Ireland, Manchester CT) are gonna work out so it looks like I'll be sitting on a beach in Togo for a week. The most necessary week ever.
After I am done with the internet I am going to get something breakfast-like in town with my lovely sitemate. Maybe an omlette. Not sure what else I'll be doing today, since my Tuesdays are not really full of solid plans. Just some interaction, I guess. Maybe I'll plan out my end of the trimester (division of school year trimester, not pregnancy trimester) test that I'm going to give my computer classes. It's going to be a hands on test, a typing related thing...something so obvious in America perhaps but pretty much unheard of here, unfaesable usually but at my school it's beyond feasable so it's happening. It does mean a lot more effort on my part, but hey...that's what I'm here for.
To put in lots of effort for everything all of the time.
Did I mention I'm taking a vacation?
So, this post isn't really about anything.
I need a vacation and I'm taking one the week after Christmas. None of my fantasy locations (Belgium, Ireland, Manchester CT) are gonna work out so it looks like I'll be sitting on a beach in Togo for a week. The most necessary week ever.
After I am done with the internet I am going to get something breakfast-like in town with my lovely sitemate. Maybe an omlette. Not sure what else I'll be doing today, since my Tuesdays are not really full of solid plans. Just some interaction, I guess. Maybe I'll plan out my end of the trimester (division of school year trimester, not pregnancy trimester) test that I'm going to give my computer classes. It's going to be a hands on test, a typing related thing...something so obvious in America perhaps but pretty much unheard of here, unfaesable usually but at my school it's beyond feasable so it's happening. It does mean a lot more effort on my part, but hey...that's what I'm here for.
To put in lots of effort for everything all of the time.
Did I mention I'm taking a vacation?
Thursday, November 18, 2010
November 17 in class
Today is the fête de Sainte Elisabeth, and since a person with pretty much that exact same name lives and works at the foyer here, a big ol’ party is going to take place. I was a little late to my evening class with all of my new students because my counterpart wanted to go over the corrections he made on my action plan with me; since this evening class of mine is a ridiculous thing unlike any other class I could possibly have in Burkina, I gave them the option of just playing around on the computers for a little while and then leaving so they could get ready for tonight. Instead of class today, we’re going to have a make-up class next Saturday. So here I am in my salle d’informatique, typing this note to you all while twelve girls play spider solitaire or hearts or type things with Bloc-Notes and Microsoft Word. The rest of them have gone to shower and such.
Today was a pretty good day. I had successful classes this morning and was tired when I got home around eleven, but not in a horribly tired kind of way. I took a relatively delicious nap and then stopped by my friend Claudia’s courtyard to visit. Her and Susan and Irène and Julianne were getting ready to go up to the foyer to say hello to Sister Elisabeth and wish her a good fête, so I hung out for a bit and then accompanied them up. I’m going to stay here for the mass at 6pm and then hang out for the party, which I remember—but not exactly—from last year. Funny how time passes.
So I just looked over to my left to discover one of my students regarding my computer screen and typing exactly what I’m typing in Bloc-Notes. Pretty cute. She moved computers a few minutes ago to sit next to me and I didn’t think anything of it, but I just noticed out of the corner of my eye that she keeps looking my way.
I’m kind of busy these days…I try to prepare really well for my classes and I’m getting a little bit more involved with the health center in my sector.
I’m also LOVING SLEEP. I love bedtime…who who knows me would have ever thought that would ever be true?
Today was a pretty good day. I had successful classes this morning and was tired when I got home around eleven, but not in a horribly tired kind of way. I took a relatively delicious nap and then stopped by my friend Claudia’s courtyard to visit. Her and Susan and Irène and Julianne were getting ready to go up to the foyer to say hello to Sister Elisabeth and wish her a good fête, so I hung out for a bit and then accompanied them up. I’m going to stay here for the mass at 6pm and then hang out for the party, which I remember—but not exactly—from last year. Funny how time passes.
