Many of my community members and students have been very concerned about my soul because of my lack of attendance at church. They know I am protestant and the Christian as well as Muslim students are all very concerned that I have not been spotted at any one of the four protestant churches, one catholic church, or even the one mosque. Actually, I find it crazy that any American would come here to prosyletize as the Africans keep prosyletizing me. I have, on a few occasions, tried to explain what I see as the difference between religious observations in America versus Burkina but it doesn't seem to make much sense to them so I just say to my students and neighbors, "nope. I havent gone to church yet." When pressed further i just shrug. There are so many differences that I like to really get into with Burkinabe: no, our black people are not slaves anymore . . . all americans are american and something else (chinese, german, mexican), there are more women in universities than men, women and men share work as well as household tasks, women marry around the age of 25-30 in USA (its more like 15-17 here) - you know things that freak them out and blow their minds. But, I didn't want to get into religion with them. Hah, everyone here is an animist as well as Christian or Muslim and they all really get along.
Anyway (en touts cas), one of my students mothers wanted to thank me for giving him a granola bar (thanks Katie and Sutton) after he cut this huge snake-bearing vine out of my courtyard. So, she invited me to church. And I went last Sunday. The student came to my house to show me how to get there. I put down my copy of Richard Dawkins "The God Delusion" and went to church in a tiny village in a remote country on a remote continent.
Imagine every stereotype you have in your head about what you think an African protestant celebration might be like . . . its all true. I arrived at 10 am and the men were seated on the right dressed in their sunday best: clean 'funtionaire' shoes, slacks, and shirts as well as some in the traditional full head-to-toe getup. The women were on the left with babies on backs and their wonderful african print matching outfits. Childen were at the front with the drum circle. I walked in the sactuary and immediately thought "yes! am i in a movie?"
The building is like all other African buildings: mud brick but then plastered on the outside and painted dark brown. There were a few windows and a small attempt at grand buttressed rafters. Or, you know, wood beams supporting the tin roof. Hanging in multitudes from the wooden beams were all these paper cut outs of flowers, spirals, shapes, stars, etc in colored paper that the children must have made. Purple, pink, white, yellow etc. Voila! The African equivalent of stained-glass. They were very sweet. There was one picture of a very feminine-looking anglo-saxon Jesus on the wall. A cross and plastic flowers in the shape of a heart framed the preachers head as he stood at the podium. A rose-window so to speak. We sat on small wooden benches - just typical african ones like i sit on when i wait for buses.
The service was in Moore so a really pretty and really nice lady sat next to me and translated the whole thing into french for me. Hah, wheni say "sat next to me" i mean in a Burkina way. Men and women - even married couples - NEVER touch each other in public. But, within the same gender there is absolutely no space. Men hang all over men, hold hands, wrap their arms around each other, touch touch touch. Women do the same with women. So the lady translating for me rested her arms in my lap and idly played with my skirt, knees, and hands. Which was very welcome because, since I work with mostly men I get almost no tactile comfort.
First, a man stood up front and would call out a phrase in Moore and we would sing the phrase together stepping and clapping with the drums and voices. Sometimes he would call on a member of the congregation for a song request. Men would sing something and women would respond. It was that kind of beautiful African singing where everyone is belting it out but no one is on the same key and yet it sounds so beautiful. As my translator wrote down the moore for me I would sing along with the whole group, about 50 people. It was so delightfully similar to being at camp mitchell in hoke right when all the campers are arriving and the counselors and CAs have to sing themselves silly.
We did the stepping and clapping for about an hour and then the actual preacher got and said something about sin and prayer. Then the whole group, except the nasara, errupted into shouts and erratic mumblings in moore with hands in the air many gesturing wildly. I would have loved to see the look on my startled face. Haha. Then he asked them to pray for peace and they errupted again in a chorus of babbles. This time i was prepared. No one looked at me funny because their eyes were all closed. Next, there were 3 readings: corinthians, then peter, and dueteronomy. And the preacher . . . preached. Mostly, it was about peace and loving your neighbor and living like Jesus - no guilt or tons of talk about sin. Then more emphatic erruptions of "tongues- sounding" prayer and finally, the best part: eucharist.
