Burkinabé Culture 101

Hello all…again. Now, I know what you are thinking…how can this girl post so much? Isn’t she in Africa? Well…yes I am, and yes I have been posting a lot. I have returned from my week long local language training in my village and I am taking this opportunity to send this out to everyone because I don’t know when I will get internet access again. I want to give you an update on my cat, but I have a little fun Burkinabé culture lesson first. I was talking to some friends about some odd Burkinabé quirks that we have noticed are picked up. It is a little early to be worried about this just yet…but I often wonder how I will ever be able to make the change back to America…the pace of life…working. I mean, what would my boss say if I said, “well, I’ll take the job but I would like to have a nap time between 12:00-3:00 thanks.” I think that they would look at me like I just grew a third arm…here are a few other quirks of Burkinabe culture that at this point seem common place:

• Nose picking – remember how your mother always told you… “don’t pick your nose dear…that is impolite and gross.” Well, guess what all you closet pickers in the world (you know who you are…you’re the ones that glance around to make sure no one is looking and then you take a quick dig up there…you were just scratching right?) Well, in Burkina Faso you are free to dig for gold ANY TIME YOU WANT. In the middle of a business meeting…go right on ahead, get that booger obstruction out of the way and flick it on the floor. Having a serious conversation about global politics…dig around in there for your buried treasure. You can dig through your nose anytime, anywhere, and in the presence of anyone…it isn’t faux pas ladies and gentlemen.

• Snot Rockets – Piggybacking on the whole nose picking topic, there is the always lovely blowing of snot rockets. That’s right, projectile mucus shooting…we could even have a competition. Now, I will admit to this one…look toilet paper and tissues are precious and with the sinus infections I have been having I don’t want to waste precious paper products on my nose. So, what do I do? Bend over at a 90 degree angle and make sure your nostrils are pointed towards the ground—you don’t want snot splattered all over your shirt do you? Hold one nostril closed and blow with all your might out of the other…if you are lucky you will get a perfect yellow projectile that shoots on the ground. It is okay to do this, just like the nose picking, anytime, with anyone, and anywhere.

• Earwax Cleaning – in the US we use cotton swabs or Q-Tips…in Burkina that is a little bit of a waste when there are so many other adequate objects that can do the job for you. Look no further than your key ring for a perfect earwax digging device. The medical clinic in village sees a lot of cases where things have gotten lodged in ears, etc…maybe it’s time to rethink the whole car key method…

• PDB (Public Display of Breasts) – Boobs, boobs…everywhere! Calling all men, calling all men…if you love breasts then Africa is the country for you. Actually, Africa will cure you of your breast addiction if you had one. Or, as Ben, another volunteer here just said, “It sure makes you appreciate the good ones.” Here in Burkina you can walk topless, pop your boob out to feed your baby, or just let ‘em swing in the breeze (and let me tell you they swing!). Truly, it is amazing. Imagine this…or don’t, whichever you prefer…these women have such saggy breasts that they can pick it up and flop it over a t-shirt collar no problem! It is truly a sight to see…and unfortunately for me I see it all the time. It is acceptable to do it anytime…the waitress wants to feed her baby while taking my order? No problem…just pop one of those suckers out and swing the baby under your shoulder like a purse and let him go to town. I will never look at breasts the same…can you imagine if in a business meeting or in the office in women just walked around with their breasts hanging out feeding their babies? Well, that’s how they do it in Africa. Now for those of you wondering…this is one habit that I haven’t picked up on…mostly because (A) I’m not pregnant and therefore can’t breastfeed, and (B) my chest is WAY to small to sling anywhere…

• The World is your Bathroom – who needs a toilet? Using the bathroom on the side of the street was reserved in the States for when you are so drunk you aren’t even coherent enough to know what a bathroom is. As my Dad always told me…”just pop a squat!” If you see anyone squatting down, they aren’t looking for a dropped contact lens…chances are they’re pooping or peeing. Look, when you gotta go you gotta go…and I will admit that while running I have had to run into some small bushes…I don’t think I need to remind you of the explosiveness of my bowels…’nuff said I think.

• Man-on-Man – This is an odd one I have to say. I would like to preface this by saying that in Burkina homosexuality is taboo and not talked about, and in all local languages the word for "homosexual" doesn't even exist. In the States a heterosexual man would never hold hands with another guy, or sit on his lap, or rub his shoulder, or squeeze his knee…it just wouldn’t happen. However, in Burkina Faso…it’s not a problem. There is no taboo when it comes to male-to male contact…aside from kissing. It is very interesting, and VERY different from American culture…

These are just of few of the strange cultural quirks that I am beginning to pick up the longer that I live here. I will admit to snot rocket blowing, and maybe an occasional nose pick…but NEVER have I cleaned my ears with car or moto keys.