So I just looked over to my left to discover one of my students regarding my computer screen and typing exactly what I’m typing in Bloc-Notes. Pretty cute. She moved computers a few minutes ago to sit next to me and I didn’t think anything of it, but I just noticed out of the corner of my eye that she keeps looking my way.
I’m kind of busy these days…I try to prepare really well for my classes and I’m getting a little bit more involved with the health center in my sector.
I’m also LOVING SLEEP. I love bedtime…who who knows me would have ever thought that would ever be true?
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Successful weekend of being in Ouagadougou
I planned for my Wednesday classes. I even printed things out for them in the bureau.
I typed up and printed out an action plan that I've been on the edge of completing for quite some time.
I went to SIAO, the largest commercial arts exposition in Africa that goes down in Ouagadougou every two years. Didn't buy any goods but had a great time wandering around looking at stuff, enjoying the fair-like environment, the people, the food.
I saw Kait and had a great time at her Holiday Throwdown slash Nasara Bye Bye party, at which I also ate an explosively delicious array of foods ranging from potato pancakes with homemade apple sauce to an I-kid-you-not real turkey and spinach salad with cranberries and almods as well as riz gras and scalloped potatos and chocolate mouse and cheesecake brownies...all of you kids worrying about what a skinny minnie you think I've become, fear not! Thousands upon thousands of calories have just been consumed. Forget Thanksgiving, Christmas, Hanukkah, Festivus, Merlinpeen, Tabaski...that there's some Real American Holiday Tradition.
(It's so nice to see my Peace Corps Volunteer friends but it's not something that happens a lot. I tend to stay in Kongoussi, it's months between contacts with most other volunteers that I know here. And now there are so many new volunteers that I don't really know and that I probably won't get to know very well because I don't come into Ouaga that often and there really isn't a whole lot of Peace Corps representation up where I am. The way it goes.)
Had a pretty good weekend and am excited to go back up to where I live for the Mossi partying that's going to be going down Monday night through 'til Wednesday. Didn't really get this in my life last year, living up in the castle as I did. Animal sacrifices, millet beer, sesame sauce, rice, chicken, dancing, fancy clothes. Can't miss that. I'm going to become an honorary member of Claudia's family (like I am) and help them out with all of their preparation instead of trying to figure out what sort of American element to add on my own. That'll come more towards Christmas, since I've been here and done that already and have a decent idea of what sort of stuff I can contribute that'll be appreciated.
Now...time for one more steak sandwich and then I'm hittin' the road STAF bus style.
I typed up and printed out an action plan that I've been on the edge of completing for quite some time.
I went to SIAO, the largest commercial arts exposition in Africa that goes down in Ouagadougou every two years. Didn't buy any goods but had a great time wandering around looking at stuff, enjoying the fair-like environment, the people, the food.
I saw Kait and had a great time at her Holiday Throwdown slash Nasara Bye Bye party, at which I also ate an explosively delicious array of foods ranging from potato pancakes with homemade apple sauce to an I-kid-you-not real turkey and spinach salad with cranberries and almods as well as riz gras and scalloped potatos and chocolate mouse and cheesecake brownies...all of you kids worrying about what a skinny minnie you think I've become, fear not! Thousands upon thousands of calories have just been consumed. Forget Thanksgiving, Christmas, Hanukkah, Festivus, Merlinpeen, Tabaski...that there's some Real American Holiday Tradition.
(It's so nice to see my Peace Corps Volunteer friends but it's not something that happens a lot. I tend to stay in Kongoussi, it's months between contacts with most other volunteers that I know here. And now there are so many new volunteers that I don't really know and that I probably won't get to know very well because I don't come into Ouaga that often and there really isn't a whole lot of Peace Corps representation up where I am. The way it goes.)
Had a pretty good weekend and am excited to go back up to where I live for the Mossi partying that's going to be going down Monday night through 'til Wednesday. Didn't really get this in my life last year, living up in the castle as I did. Animal sacrifices, millet beer, sesame sauce, rice, chicken, dancing, fancy clothes. Can't miss that. I'm going to become an honorary member of Claudia's family (like I am) and help them out with all of their preparation instead of trying to figure out what sort of American element to add on my own. That'll come more towards Christmas, since I've been here and done that already and have a decent idea of what sort of stuff I can contribute that'll be appreciated.