The eucharist was kept covered until the time to partake at the end. Nothing would have prepared me for what was under the cloth. I am only amazed I didn't burst into laughter. The precher removed the cloth to reveal . . . bits of bread soaked in palm oil and . . . Coca-cola. yes, Coca-cola. He calmly picked up the bottle and popped the top leaving me struggling to keep from laughing as the cool "phfffff" sound reverberated around the sanctuary. I still cant believe it. Africa continues to surprise.
There was more step clapping after that and all-in-all it was an awesome experience and I will be going back for sure. The whole time I knew it was one of those events that would have had my Auntie crying to see all these sweet people gather and worship together. They were so joyful and happy as Africans almost always are. My Uncle Jon would have been inspired and humbled. My Nana would have loved it and felt connected. My Dad would have been uncomfortable as many strangers would have been touching him - but he'd like it anyway. It was pretty cool.
vendredi 21 décembre 2007
vendredi 7 décembre 2007
It's me, Eloise
There is a new addition to my family of termites, spiders, and geckos.Thats her. Eloise. Those are my bed sheets. They have green apples on them and say Merry Christmas. I don't know why. Africa has taught me to quit asking why.
Isn't she cute!!! Awww!! I'm quite smitten.
Don't worry Nana, i have good stuff to feed her and she's had a rabies shot. I'm going to try to get her spayed or she'll get knocked up by some ruffian en brousse.
jeudi 6 décembre 2007
I am eat of the Sagbo
Test giving and grading is my least favorite teacher task. Truly, grading 300 tests in french is really, really . . . what's the word . . . oh yeah, it sucks. Tests in Burkina are called "devoirs" (confusing because thats the french word for homework) and they are out of 20 points. Quizzes are called, and i love this, "interrogations" which sounds really extreme and intimidating. "That's right!" i say in commanding tones "It's time for an interrogation!! What," i demand "is the air speed velocity of an unleaden swallow?" Some things just dont translate.
Of course all the students complain and say how hard the test was and "Oh Madam! Je suis malcontent!" Yeah, well i'm "malcontent" that i have to grade 300 freakin tests. Really though, I'm a total push-over and they know it. To appease their sad faces I give bonus questions on my tests. Usually, I ask the students to write a sentence in english. Their responses are HYSTERICAL. The bonus question entertains me while i grade all those papers. For the most part i get the same responses: "God is One" or occasionally "Good is One." "I love you" is a popular response. Sometimes they ask God to bless someone; this is often me because they think they'll get extra points, but usually it's various rastafarians and 50 cent who are the aim of God's blessings.
The last test I gave i asked them to write their favorite meal, in english if they could do it, if not french was fine. Most often I got this hysterical response "I am eat of the sagbo" which i'm still giggling about. I must confess as a person who gets laughed at continually for their misuse of language, its rather satisfying to get to laugh back. It's not just the double verb and extravagant use of articles in the sentence that tickles me, it's the reference to sagbo. Sagbo is the Moore word for to, that west african staple i have told you about - it looks, feels, and tastes like white playdo. Burkinabe eat it at least twice a day in village. They just do not understand that Americans dont eat to. That's the whole point of speaking english - you dont have to eat to! One student understood that sentiment and had this to offer for his bonus question: "I like some rice of America." Me too. One very ambitious student wrote this for her bonus question:
madam rebecca is the Bess Prof.
God Bless madam rebecca
madam rebecca Love the carote ou madam
rebecca Like the carrote
a cucumber
I gave her 3 points for that slice of awesomeness.
When you give back tests it is an hour long event called "reclamation" that i loathe. Anal retentivenss is at its most picky when grades are involved and at least half the students want to argue with me about what i've graded. In fact, it so annoys me that i dont want to talk about it anymore.
Have some rice of America on my behalf!