Okay, so I kow you have all been dying for the news about Gateau my cat...hanging on the edge of your seat…sending out little animal prayers. I saved the news for last for two reasons: (1) because I wrote this entry last week before I knew the health condition of my cat so this is an add on and (2) I didn’t want to depress you. Well…ladies and gentleman I now have a one-eyed cat. As it turns out, some kids in the village shot a metal spike-looking object at him and hit him directly in the eye. I had asked my homologue and neighbor to take him to the vet, but evidently that didn’t happen and all they were giving him were these eyedrops…but guess what people…when a cat HAS NO EYE an eye drop is no good. I swooped in and took charge and had the veterinarian come over to take a look at him. You know it’s bad when a Burkinabé recoils from looking at him okay! Anyway, he gave the cat a shot of antibiotics and tried to look at what was left of his eye. His eye is “casse” – or broken. I was pretty upset about it, and more upset that children were shooting metal spikes at things—not just my cat—so I decided I would confront the little buggers. Well, that turned in to quite an ordeal. The kid that lives in my courtyard, Ali, saw the kid shoot at my cat—which makes me wonder why he didn’t stop him but that is a whole other issue—so he walked me over to meet this little terror. I carried the cat with me, and literally as soon as I was within earshot he starts yelling and telling me it wasn’t him and he points out another boy. That boy eventually implicates his older brother who isn’t even there. Well, I drew quite a crowd, and since the police station is so close they came to see what was going on. One thing led to another, they intimidated the kids a little bit, and we finally uncovered the culprit. That evening, as I was having a meeting with my organization this kid comes into my courtyard trailed by about 6 other children. He comes up and the poor guy is shaking and crying. He has the slingshot in his hand and he hands it over to me. I felt really bad…I don’t want them to be scared of the “toubabou,” and I had no intention of making it such a big deal. I told him not to worry, that I just wanted to talk with him and that I didn’t want anyone to get “frapped” – spanked. The next day I had a meeting at the police station with the chief of police, the two boys involved, their uncle, and their father. I basically said nothing, and my homologue spoke in Joulé most of the time. I told them at the end that obviously there is nothing that can be done now, but that I was just upset because in America we don’t value animals the same way they do here. I don’t mean it as a bad thing, I just mean that in America animals are like members of the family, where as here they are DEFINITELY not. A little cross cultural exchange… Anyway, I highly doubt that from this moment forward anyone will dare touch my cat…or at least I hope so. It was a huge ordeal, but in the end it was handled how I think it should have been. I don’t want to be the scary white girl, but here kids don’t respond to someone being totally nice…sometimes it’s good to scare the pants off of them to gain respect. I didn’t want to do it…but after talking with my homologue he told me that it was necessary. So, I have a one-eyed cat, who at the moment is a bit of an eyesore. I am hoping the bloody crusty part will fall off and it will heal up on its own. I didn’t post pictures for obvious reasons, but if you do want one let me know and I will email it to you…I have to admit…it is a bit gruesome.

Anyway, enough of the sadness…I will leave you with that. I hope that you are all doing well. The heat has officially come (it was 105° at my site) and I am already wondering how I am going to handle it. Honestly, I cannot even tell you what sleeping in 95°+ weather feels like…I kept my room in NYC at a comfortable 72°!!!! Oh Lord give me the strength, that is all I can say. Thanks for reading this far…as always, Stay close…and here is a new Joule phrase that I picked up:

Ala ka su heere (tile) di! – Have a great night (afternoon) – depending on when you read this!

A Palestinian and a Jew sit down in a hair salon...in Burkina Faso

Hello all! I know you must be wondering about my title, and I promise you that I will get to that story all in due time. Right now I am in Ouagadougou wrapping up the end of our two weeks of training. I am headed back to village on Sunday to do some local language training for a week. I have to say that I am READY to be back at my site, and relaxing in my house. I have been surprised as to how much I just miss being in my village, doing my regular routine, etc. Plus, with all the cool stuff that we have been learning here in training I am ready to go back and start saving the world! HAHAHA! Well, at least digging a couple compost piles anyway...gotta start small.