Now...time for one more steak sandwich and then I'm hittin' the road STAF bus style.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Thoughts and bye byes, briefly
It's funny, having personal and serious and heartfelt phone conersations with children gathered around to watch you. You don't understand what I'm saying, do ya kids?
Heartfelt. My heart is feeling lots of things these days.
Our Secondary Education director passed away this week. He was a wonderful man. He was so incredibly integral in getting the ball moving on my move out of the castle and down to my new neighborhood. Without him I might still be up there. And he wasn't even my director. Thoughtful, personable, helpful. Only 40 years old. Rest in peace, Seb.
Heartfelt. My heart is feeling lots of things these days.
Our Secondary Education director passed away this week. He was a wonderful man. He was so incredibly integral in getting the ball moving on my move out of the castle and down to my new neighborhood. Without him I might still be up there. And he wasn't even my director. Thoughtful, personable, helpful. Only 40 years old. Rest in peace, Seb.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Some call it fun but some may call it classes
Sometimes classes go well, and sometimes they don’t.
But I really don’t stress about it.
Because I’m confident of my place at the school and I’m confident in my ability to guide children and teenagers and I am confident in the importance of not only what I am doing but more importantly the methods with which I am doing it. And whether or not they deserve it I have confidence in my girls’ abilities to accept that some days are harder than others and that things don’t always go well and that it’s not the end of the world.
Part of that comes from being in Burkina Faso, where part of the general attitude that one has is that some days, if not most, ARE hard, and things don’t always go well and often don’t go as planned and it never really is the end of the world. So I’ve adopted this attitude concerning many things through the course of my being here, and I assume that the girls, through the courses of their being here, have it going on, too.
I also play by the innocent until proven guilty playbook, assuming that these older-kids/young-adults will be reasonable and respectful and leaving the burden of upholding this trust to them.
One of the most impressionable moments I had as the assistant director of my summer camp the year before coming out to Burkina was being called in to help handle a unit-wide dispute. Girls being disrespectful, making each other cry, not listening to their exasperated counselors…not a fun way for anyone to spend a week in the woods.
I came in one afternoon after lunch—silly Molly, who’d been a counselor they’d hoped to have in their units for as long as any of them had been coming to camp, whose wacky tacky day apparel couldn’t possibly be wackier, who sings all sorts of camp songs with true conviction and dances at all-camps and plays games at the dinner table and reads bedtime stories and is just so well-loved by everyone. I sat down on a picnic table incredibly seriously, and I looked all twenty of those girls in the eyes and told them that I was not happy with them. Quiet. I told them I was hurt by the hurtful things that they were doing to each other, that I was disappointed in them, and that I did not want to ever have to come into their unit and speak with them like this again. …and they were silent. We’re being so bad that Molly’s mad at us? Shame. And they listened as their counselors took back the reins and helped them come up with plans for solving their disputes.
I didn’t need to do much. I didn’t need to struggle over power. My authority was there when I needed to use it, and was a pretty powerful weapon because I didn’t often wield it.
Teaching at my boarding school in Burkina is not the same as working at my summer camp in the woods of New England, but I find myself assuming the same sort of tactic here. The kids like me and I go with it, and I make them laugh and say silly things and have fun with them during class. And I am the adult in charge, but I don’t feel the need to have to state this directly unless the need arises.
It’s more fun when you’re smiling, dancing and singing along…especially when you get to do it up front.
But I really don’t stress about it.
Because I’m confident of my place at the school and I’m confident in my ability to guide children and teenagers and I am confident in the importance of not only what I am doing but more importantly the methods with which I am doing it. And whether or not they deserve it I have confidence in my girls’ abilities to accept that some days are harder than others and that things don’t always go well and that it’s not the end of the world.
