I’ve been in the lovely country of Burkina Faso for almost four months now and everything has
changed over night. I’ve gone from spending every day with my amazing fellow trainees and
having practically every moment of my life planned out to no Americans (that I’m aware of)
within 80km and my own life to lead. This is it, this is what I’ve been waiting for; what I signed
up for in the first place all though I think most of us had forgotten. I didn’t come here to live at
summer camp for two years, but to live, work and integrate into this gracious country.
Two weeks ago, myself along with 46 other lovely new volunteers took the same oath as our
very own president and became official Peace Corps Volunteers! As the Peace Corps 50th
Anniversary group, we kicked off a three day fair, sharing fun, Peace Corps history and current
volunteer projects. The Burkinabé artist Floby debuted our very own Peace Corps song at the
culmination of the fair, graced by the presence of the First Lady of Burkina Faso herself. (hear
song at link below – video editing by yours truly)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TUO2ZPiwMRM
Followed by a few quick days to room the capital and pick up things for my new home, I bid
farewell to my new fellow volunteers as we were all shipped off to our sites. I was prepared to
be a nervous wreck, with my French not where I would like it to be, even less local language
and honestly nothing to compare to for what was about to happen to me. Everything went
surprisingly calmly. There was one moment when we dropped off my nearest neighbor, when
I realized this is it, I’m on my own, but the moment passed. Ever since receiving my invitation
for the Peace Corps I’ve managed to maintain the mentality that this is what is happening in my
life and it’s going to happen one way or another, so let’s just go with it (fingers crossed I can
maintain it for the next two years!).
Arriving at my site, we awaited the director of the school to lead us to my house, only to find out
that the man with the keys was 45km away and wouldn’t be back until the evening. No worries,
my driver took the next hour to break into my house, which works out since he was going to
change the locks anyways. Locks changed, my gas stove set up, the driver asked if I needed
anything else and he was off.
Quick note about my house, I feel so spoiled. I have my own private courtyard with two little
mango trees, a porch, an outdoor latrine and “shower” (no running water or electricity), two
bedrooms, an indoor “shower,” and a living room. There are also steps up onto my roof, which
has become my favorite place to lay at night, watch a lightning storm in the far off distance
and gaze at the millions of stars above me; it is truly spectacular. After a week the place is still
basically completely empty. I have a cot, which I use for my clothes, and I sleep on a thermarest
on a mat on the floor. The carpenter stopped by and I ordered a table for my stove and water
filter. When they arrived the next day, I don’t think I’ve ever been more excited. It’s going to
be a process, but I’m excited to make this my own place. My first official house!
My first night, a neighbor girl helped me get water and took me to the marché. I quickly learned
that not that many people in my village speak French, and Mooré the local language I’ve been
learning is understood, but they respond in Yana, which I definitely do not understand. Oh the
joys of communication. That night the director of my school took me out to dinner at the only
kiosk (“restaurant” - basically a little shack with some tables and chairs around it) in the village.
We talked about the school before he started talking about how much he loves science fiction
followed by a narration of a whole science fiction novel - something to do with people going to
Mars in the future, robots and telepathic Martians…bizarre.
The next few days were a rollercoaster of emotions. I wake up around 5:30am (don’t worry I
go to bed at 8pm) and don’t want to leave my house. It’s terrifying thinking about approaching
people with little to say and a lack of ability to say things at all. I normally go for a bike ride or
walk to explore some other part of the village and greet people as I pass by. People always ask
where I am going and when I say I’m just wondering, they think it is tres bizarre. Here, people
are on the move with a purpose and destination. Their lives are so labor intensive there is no
need for exercise merely for the point of exercise. I’m happy to become the weird “nasara”
(local lang for “stranger” or “white person”), who loves to romp around the town. When I do get
the courage to enter a neighbor’s courtyard or to stop by a boutique (a little shack with a window
where you can buy packaged necessities), the people are always so friendly, open, and accepting
of the minimal exchanges we can make. The other day, I walked into my neighbor’s courtyard
and they were all husking corn. For the moment no one there could speak French, but I gestured
to help and they brought me a chair. I ended up husking corn for over two hours, even though
someone came and asked me if I was tired after ten minutes. It is extremely amusing that they
always think foreigners are quick to tire and we don’t know how to do anything correctly. In
this culture, there is also the standard to have children do everything – I know some parents in
the US wish it was like that. At the end of the day, I return to my house around 6pm as it gets
dark, make dinner and talk to some fellow volunteers. It’s fun to hear what everyone else is
experiencing as each situation is so different – the difference between replacing an old volunteer
or being at a new site (I’m the first volunteer in my village), having a site mate, having another
volunteer a short bike ride away, being in a big city with most amenities or remote villages.