So, yesterday I was sitting in a session when I received a text message from one of the members of my organization in Banzon. I HATED the fact that I had to leave my cat under their care for 3 weeks, but there was really nothing I could do. I have been calling to check up on him, but I have been worried that something was going to happen. Well, guess what...something did. I received a text message (in French, mind you, which makes it all the more hard to understand) stating that he went to check on my cat, and found him with only one eye...and something about little kids hitting him. Well, needless to say, I freaked out! Look, call me a crazy cat lady if you want...but try and put yourself in my shoes. I live IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE! My cat is basically my family...and that is a concept that Burkinabe definitely do not understand. Here in Burkina Faso the idea that a pet is a member of the family is absolutely unheard of...laughable even. Animals are meant for food (that's right...dogs and cats are yummy according to my neighbors), to kill other animals (cats kill mice, dogs kill small rodents), and to herd farm animals. Outside of that, they see no purpose in having a pet. The people here think I am crazy when I buy fish for my cat...fish that they LOVE to eat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. "You are giving that to your cat? You are paying to feed your cat?" It is definitely an American/developed world ideal that they haven't picked up on...and how could they when they can hardly afford to feed themselves. ANYHOO...I called him back and told him to take him to the vet, and that I wanted an update. Well, unfortunately I can not tell you much in regards to Gateau's health at the moment. I know the veterinarian in my village looked at him and gave him some medicine...but I don't know whether he is missing an eye...whether a small child poked it out...whether they hurt him. It is all a mystery. One thing I do know is that in talking with several people in my village...I expressed to them that there will be hell to pay if I come back and my cat is dead. It is a little extreme...but if I find out which child hit him...well we are just going to have to have a meeting and discuss how we treat animals in the United States. One of the aims of the Peace Corps is to share American culture...so I am going to do that. You DO NOT hit animals...you just don't...and especially not mine. Okay...deep breath...SERENITY NOW!

I feel better now. So, back to my story about the Palestinian and the Jew. I was going to get my eyebrows waxed...that's right, you heard me right...there is an amazing salon in the capital city that does eyebrow waxing and she was amazing!! Anyway, afterwards my friend Veronica (the one with the roaches remember? Hehehe...she will hate me if she knows I refer to her like that...hahaha!) went to get her hair cut next door. I sat down on the couch to wait for her to finish her spa day, when this older man sat down next to me. I asked him where he was from and he said, "OOooohhhh...it is a country with a lot of violence. There is no peace there." Well, heck, that narrows it down. He just sits there with an amused look on his face as I play 20 questions...Syria, Iraq, Iran, North Korea, the Sudan...the list could go on forever. Finally, he concedes and tells me...Palestine. Well, of course I supidly respond by saying..."OH, really? I am going to Israel in May for vacation." Well, this just set of a firestorm. He starts retorting back to me that Israel is not a country, and that I am actually visiting "Palestine"...that the Israelis stole it from them, and continue to kill and torture his people. Now, before anyone goes and gets all huffy about this topic because I know it's sensitive, I just want to say that I have no leanings in either direction. I believe that in a lot of ways both sides are at fault. So, just take this as a funny/interesting story and nothing more. I didn't bring this up to start a Middle Eastern or Jew/Arab debate. Then he realizes that I am an American (DING...pretty obvious!) and procedes to rail me about our foreign policy, the war in Iraq, etc. This is a very deep conversation to be having in French...much too deep for my abilities. I admit to him, rather stupidly but honestly on accident, that I am Jewish. Well, that just opens up a whole can of worms. Several times Veronica looked over at me, and was seeing if I was alright...it definitely got a little tense there for a while. We debated for a while, he gets a little heated and I do my best to deflect. I told him, just like I learned in Kindergarten, can't we just share? In the end, we both agree to disagree on a couple of topics, and I tell him that I am sorry for his family's suffering and the suffering for all of those around the world..."I'm in the PEACE Corps...all I want is peace...is that too much to ask?" After sitting in silence for a while he turns to me and says, "thank you for this discussion." We shake hands, and then he offers me and my friend a ride home from the salon in his car. Now, I know what you are thinking...DON'T GO WITH HIM! I wouldn't do it in the United States, but here in Burkina we ex-patriates really try and stick together. So, Veronica and I rode home with this Palestinian man and his sister who was visiting from Morocco. Looking back on this experience I really feel like I bridged a gap here...I am after all in the Peace Corps right? Making peace one person at a time...hehehe.

Anyway, everything else is moving along. I am ready to get back and check on my cat and make sure he isn't one-eyed, or one-legged, or something like that. I am keeping my fingers crossed. Otherwise, I am doing really well! I am motivated and ready to get to work...and I just hope that feeling lasts! I am also excited for my trip in May to Israel (or Palestine...whichever your prefer). I hope everyone is doing well...Stay close!

It feels like home to me...