Part of that comes from being in Burkina Faso, where part of the general attitude that one has is that some days, if not most, ARE hard, and things don’t always go well and often don’t go as planned and it never really is the end of the world. So I’ve adopted this attitude concerning many things through the course of my being here, and I assume that the girls, through the courses of their being here, have it going on, too.
I also play by the innocent until proven guilty playbook, assuming that these older-kids/young-adults will be reasonable and respectful and leaving the burden of upholding this trust to them.
One of the most impressionable moments I had as the assistant director of my summer camp the year before coming out to Burkina was being called in to help handle a unit-wide dispute. Girls being disrespectful, making each other cry, not listening to their exasperated counselors…not a fun way for anyone to spend a week in the woods.
I came in one afternoon after lunch—silly Molly, who’d been a counselor they’d hoped to have in their units for as long as any of them had been coming to camp, whose wacky tacky day apparel couldn’t possibly be wackier, who sings all sorts of camp songs with true conviction and dances at all-camps and plays games at the dinner table and reads bedtime stories and is just so well-loved by everyone. I sat down on a picnic table incredibly seriously, and I looked all twenty of those girls in the eyes and told them that I was not happy with them. Quiet. I told them I was hurt by the hurtful things that they were doing to each other, that I was disappointed in them, and that I did not want to ever have to come into their unit and speak with them like this again. …and they were silent. We’re being so bad that Molly’s mad at us? Shame. And they listened as their counselors took back the reins and helped them come up with plans for solving their disputes.
I didn’t need to do much. I didn’t need to struggle over power. My authority was there when I needed to use it, and was a pretty powerful weapon because I didn’t often wield it.
Teaching at my boarding school in Burkina is not the same as working at my summer camp in the woods of New England, but I find myself assuming the same sort of tactic here. The kids like me and I go with it, and I make them laugh and say silly things and have fun with them during class. And I am the adult in charge, but I don’t feel the need to have to state this directly unless the need arises.
It’s more fun when you’re smiling, dancing and singing along…especially when you get to do it up front.
Lexicon
“Tantie” is what the cuisinaire girls often call me. Tantie, a word most normally used by young children to refer to adult women, often generically at the insistence of their parents (As in, “Shake hands with Tantie,” to the wide-eyed, frightened one-year-old gawking at the scary colorless ghost person hovering above them. Me.) It also a word to describe large women, the sort that look like they could hit diva-esque notes. (As in, “I could barely breathe on that three hour bush taxi ride to Ouahigouya, squished in back between two tanties.”) It also serves as a kind of in-between word in my world up here on the boarding school castle, when students and younger girls want to display respect to women who are not necessarily in strict authority positions, such as the teachers and the nuns are. A very large number of the twelve-, fourteen-, sixteen-year-old students call the cuisinaire girls (many of whom are sixteen-year-olds themselves) Tantie. A casual, familiar respect. A non-familial “auntie”…pretty much exactly what it sounds like.
Marie, my cuisinaire friend who is twenty-two, calls me Tantie, always with a smile twinkling in her wide round eyes. She and the newest addition to the cuisinaire bunch (so recent I’m not even sure of her name yet) had run into me by the gate this evening when I was leaving my final class. It was dark; it had rained for almost an hour an hour before. My silly sandal had broken…the bit that goes between your big toe and all the others (a feeling I have not always been willing to tolerate) had popped out. For the second time. The other one had broken once, too. Both sides had been repaired with some hardcore needle and thread sewn through the plastic. The current broken shoe had also once been repaired through an amateur attempt at melting and welding done by yours truly in a stunning display of fire safety negligence. Every attempt at pushing it back in this time for my rocky walk down the hill and across the muddy path that cuts through the millet field and snakes behind my quartier to my house was thwarted. Rah. So I took off my shoes and was prepared to walk pied nu, like all of the children of this country are accustomed to doing.
But Marie and friend caught me standing on the wet rocks near the gate with sandals in hand. “Tantie! What are you doing? Your feet will hurt! There’s too much mud! Take my shoes! I have another pair. Tomorrow you can give them back to me.” And she bent down to remove her oft-repaired pair of sandals and hand them to me as we stood on the rocky ground. She gave me the shoes off her feet.