This past week was the first week of school. I recently found out I would be teaching Math and
no science classes as I had previously expected. By Monday morning, I still had no schedule
or textbooks. Getting there at 7am my director basically said, “Okay, go teach!” I almost had a
heart attack. I had nothing prepared – I really had no idea what material the classes would even
be covering. Luckily I ran into my counterpart, a fellow teacher who has been assigned to help
me with cultural adaptation and to answer any questions I may have. He explained to me that
I would be teaching one class of 6e (equivalent to our sixth grade) and a class of 4e (equivalent
to our ninth grade). On the first day all I had to do was introduce myself and give them a list
of chapters to copy into their notebooks as the students themselves do not get the text books. I
was so nervous. My 6e had a wounding 75 students and I think their French might be as good
as mine. The following two classes with them was a little bit of a struggle, but I think I will be
able to make it work. My 4e class has only 50 students, which does feel small – so weird – and
some of the students are most likely my age if not older. With that class I have had to self teach
some of the material to myself as the notations used aren’t learned in the US until university. I
will say so far I love that class. They are very receptive to my French abilities, pay attention and
participate; granted it has only been one week, but let me keep my optimism up for right now.
I have a lot to learn about my village and it will take a lot of effort to put myself out there and
really get to know the people. I’m excited for the challenge and I am so happy to be here. The
other evening I went on a bike ride fifteen minutes out of town to a dammed lake, which has
trees growing throughout it (open water is a tragic rarity in this country). There was a ridge
along which to ride and as the sun set, white birds flocked in from all directions and massed on
four small trees in the middle. It was as if the trees were covered with white blossoms. I stopped
to sit for a moment and watched as a lone fisherman in a skinny canoe paddled along putting out
his fishnets for the evening. There is so much to learn, so much to see, let the real journey begin.
changed over night. I’ve gone from spending every day with my amazing fellow trainees and
having practically every moment of my life planned out to no Americans (that I’m aware of)
within 80km and my own life to lead. This is it, this is what I’ve been waiting for; what I signed
up for in the first place all though I think most of us had forgotten. I didn’t come here to live at
summer camp for two years, but to live, work and integrate into this gracious country.
Two weeks ago, myself along with 46 other lovely new volunteers took the same oath as our
very own president and became official Peace Corps Volunteers! As the Peace Corps 50th
Anniversary group, we kicked off a three day fair, sharing fun, Peace Corps history and current
volunteer projects. The Burkinabé artist Floby debuted our very own Peace Corps song at the
culmination of the fair, graced by the presence of the First Lady of Burkina Faso herself. (hear
song at link below – video editing by yours truly)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TUO2ZPiwMRM
Followed by a few quick days to room the capital and pick up things for my new home, I bid
farewell to my new fellow volunteers as we were all shipped off to our sites. I was prepared to
be a nervous wreck, with my French not where I would like it to be, even less local language
and honestly nothing to compare to for what was about to happen to me. Everything went
surprisingly calmly. There was one moment when we dropped off my nearest neighbor, when
I realized this is it, I’m on my own, but the moment passed. Ever since receiving my invitation
for the Peace Corps I’ve managed to maintain the mentality that this is what is happening in my
life and it’s going to happen one way or another, so let’s just go with it (fingers crossed I can
maintain it for the next two years!).
Arriving at my site, we awaited the director of the school to lead us to my house, only to find out
that the man with the keys was 45km away and wouldn’t be back until the evening. No worries,
my driver took the next hour to break into my house, which works out since he was going to
change the locks anyways. Locks changed, my gas stove set up, the driver asked if I needed
anything else and he was off.