I'm back in action in Ouahigouya, and man does it feel good. My first three months--and supposedly the most difficult part of Peace Corps service--has come to a close and I am back where I started in Ouahigouya for the second part of my training. After this, the Peace Corps releases me into the wild to begin implement whatever projects and ideas that I would like to do.

I can not describe to you the feeling that I had coming back here. It reminds me of when I would leave New York for vacation and come back to Alabama. When I walked into my host families courtyard I was immediately greeted by hugs, and "bon arrivee". I have never felt so loved in this country, except when I am here. I truly don't think I could have imagined that I would get so attached, but as of now this is the only place in the country where I feel truly loved...not loved because I am American, because they want a visa, or because they want money...I am loved because of me, and because I am a part of the family. They are my family...my Burkinabé family. No one will ever take the place of my family back in the States...but they hold a really special place in my heart that is for certain.

Training is going well, and I have to say that things are REALLY coming together for me here. I was a little scared that I would spend the next two years reading and knitting--which isn't necessarily a bad thing--but after collaborating with the rest of the volunteers and having a chance to reflect. I am psyched to get back to my village and start some projects. A lot of you were curious as to what types of projects I was going to be doing, so I thought I would give you a little bit of information. I have a lot of planning to do, but here are a few things that I am thinking about getting started with:

• Composting - natural fertilizer for farmers...I am going to teach them how to make it, use it, and possibly sell it.
• Moringa - If you haven't heard about this tree--which most of you probably haven't--it has 7x the Vitamin C in one orange and 4x calcium in one glass of milk. I want to work with my health center to sensibilize (teach) women about the benefits of its usage, how to grow it, and how to sell it. Malnutrition here is definitely a problem that I want to focus on.
• Kick Aids Soccer Team - this is a program started by Africare where you play soccer while at the same time utilizing activities that teach kids about AIDS as well.
• CEG Community Garden - I want to start an after school club where kids manage a vegetable/fruit garden. The profits that they make from selling the fruit they can use to buy books, dictionaries, etc.
• Marketing Workshop - I am going to have a workshop with different "commerçants" (business people) in my village to teach them the basics of marketing and accounting.
• Maison de la Femme Project - this is by far the most intensive one that I have. I am trying to get the government to give the women soap-making equipment, sewing machines, and other machinery to allow them to start some small business projects and trade schools. I have a lot of steps and governmental hoops to jump through...but I can't just watch a brand new building go to waste.

Anyway, that is just a list of a few things on my list. It is a bit ambitious and I am sure that some will fall to the wayside...but time will tell.

This past March 8th in Burkina was one of the biggest holiday's in the country...it is Women's Day. That's right, get down and worship the ground that I walk on, I am woman here me roar...all that good stuff. For our training, we had to put together an entire 4 hour event at a private school in Ouahigouya--including opening and closing ceremonies and activities for about 200 kids--and they gave us about 2 hours to plan it. We decided to have a field day type of event where the kids would rotate through activities stations...sounded like a good idea right? Well, I had to open my big mouth and say...why don't we do the human knot? You know that activity where everyone stands in a circle and grabs hands and then you have to untangle yourself into a circle again? Well, the Burkinabe definitely didn't know it. By the end of the activity kids had been stepped on, strangled, twisted, and everything else...and I don't think I saw them crack a smile once, except when I tripped on a rubber strap and busted my butt. Wow...a "nasara" falling on the ground is pretty funny to these kids. Maybe instead of doing an activity I could have just walked around falling on my ass for two hours. Hehehe! Yeah, our American idea of fun and the Burkinabé idea of fun is very different...and I don't know why it took me until now to figure that out. On top of that, I confused my Kiehl's 15 SPF lotion, and just the regular lotion...so now I look like a LOBSTER! We stood out in the blazing African sun for 2 1/2 hours...and I got FRIED! Ouch!

Anyway, a lot has been happening...but in the end I don't really have all that much to share. I am definitely adjusting and this place is feeling more and more like home to me...something I wasn't quite expecting. Also, my plans have been confirmed...ISRAEL, May 18-28!! I can't wait! Mike and I are meeting in Paris and continuing on. This is going to be amazing, I just know it!

Thanks to everyone, and as always...stay close!

Notes from village...

My backyard...jealous yet?
Originally uploaded by GRITS in Burkina.

Hello all! It hasn't been too long since you last heard from me, and since I am sure you are still recovering from all the laughter, I will keep this kind of short. I am testing out this new thing where I can blog from Flickr--the place where I post all of my photos. I thought I would post a couple. Definitely go to my photo album to check out the photos...I finally got to meet a hippo up close and personal!