How many people would do that?
Marie, my cuisinaire friend who is twenty-two, calls me Tantie, always with a smile twinkling in her wide round eyes. She and the newest addition to the cuisinaire bunch (so recent I’m not even sure of her name yet) had run into me by the gate this evening when I was leaving my final class. It was dark; it had rained for almost an hour an hour before. My silly sandal had broken…the bit that goes between your big toe and all the others (a feeling I have not always been willing to tolerate) had popped out. For the second time. The other one had broken once, too. Both sides had been repaired with some hardcore needle and thread sewn through the plastic. The current broken shoe had also once been repaired through an amateur attempt at melting and welding done by yours truly in a stunning display of fire safety negligence. Every attempt at pushing it back in this time for my rocky walk down the hill and across the muddy path that cuts through the millet field and snakes behind my quartier to my house was thwarted. Rah. So I took off my shoes and was prepared to walk pied nu, like all of the children of this country are accustomed to doing.
But Marie and friend caught me standing on the wet rocks near the gate with sandals in hand. “Tantie! What are you doing? Your feet will hurt! There’s too much mud! Take my shoes! I have another pair. Tomorrow you can give them back to me.” And she bent down to remove her oft-repaired pair of sandals and hand them to me as we stood on the rocky ground. She gave me the shoes off her feet.
How many people would do that?
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Not so bad sometimes
Regarding the rough time I’ve been having as of late…my daddio suggested (jokingly?) that maybe me washing my hair would help wash some of the blah away. So I figured, what the heck…filled my bucket up extra full the other day and brought some shampoo sheets (weird travel things found at the Transit House and my only current source of hair wash) into my latrine to scrub down nice and thorough-like. And voilà! All better.
Well, it hasn’t been that easy…but things are looking up.
Well, it hasn’t been that easy…but things are looking up.
October 4th update
I’ve been having a rough little while lately. Pretty stressed out, unable always to immediately find good ways to calm down or chill out before getting overwhelmed, though I have been trying. Things have been looking up the past couple of days, fortunately…there’s a light at the end of this particular tunnel, perhaps. Today in fact was quite busy and good. I shall describe it to you.
After celebrating a particularly wonderful Sandwich Day yesterday (which consisted of, among other things, eating three delicious sandwiches as well as a not-terrible bar of chocolate, having a delicious and winding conversation about life and love and plans and ideas, and watching several episodes of 30 Rock), I awoke bright and early for a yummy cup of creamy coffee (instant) and a short bike ride through town (necessary). The air had lingering wisps of nighttime cool in it still, and the town was full of activity as many school aged children on bikes and à pied were convening at the various primary schools, collèges and lycées for (what people say is) the first day of classes (but what really amounts to students showing up to empty rooms and waiting around for a while before going home for the day; rinse and repeat for at least a week).
At the homestead I took a bucket bath to rinse some of the grime off of my bod, then put on clean clothes and went up to my school where I got my revised computer class/exam proctoring schedule for the year. All my classes (5 hours, woop) are on Wednesdays, and I am only scheduled to proctor exams on Monday afternoons. What will I be doing the rest of the time? Well let me tell you.
I’m helping out with baby weighing/vaccinations in my sector’s CSPS (health center) on Monday and Friday mornings. The head of the health center is on board with reaching out to local schools to see what kind of health stuff they could use help with, so after school kicks into some real working gear I’m going to be a little bit aggressive with that. For the moment, I show up around 7:30 or 8:00am and help to hang babies on a scale by putting them in a sort of little thin canvas bag with leg holes (adorable) and drop little drops of polio into their mouths (oral vaccination…bye bye polio!). I then hang around and chat with the nurses or sit in on any formations that are going on. I usually put up with some level of harassment and commentary about me not having a husband, and how I should really have a baby, and wouldn’t I like to go home with a baby as a souvenir of my time in Burkina?, and about how I should cook lunch for all of them because I’m a woman and they’re men, and ha ha ha. But I enjoy my time there for the most part (and often have no trouble figuring out when it’s time for me to leave).