Quick note about my house, I feel so spoiled. I have my own private courtyard with two little
mango trees, a porch, an outdoor latrine and “shower” (no running water or electricity), two
bedrooms, an indoor “shower,” and a living room. There are also steps up onto my roof, which
has become my favorite place to lay at night, watch a lightning storm in the far off distance
and gaze at the millions of stars above me; it is truly spectacular. After a week the place is still
basically completely empty. I have a cot, which I use for my clothes, and I sleep on a thermarest
on a mat on the floor. The carpenter stopped by and I ordered a table for my stove and water
filter. When they arrived the next day, I don’t think I’ve ever been more excited. It’s going to
be a process, but I’m excited to make this my own place. My first official house!
My first night, a neighbor girl helped me get water and took me to the marché. I quickly learned
that not that many people in my village speak French, and Mooré the local language I’ve been
learning is understood, but they respond in Yana, which I definitely do not understand. Oh the
joys of communication. That night the director of my school took me out to dinner at the only
kiosk (“restaurant” - basically a little shack with some tables and chairs around it) in the village.
We talked about the school before he started talking about how much he loves science fiction
followed by a narration of a whole science fiction novel - something to do with people going to
Mars in the future, robots and telepathic Martians…bizarre.
The next few days were a rollercoaster of emotions. I wake up around 5:30am (don’t worry I
go to bed at 8pm) and don’t want to leave my house. It’s terrifying thinking about approaching
people with little to say and a lack of ability to say things at all. I normally go for a bike ride or
walk to explore some other part of the village and greet people as I pass by. People always ask
where I am going and when I say I’m just wondering, they think it is tres bizarre. Here, people
are on the move with a purpose and destination. Their lives are so labor intensive there is no
need for exercise merely for the point of exercise. I’m happy to become the weird “nasara”
(local lang for “stranger” or “white person”), who loves to romp around the town. When I do get
the courage to enter a neighbor’s courtyard or to stop by a boutique (a little shack with a window
where you can buy packaged necessities), the people are always so friendly, open, and accepting
of the minimal exchanges we can make. The other day, I walked into my neighbor’s courtyard
and they were all husking corn. For the moment no one there could speak French, but I gestured
to help and they brought me a chair. I ended up husking corn for over two hours, even though
someone came and asked me if I was tired after ten minutes. It is extremely amusing that they
always think foreigners are quick to tire and we don’t know how to do anything correctly. In
this culture, there is also the standard to have children do everything – I know some parents in
the US wish it was like that. At the end of the day, I return to my house around 6pm as it gets
dark, make dinner and talk to some fellow volunteers. It’s fun to hear what everyone else is
experiencing as each situation is so different – the difference between replacing an old volunteer
or being at a new site (I’m the first volunteer in my village), having a site mate, having another
volunteer a short bike ride away, being in a big city with most amenities or remote villages.
This past week was the first week of school. I recently found out I would be teaching Math and
no science classes as I had previously expected. By Monday morning, I still had no schedule
or textbooks. Getting there at 7am my director basically said, “Okay, go teach!” I almost had a
heart attack. I had nothing prepared – I really had no idea what material the classes would even
be covering. Luckily I ran into my counterpart, a fellow teacher who has been assigned to help
me with cultural adaptation and to answer any questions I may have. He explained to me that
I would be teaching one class of 6e (equivalent to our sixth grade) and a class of 4e (equivalent
to our ninth grade). On the first day all I had to do was introduce myself and give them a list
of chapters to copy into their notebooks as the students themselves do not get the text books. I
was so nervous. My 6e had a wounding 75 students and I think their French might be as good
as mine. The following two classes with them was a little bit of a struggle, but I think I will be
able to make it work. My 4e class has only 50 students, which does feel small – so weird – and
some of the students are most likely my age if not older. With that class I have had to self teach
some of the material to myself as the notations used aren’t learned in the US until university. I
will say so far I love that class. They are very receptive to my French abilities, pay attention and
participate; granted it has only been one week, but let me keep my optimism up for right now.
I have a lot to learn about my village and it will take a lot of effort to put myself out there and
really get to know the people. I’m excited for the challenge and I am so happy to be here. The
other evening I went on a bike ride fifteen minutes out of town to a dammed lake, which has
trees growing throughout it (open water is a tragic rarity in this country). There was a ridge
along which to ride and as the sun set, white birds flocked in from all directions and massed on
four small trees in the middle. It was as if the trees were covered with white blossoms. I stopped
to sit for a moment and watched as a lone fisherman in a skinny canoe paddled along putting out
his fishnets for the evening. There is so much to learn, so much to see, let the real journey begin.
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