Of course all the students complain and say how hard the test was and "Oh Madam! Je suis malcontent!" Yeah, well i'm "malcontent" that i have to grade 300 freakin tests. Really though, I'm a total push-over and they know it. To appease their sad faces I give bonus questions on my tests. Usually, I ask the students to write a sentence in english. Their responses are HYSTERICAL. The bonus question entertains me while i grade all those papers. For the most part i get the same responses: "God is One" or occasionally "Good is One." "I love you" is a popular response. Sometimes they ask God to bless someone; this is often me because they think they'll get extra points, but usually it's various rastafarians and 50 cent who are the aim of God's blessings.
The last test I gave i asked them to write their favorite meal, in english if they could do it, if not french was fine. Most often I got this hysterical response "I am eat of the sagbo" which i'm still giggling about. I must confess as a person who gets laughed at continually for their misuse of language, its rather satisfying to get to laugh back. It's not just the double verb and extravagant use of articles in the sentence that tickles me, it's the reference to sagbo. Sagbo is the Moore word for to, that west african staple i have told you about - it looks, feels, and tastes like white playdo. Burkinabe eat it at least twice a day in village. They just do not understand that Americans dont eat to. That's the whole point of speaking english - you dont have to eat to! One student understood that sentiment and had this to offer for his bonus question: "I like some rice of America." Me too. One very ambitious student wrote this for her bonus question:
madam rebecca is the Bess Prof.
God Bless madam rebecca
madam rebecca Love the carote ou madam
rebecca Like the carrote
a cucumber
I gave her 3 points for that slice of awesomeness.
When you give back tests it is an hour long event called "reclamation" that i loathe. Anal retentivenss is at its most picky when grades are involved and at least half the students want to argue with me about what i've graded. In fact, it so annoys me that i dont want to talk about it anymore.
Have some rice of America on my behalf!
lundi 26 novembre 2007
Je vais ajuter
I forgot to explain the title of the previous entry. The classrooms dont have lights and board visibility relys on the very particular ratio of light from the door and windows. The students are always disagreeing back and forth between the sides of the classroom about which exact windows should be open and if the door should be open etc. . . this is always a source of amusement to me becasue the students become very angry and window and door openess becomes an important issue. "Madame! On ne peut pas voir le tableau!" "Madame! Ouvre le porte! Il fait chaud" back and forth . . . back and forth. The two sides battling it out until just the right combination of windows are opened and i am able to continue teaching. "Ok classe! Haha. Ca va aller! Haha. Ce n'est pas grave! Vous peuvez regarder le cahier de vosvoisins" War inevitable breaks out no matter what i say. Eventually they let me teach.
Madame, I Cant See the Board
It has been requested that I explain some of my actual job to all you faithful blog readers. It's just a lot of info but i will do my best to give you a picture of what it is like.
First, the Lycee is a typical West African lycee. The buildings are made of cement blocks or mud bricks and then plastered over. There is no glass or wood or screen for the windows and doors. Instead the square hole or "window" or "door" is equipped with metal slats like blinds that open and close. Each class/grade has their own classroom and the teachers move between the classrooms. There is no electricity. There are no bathrooms. The students sit in 2's 3's or 4's at bench-like desks. Some of them have the text books some dont. They all love to write in blue ink (which is deteste!). They all have notebooks. There is only the chalkboard which often has a crack and the teacher as resources. My Lycee serves 42 villages and many students bike to school from 10k away or more. School begins at 7am, there is a break between 12 and 3 and then it continues until 5pm. They arent in class the whole time though, some afternoons they have off etc. There are about 70-100 kids in a classroom. A classroom is about the size of an average american living room.
They take biology, english, history-geography, french, math, PE, the older kids also take physics/chemistry and philosophy. All of this is really challening for the kids to actually comprehend because it is essentually impossible to do experiments with the kids (no electricity and a class of 100 students - yeah thats what i call impossible). So they rely on their abilities of memorization. Critical thinking is really hard for the students because the lack of resources makes it difficult for them to be able to synthesize and understand the information.
Some kids (the ones who are better off and dont worry about having food and water) tend to value their educations. They want to learn and they see what can come from having an education. The poorer kids have to foremost worry about their families work in the fields and the pressing needs of the home (getting water, making food etc). This means that the poorer female students tend to be taken out of school or fail out at a young age (the age for girls to marry is around 17 - hint hint). This is why Peace Corps has an entire sector of volunteers who work for the empowerment of women. The roles and attitudes of the two genders here is very much like victorian america. Strangely the literature of Jane Austen and its themes applys to life in West-Africa.