Today several people from my quartier were at the CSPS sick with various things—malaria for two, a wild bumpy rash sore thing for one lil’ child—so I visited for a while as well, which I always think must really tire out the sick folks being visited who sit up with great effort from where they were laying on a mat on the ground to shake hands and exchange greetings, but that’s just the way it goes.
One of the patients I visited was the son of a woman who has proclaimed herself to be my adopted mother (actually, her children claimed it for her). This is a family full of wonderful people—from oldest son to youngest daughter, I enjoy being in the company of each, and often spend my evenings in their courtyard talking about the day and preparing tô.
At around 10:30 I headed home where I immediately set to work washing dishes that I had left sitting in my dish basin for way too long. Bleach was involved. After this, riding high on a wave of productivity, I grabbed my bike and two bidons and headed across my little village to get water from the faucet by the boutique. Obnoxious “helpful” comments and suggestions from a teenage girl along the way about where I should be getting my water and how I should be transporting it didn’t do any permanent damage to my cheery outlook on life as I strapped my faucet- (not well-) filled containers to my bike and walked (not rode, as if in this skirt yeah right brat) it home to do laundry.
Laundry laundry laundry in the shade created on my terrace by my house (no hangar yet), then hung up to dry. Lunch came next, spaghetti and cream sauce (onions, garlic, tomato, milk, vache qui rit, flour, water, spicy peppers) and water with lime, sweated off ten pounds while making/eating that. Rest time. Sprawled out on a pagne on a mat on my floor to close my eyes, reopening them every time children’s voices came in through my door to ask me for water. Yeessssssssssss, I will keep you hydrated. Here you go, now go away I am sleeping. …but I didn’t sleep, just read a bit of book and was startled into complete consciousness by gentle rolls of thunder which I thought might translate into rain but didn’t, anyhow it got me going with some stuff-packing, my laptop and notebook and journal into my backpack to bring up to my school to work a little, write a little, and suggest to my directrice that I come in for study hours tonight to discuss how one studies with the newest class of little angels.
So that’s where I am now, sitting in the teacher’s room of my school, business day done, notes for my evening’s discussion on study skills jotted down in my notebook by my side. I have to plan another class for Wednesday but I’ll do that either later tonight or tomorrow. Right now I’m going to go talk to my cuisinaire ladies to give them an update on our cours de soir (another thing I will be doing this year). I think we’ll meet twice a week, probably Tuesday, and Thursday evenings. On Monday evenings, I’ve been coming up to the school to sit with the students during their study hours. I gave a little pep talk/presentation on study methods to the youngest class the other evening during this time. Add to my schedule the fact that I’ll be typing exams secretary-style to help out from time to time, like last year.
All the stuff I’ve got penciled in weekly along with the stuff that’ll come up here and there feels really good when seen on paper. Here’s to a busy, happy year.
After celebrating a particularly wonderful Sandwich Day yesterday (which consisted of, among other things, eating three delicious sandwiches as well as a not-terrible bar of chocolate, having a delicious and winding conversation about life and love and plans and ideas, and watching several episodes of 30 Rock), I awoke bright and early for a yummy cup of creamy coffee (instant) and a short bike ride through town (necessary). The air had lingering wisps of nighttime cool in it still, and the town was full of activity as many school aged children on bikes and à pied were convening at the various primary schools, collèges and lycées for (what people say is) the first day of classes (but what really amounts to students showing up to empty rooms and waiting around for a while before going home for the day; rinse and repeat for at least a week).
At the homestead I took a bucket bath to rinse some of the grime off of my bod, then put on clean clothes and went up to my school where I got my revised computer class/exam proctoring schedule for the year. All my classes (5 hours, woop) are on Wednesdays, and I am only scheduled to proctor exams on Monday afternoons. What will I be doing the rest of the time? Well let me tell you.
