So I made it into Ouaga today, after laying over in Fada last night
with some of my closest friends here in Peace Corps. We had a great
time hanging out but at the end of the night were more than reminded
we still live in Burkina. After drinking and eating and enjoying each
other’s prescence we got up to leave the restaurant we were at. Here
in Burkina they have a way of bringing the bills with each round of
drinks that gets brought out. And it depends on which person brings
the drinks as to who you have to pay. Apparently we had paid for
multiple rounds on one ticket and the lady who took our money went
home. When the second lady came out we were short on her tickets and
so she started yelling at us that we still owed money. After a lot of
Burkinabes shouting at us, they finally figured out that our story was
consistent, that we had paid and that whiteys are generally prone to
making this mistake. So eventually they sent someone to the first
women’s house to confirm how much we had actually paid. We were
looking very frustrated at this point and because one of the guys knew
our friend in Fada that we had been with he told us to just go home.
(I think he realized that at this point they were the ones looking
dumb for not keeping their money and tickets straight). It all added
up and no one had to come find us the next day.
I’ve been going to church fairly regularly. Usually the people in my
courtyard go to the Gumalchamae part of the service and this I find to
be enjoyable enough so I generally tag along with them. The pastors
however would prefer that I came to the french speaking part because
they know I’m not getting anything religious out of the Gumalchamae
part – I just enjoy the singing, and occasionally I understand when
we’re supposed to be praying (this is what I call the part where they
all put their heads down and start mumbling, occasionally saying
thanks, my one word of gumalchamae). I find this to be spiritual
enough, being in a small room with a bunch of my friends from the
village listening to them singing and all of the women with the babies
on their backs will occasionally get up and do a little swaying and
dancing. One day during all of this I noticed that my foot was wet, we
had been doing what I call group prayer where people from around the
room give thanks, or at least that’s what I interpret it as. But
anyways, heads are bowed for this, so I had to look up to see what had
caused my foot to become wet. Yup, you guessed it, the baby strapped
to it’s mom’s back just in front of me had peed on me. I got peed on
in church. It was actually the first of two times that week and it’s
now happened about 5 times in this country. Getting peed on is not
usually a notable event these days.
One sunday I did decide to go to the french part of the service. I got
up early enough, got dressed and all ready for church and gave my
family a little heads up as to what I was doing. “I’m going to church,
to the french part so the old lady who normally comes by to take me to
the gumalchamae part won’t be accompaning me”. I went back inside to
finish getting ready and when I came out they had dressed up Zidane in
this way too big collared shirt. And declared that he would be taking
me to church. Zidane looked so proud, he even had on a matching cap.
The shirt would maybe fit my dad, and on 6 year old zidane it just
looked adorable. He doesn’t speak a word of french so we wandered over
to the church in silence except for his shivering (it’s been really
cold here) and he sat through the whole service occasionally looking
up at me to try and discern if I was understanding any of what was
going on.
I have to be careful wandering around my marche, if I run into my old
lady she grabs me by the arm and we do a tour of all the millet beer
drinking holes. Stumbeling home a little tipsy on millet beer when all
I’d set out to do was buy rice isn’t always my favorite thing. The
other big obstacle is Sibiri, the mom of my courtyard (the daughter in
law of my old lady- that’s what everyone calls the elderly here, well
literally it’s just the old, la vielle) I normally seek out Sibiri
when she’s making sampsa, these bean cakes, so I can eat them for
dinner, but if I’m not careful she’ll send me home with the dogs and
kids, which would be fine, except Gille will scream in my ear the
whole way, and I’m always afraid he’s going to pee on me, and the dogs
(rou and the two boys from the courtyard – they get along incredibly
well) will cause a rucus chasing after everything, and Natalie and
Zidane walk super slow.
I hate my job here. Last year in Kirsi the students were much better
disciplined and I didn’t have any of the problems that I am now
facing. I caught a kid with a crib sheet during the test last
saturday, and I would’ve just gone home and cried right then and there
except I felt like for the first time I’d gotten through to the
students. They realized that my accusations of them cheating were well
grounded and justified and they made an overwhelming effort to not
chatter during the test (to date my largest victory in bilanga). But
the kids mostly drive me crazy. They are not there to learn, and
Bilanga being the worst department in the country means that none of
these kids will ever end up going anywhere. My homologue tried to
justify their cheating with that – that these were the worst students
in the country so you had to let them cheat a little to help them out.
I just don’t get their logic sometimes and it really makes me want to
scream.
I have about 17 weeks left, I’m not counting or anything, but I’m
looking forward to seeing everyone. Take care, and thanks for the
letters! One of my packages is here but the key to the room it is in
is lost so I won’t be able to get it until my next trip into Ouaga,
you see how things work here? Sending my love,