Lets see . . . the schools operate on a trimester system that accomadates the rains as well as Muslim and Christian holidays (Ramadan . . . Easter etc). In village, education is secondary to the harvest and God. Age and grade are not very correlated - you can have an 12 yr old and a 15 yr old in the same class and it wouldnt be that strange. They three grades a trimester and each grade is over 20 points. Students are happy with a 10 out of 20 - in fact thats a pretty decent grade. They pass if they get an overall score of 7 out of 20. The Ed system is really different than what im used to.
I like teaching. As far as Peace Corps goes it is an easy way to be effective. Other people have assignments that are completely ambiguous but with teaching it is very clear what and how to be an effective volunteer. But we also have a ton of work - last weekend i had to correct 300 hand-written tests. Eeek! I teach 12 hours a week. The average teacher does about 15-20 hrs depending on the subject they teach. I actually do not find the classroom of 70 african kids who speak french to be that scary. At first it was frightening. I'll never forget the dread and terror i felt just before i walked into my first official classroom. They behave as well as 13-15 yr olds can be expected to behave. We laugh a lot. I however am not cut out to handle 70 15yr olds and it wears on me - patience not being one of the traits granted me by God. But it could always be worse. At least its not 140 kids.
This was a bunch of info but i hope it gives you and idea of what i do. I am in village most of the time. About every two weeks I go to the capitol or to a friends village and i speak english, sit in air conditioning, and eat tasty food for the weekend. I do need my little America fix. Honestly, the best thing about Peace Corps is that I can say, for the first time, without any hesitation that yes, I am immensely proud of me too. I dont know how or why but I can do this and it really isnt that difficult for me. Challenging but very do-able. You just never know what you are capable of.
First, the Lycee is a typical West African lycee. The buildings are made of cement blocks or mud bricks and then plastered over. There is no glass or wood or screen for the windows and doors. Instead the square hole or "window" or "door" is equipped with metal slats like blinds that open and close. Each class/grade has their own classroom and the teachers move between the classrooms. There is no electricity. There are no bathrooms. The students sit in 2's 3's or 4's at bench-like desks. Some of them have the text books some dont. They all love to write in blue ink (which is deteste!). They all have notebooks. There is only the chalkboard which often has a crack and the teacher as resources. My Lycee serves 42 villages and many students bike to school from 10k away or more. School begins at 7am, there is a break between 12 and 3 and then it continues until 5pm. They arent in class the whole time though, some afternoons they have off etc. There are about 70-100 kids in a classroom. A classroom is about the size of an average american living room.
They take biology, english, history-geography, french, math, PE, the older kids also take physics/chemistry and philosophy. All of this is really challening for the kids to actually comprehend because it is essentually impossible to do experiments with the kids (no electricity and a class of 100 students - yeah thats what i call impossible). So they rely on their abilities of memorization. Critical thinking is really hard for the students because the lack of resources makes it difficult for them to be able to synthesize and understand the information.
Some kids (the ones who are better off and dont worry about having food and water) tend to value their educations. They want to learn and they see what can come from having an education. The poorer kids have to foremost worry about their families work in the fields and the pressing needs of the home (getting water, making food etc). This means that the poorer female students tend to be taken out of school or fail out at a young age (the age for girls to marry is around 17 - hint hint). This is why Peace Corps has an entire sector of volunteers who work for the empowerment of women. The roles and attitudes of the two genders here is very much like victorian america. Strangely the literature of Jane Austen and its themes applys to life in West-Africa.
Lets see . . . the schools operate on a trimester system that accomadates the rains as well as Muslim and Christian holidays (Ramadan . . . Easter etc). In village, education is secondary to the harvest and God. Age and grade are not very correlated - you can have an 12 yr old and a 15 yr old in the same class and it wouldnt be that strange. They three grades a trimester and each grade is over 20 points. Students are happy with a 10 out of 20 - in fact thats a pretty decent grade. They pass if they get an overall score of 7 out of 20. The Ed system is really different than what im used to.