I’m helping out with baby weighing/vaccinations in my sector’s CSPS (health center) on Monday and Friday mornings. The head of the health center is on board with reaching out to local schools to see what kind of health stuff they could use help with, so after school kicks into some real working gear I’m going to be a little bit aggressive with that. For the moment, I show up around 7:30 or 8:00am and help to hang babies on a scale by putting them in a sort of little thin canvas bag with leg holes (adorable) and drop little drops of polio into their mouths (oral vaccination…bye bye polio!). I then hang around and chat with the nurses or sit in on any formations that are going on. I usually put up with some level of harassment and commentary about me not having a husband, and how I should really have a baby, and wouldn’t I like to go home with a baby as a souvenir of my time in Burkina?, and about how I should cook lunch for all of them because I’m a woman and they’re men, and ha ha ha. But I enjoy my time there for the most part (and often have no trouble figuring out when it’s time for me to leave).
Today several people from my quartier were at the CSPS sick with various things—malaria for two, a wild bumpy rash sore thing for one lil’ child—so I visited for a while as well, which I always think must really tire out the sick folks being visited who sit up with great effort from where they were laying on a mat on the ground to shake hands and exchange greetings, but that’s just the way it goes.
One of the patients I visited was the son of a woman who has proclaimed herself to be my adopted mother (actually, her children claimed it for her). This is a family full of wonderful people—from oldest son to youngest daughter, I enjoy being in the company of each, and often spend my evenings in their courtyard talking about the day and preparing tô.
At around 10:30 I headed home where I immediately set to work washing dishes that I had left sitting in my dish basin for way too long. Bleach was involved. After this, riding high on a wave of productivity, I grabbed my bike and two bidons and headed across my little village to get water from the faucet by the boutique. Obnoxious “helpful” comments and suggestions from a teenage girl along the way about where I should be getting my water and how I should be transporting it didn’t do any permanent damage to my cheery outlook on life as I strapped my faucet- (not well-) filled containers to my bike and walked (not rode, as if in this skirt yeah right brat) it home to do laundry.
Laundry laundry laundry in the shade created on my terrace by my house (no hangar yet), then hung up to dry. Lunch came next, spaghetti and cream sauce (onions, garlic, tomato, milk, vache qui rit, flour, water, spicy peppers) and water with lime, sweated off ten pounds while making/eating that. Rest time. Sprawled out on a pagne on a mat on my floor to close my eyes, reopening them every time children’s voices came in through my door to ask me for water. Yeessssssssssss, I will keep you hydrated. Here you go, now go away I am sleeping. …but I didn’t sleep, just read a bit of book and was startled into complete consciousness by gentle rolls of thunder which I thought might translate into rain but didn’t, anyhow it got me going with some stuff-packing, my laptop and notebook and journal into my backpack to bring up to my school to work a little, write a little, and suggest to my directrice that I come in for study hours tonight to discuss how one studies with the newest class of little angels.
So that’s where I am now, sitting in the teacher’s room of my school, business day done, notes for my evening’s discussion on study skills jotted down in my notebook by my side. I have to plan another class for Wednesday but I’ll do that either later tonight or tomorrow. Right now I’m going to go talk to my cuisinaire ladies to give them an update on our cours de soir (another thing I will be doing this year). I think we’ll meet twice a week, probably Tuesday, and Thursday evenings. On Monday evenings, I’ve been coming up to the school to sit with the students during their study hours. I gave a little pep talk/presentation on study methods to the youngest class the other evening during this time. Add to my schedule the fact that I’ll be typing exams secretary-style to help out from time to time, like last year.
All the stuff I’ve got penciled in weekly along with the stuff that’ll come up here and there feels really good when seen on paper. Here’s to a busy, happy year.
Tom Maresco
A Peace Corps Volunteer in Lesotho named Thomas Maresco was killed on the third of September. He died as a result of a gunshot wound; the situation is being investigated. He was 24 years old. He is the third Peace Corps Volunteer to die since I accepted my invitation to serve almost three years ago.
I often think about Peace Corps service just becoming normal life after a while, and in a lot of ways it does. Novelty wears off and becomes routine. You wake up and do various things before eventually getting back in bed to start over the next day, just like anywhere else. But there are elements of risk present in our lives here, no matter where here may be. We get in accidents because we are adventurous by nature (why else would we have decided to turn down that desk job and move overseas?) …and because we live in countries with, among other things, no seat belts, speed limits, or regulations about nighttime headlight use. We get targeted because we are foreigners and that means, as much as we often pretend otherwise, that even if the money isn’t in our purse at the moment it’s worth a shot to take it anyway because we’ve got it somewhere. We get sick because it’s 100 degrees in our houses and after a morning of working in a field or a health center or a school dehydration can rob you of energy quicker than you realize, or the mosquitoes don’t care that you forgot to take your malaria pill one time a week ago, or you couldn’t in good faith refuse whatever seemingly innocuous food was offered to you by your sweet and caring neighbor earlier in the day.
One of the most important reasons I decided to join the Peace Corps was to represent my country. I wanted to be a positive example of an American for the world to see, especially during a time when our global reputation could use a little touching up. I wanted to spend two years somewhere and leave in my trail people who would say Ahh, America is made up of some pretty great people. There are days when I lead nothing, teach nothing, develop nothing, do nothing except be a good neighbor and share stories with friends and help cut vegetables and just be a good person.
Life is a fragile thing, and tragic accidents rob people of it everywhere in the world. It’s incredibly sad that the world has lost a smart, talented, interesting, thoughtful, creative, giving soul in Tom…I never met him and probably never would have, but I bet my living allowance that I described him accurately, because these are things I’ve found from my experience that all American Peace Corps Volunteers are.
I often think about Peace Corps service just becoming normal life after a while, and in a lot of ways it does. Novelty wears off and becomes routine. You wake up and do various things before eventually getting back in bed to start over the next day, just like anywhere else. But there are elements of risk present in our lives here, no matter where here may be. We get in accidents because we are adventurous by nature (why else would we have decided to turn down that desk job and move overseas?) …and because we live in countries with, among other things, no seat belts, speed limits, or regulations about nighttime headlight use. We get targeted because we are foreigners and that means, as much as we often pretend otherwise, that even if the money isn’t in our purse at the moment it’s worth a shot to take it anyway because we’ve got it somewhere. We get sick because it’s 100 degrees in our houses and after a morning of working in a field or a health center or a school dehydration can rob you of energy quicker than you realize, or the mosquitoes don’t care that you forgot to take your malaria pill one time a week ago, or you couldn’t in good faith refuse whatever seemingly innocuous food was offered to you by your sweet and caring neighbor earlier in the day.
One of the most important reasons I decided to join the Peace Corps was to represent my country. I wanted to be a positive example of an American for the world to see, especially during a time when our global reputation could use a little touching up. I wanted to spend two years somewhere and leave in my trail people who would say Ahh, America is made up of some pretty great people. There are days when I lead nothing, teach nothing, develop nothing, do nothing except be a good neighbor and share stories with friends and help cut vegetables and just be a good person.
Life is a fragile thing, and tragic accidents rob people of it everywhere in the world. It’s incredibly sad that the world has lost a smart, talented, interesting, thoughtful, creative, giving soul in Tom…I never met him and probably never would have, but I bet my living allowance that I described him accurately, because these are things I’ve found from my experience that all American Peace Corps Volunteers are.
Monday, September 27, 2010
After today, I'll be fiiiiiine!
Today is the last day. The very last day that I can say that I am not, have never been a teacher. Because tomorrow I will be a teacher. I will be standing up in front of a classroom filled with girls, professing knowledge in what I hope is an interesting and creative (but not too ostricizingly and weridly-creative) way. I am prepared but not too prepared. I have a special packet of delicious instant coffee for the morning. Excellent.
This is a picture of a future tree, one of at least five that are now growing in my courtyard. Look out, deforestation!!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