I like teaching. As far as Peace Corps goes it is an easy way to be effective. Other people have assignments that are completely ambiguous but with teaching it is very clear what and how to be an effective volunteer. But we also have a ton of work - last weekend i had to correct 300 hand-written tests. Eeek! I teach 12 hours a week. The average teacher does about 15-20 hrs depending on the subject they teach. I actually do not find the classroom of 70 african kids who speak french to be that scary. At first it was frightening. I'll never forget the dread and terror i felt just before i walked into my first official classroom. They behave as well as 13-15 yr olds can be expected to behave. We laugh a lot. I however am not cut out to handle 70 15yr olds and it wears on me - patience not being one of the traits granted me by God. But it could always be worse. At least its not 140 kids.
This was a bunch of info but i hope it gives you and idea of what i do. I am in village most of the time. About every two weeks I go to the capitol or to a friends village and i speak english, sit in air conditioning, and eat tasty food for the weekend. I do need my little America fix. Honestly, the best thing about Peace Corps is that I can say, for the first time, without any hesitation that yes, I am immensely proud of me too. I dont know how or why but I can do this and it really isnt that difficult for me. Challenging but very do-able. You just never know what you are capable of.
The "Entergy" of Village
It's 7pm in village. I step out of my hut to dump my leftover onion and bread bits in the compost. "What is that light?" I search for the offending light post in vain . . . that light is the huge, smoky and still luminous moon. Life without electricity makes you in-tune to so many things you would never notice otherwise in your bright, air-conditioned den with the reflection of the tv screen on the windows. I do not miss electricity at all. Sure, some nights i wish i could plug-in a fan . . . maybe i iwsh it were easier to charge my ipod and cell phone but thats all. In place of "Entergy" in village we have the glorious luminosity of Monsieur the Moon. Do you have any idea how bright the moon is? I thought i did . . . you know from being at the farm or at camp etc i thought I knew how brilliant the moon and stars could be. I was mistaken.
When you live in a place where the production of light is a small miracle you cant help but be startled at the moon and stars capability at flinging their endowment haphazardly towards your mud hut. They are like people with an immense natural talent that they dont appracitate and squander. During the growing half of the moon, the full moon, and then a little bit of the diminishing half one cannot help but want to chastise the moon for his waste. "Hey Moon, cant you spread out this light distribution? Hell, at this rate in two weeks you wont have anything left to spend and then i wont be able to find my latrine in the dark!" I get so excited when the full moon comes back. You can walk around village without a flashlight at night, i can find my latrine in the middle of the night without having to light my lantern, and of course not to mention how beautiful the moon is.
The light breeze at night after the ridiculous velocity of the afternoon harmattan winds, the tiny cheerful pinpricks of the stars like GOD is filtering the magnificence of heaven through a collander, the fluid Milky Way which winds carelessly languidly over the roof of my house, and then the audacity of the moon. I drink a cup of tea. I take a deep breath. I enjoy the marvelous pyrotechnics of the night village sky. These are things you can only see when the nearest gaudy artificial light is 80k away.
When you live in a place where the production of light is a small miracle you cant help but be startled at the moon and stars capability at flinging their endowment haphazardly towards your mud hut. They are like people with an immense natural talent that they dont appracitate and squander. During the growing half of the moon, the full moon, and then a little bit of the diminishing half one cannot help but want to chastise the moon for his waste. "Hey Moon, cant you spread out this light distribution? Hell, at this rate in two weeks you wont have anything left to spend and then i wont be able to find my latrine in the dark!" I get so excited when the full moon comes back. You can walk around village without a flashlight at night, i can find my latrine in the middle of the night without having to light my lantern, and of course not to mention how beautiful the moon is.
The light breeze at night after the ridiculous velocity of the afternoon harmattan winds, the tiny cheerful pinpricks of the stars like GOD is filtering the magnificence of heaven through a collander, the fluid Milky Way which winds carelessly languidly over the roof of my house, and then the audacity of the moon. I drink a cup of tea. I take a deep breath. I enjoy the marvelous pyrotechnics of the night village sky. These are things you can only see when the nearest gaudy artificial light is 80k away.
samedi 20 octobre 2007
Roomates
This is a blog entry for all of you who have expressed worry for my safety -- being a young naive single woman living alone africa and all. No worries! I several roomates to look after me now! Some of them I dont really like very much - they hog all the limited space of my hut. Some keep out of the way pretty well and earn their rent. Others are there for entertainment. I am talking of course about the 'real-world' africa drama played about between my various arthropod and reptilian roomates and myself.
First, the most numerous and determined of the loafers, the termites. Man, i both love and hate termites. I admire their organization and distribution of tasks (they are a colony much like ants and have different roles etc). Because of this, i am in a daily full-on battle with these greedy guys. Seriously, i spend time each day attempting erradication. I'll take my little broom and sweep their tunnel off my wall and then a few hours later they will have built it back! Arhg! The battle is on and I will be the victor! Truth be told, it is their house and im the renter.
Next, spiders. I used to be so afraid of spiders and they just dont really bother me much anymore. When i first got to my house there were millions of them and i kicked them all out. But now, they are starting to return slowly. Fortunately for the spiders, they have proven to me that they can earn their keep in my home . . . by eating the termites. Spiders love to eat termites and i love for them to be eaten. So, if a spider can prove, upon inspection of his web, that he will kill termites for me i let that spider stay. This is however only a deal ive worked out with spiders in the corners of my house. The ones in the windows and on the ceiling perish as soon as they are spotted by me.
My last fellow tennant is a gaggle of 'house geckos' that live under my tin roof and on my walls. As termite eaters, they are also allowed to stay put. However, the house geckos offer as a bonus excellent entertainment. They are my new favorite tv show. They click and charge each other and scrabble around . . . good times had by all. I only get mad at them when they poop on my stuff. "Not cool, house geckos," i say "Not Cool!" Maybe if i say it in clicks they will understand me and stop pooping on my clothes. You have to shake out your clothes here before you put them on because there may be a gecko or a bug hiding in them. Oh! such fun!
So those are my roomates. We have a nice little rapport going. Everybody gangs up on the termites. I pick on the spiders some. And the spiders and I think the house geckos are a riot. Good times had by all indeed.
First, the most numerous and determined of the loafers, the termites. Man, i both love and hate termites. I admire their organization and distribution of tasks (they are a colony much like ants and have different roles etc). Because of this, i am in a daily full-on battle with these greedy guys. Seriously, i spend time each day attempting erradication. I'll take my little broom and sweep their tunnel off my wall and then a few hours later they will have built it back! Arhg! The battle is on and I will be the victor! Truth be told, it is their house and im the renter.
Next, spiders. I used to be so afraid of spiders and they just dont really bother me much anymore. When i first got to my house there were millions of them and i kicked them all out. But now, they are starting to return slowly. Fortunately for the spiders, they have proven to me that they can earn their keep in my home . . . by eating the termites. Spiders love to eat termites and i love for them to be eaten. So, if a spider can prove, upon inspection of his web, that he will kill termites for me i let that spider stay. This is however only a deal ive worked out with spiders in the corners of my house. The ones in the windows and on the ceiling perish as soon as they are spotted by me.
My last fellow tennant is a gaggle of 'house geckos' that live under my tin roof and on my walls. As termite eaters, they are also allowed to stay put. However, the house geckos offer as a bonus excellent entertainment. They are my new favorite tv show. They click and charge each other and scrabble around . . . good times had by all. I only get mad at them when they poop on my stuff. "Not cool, house geckos," i say "Not Cool!" Maybe if i say it in clicks they will understand me and stop pooping on my clothes. You have to shake out your clothes here before you put them on because there may be a gecko or a bug hiding in them. Oh! such fun!
So those are my roomates. We have a nice little rapport going. Everybody gangs up on the termites. I pick on the spiders some. And the spiders and I think the house geckos are a riot. Good times had by all indeed.
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