Things have been going pretty well since I last talked...no more gigantic roach colonies in the bathroom, thank goodness. I have had a few in my house, but the cat promptly gobbles them up...good kitty. I am headed to the capital to attend the FESPACO Film Festival...the largest film festival in Africa! I am SOOOO excited, I can not even tell you! It is going to be amazing. It will also be great to see some of the other volunteers that I haven't seen in the last few months. And, how could I forget...but YEAH ice cream and pizza! By the time I get back I will deserve the "Stephanie, tu devien grosse" comment...and you know what...that's okay because it will all have been worth it! Hah!

I have been helping out at the English college in my town...no, not what you would think of a college. A college here is the equivalent of a middle school in the States, except the students are anywhere from 12-17 years old. Kids kind of attend school off and on depending on if their parents can afford it that year or not. Anyway, it has been great, and truly it is a little selfish on my part because I really like to go talk to the English teacher...he is the only man in village who speaks English and he is only in village on Saturdays. Anyway, I pull up to the school on my bike to find the entire class (of over 115 kids) crouched on their knees in the gravel under the hot sun. Let me tell you, this sun is SUPER strong and we are talking about 100+ degrees at this point. Anyway, when I ask the teacher why they are out their he simply says..."oh..punishment." There is no explanation as to what kind of punishment...but I think they might have been talking to loud. Who knows! To anyone that complains about their class size teachers...put a cork in it. There were about 150 kids smashed into this teeny school room sitting on benches. 15 of the 150 actually had the English textbook, so the teacher had to write the exercises on the board. I was really blown away. It is so hard to comprehend, coming from the American education system, that the government can't provide the school with books to loan out to the students. I remember every school year getting my new/slightly used book and writing my name on the inside...and it was mine. These kids here, they can't do that. It really motivated me to try and do something like a fundraiser to raise money to buy loaner books for the whole school.

Anyway, enough Debby Downer attitude. I have a GREAT story to tell you. My friend Veronica...yeah the same girl with the roach-infested bathroom...came to my village to visit, and we decided that we would bike the 55k (roughly 30+ miles) to her village. The route between my village and hers isn't even on a map. It is just a dirt path, so wider than a couple feet, and little did we know that it would splitabout 10 times. Luckly, I had my handy dandy compass--well, we had it...I didn't say I knew how to use it. So, we packed our stuff and headed out. Little did I know that we would be riding across a freaking beach for 3 hours. Yeah, I thought I didn' live in the desert but I was all wrong! Have you ever tried biking across sand? It's HARD! By the time we reached our first stop, a town called Djigouera--only 30k on our 55k journey I thought I would die. But, it was too late to turn around at that point. We stopped in Djigouera to get a cold coke and have bite to eat, but little did we know that we would meet a very friendly, very strange, Liberian hooker. Yes, you heard me right...a Liberian hooker. Her name escapes me now...so let's just call her Jade. Why Jade? I don't know...it was the first name that came to my head. Wait, I'll do one better..how do you construct your hooker name again? First pets name and your street name? Okay, so we will call her Buffy Dovercliff...or Buffie for short.

Anyhoo, I digress. Back to Buffy the hooker. So, we pull in and she immediately comes up. It's a given that she has no bra and that her boobs hang WAY below her elbows...but I just wanted to give you a visual. She was actually very manly looking, and if not for the breasts I might have thought her a man. To even begin to describe the way she talked would be impossible, but as soon as she found out we were American she began to speak her completely unintelligible English. And, she absolutely had to add "man" at the end of every sentence. She tells us how she fled Liberia because of the war, and starts to tell us she was a prostitute...but because this part was in French I didn't exactly understand. I am sitting here thinking she is telling an entrepeneurial success story about how she fled Liberia to open up her own bar...but Veronica is looking at me really weird. So, I ask her to explain again and she says, "No, Oui, moi, je vende mon corps...personalmente." (No, i sell my body!") So, it suddenly dawns on me...OHHHHH....Eureka. She continues to elaborate and say, "tu comprend? No, to ne comprends pas." (do you understand? No, I don't think you understand). My face is beet red, and she is just starting at me...hello... AWKWARD! Needless to say, we high-tailed it out of there pretty quickly before she charged us for the conversation. Very odd...meeting a Liberian hooker on a village road. I never had it on a list of things to do before I died, but I gotta say it was pretty interesting.

I am writing you this email, so it is obvious that I survived our ride...but, just barely. By the time I made it to her village I was completely delirious. I could barely even walk...and I don't even need to tell you what my butt felt like. I won't be doing that for a while.

Well, I have written much more than I thought and I gotta run and get ready to head out. Thanks for all of the packages and support...again and again, I couldn't do it without you! Stay safe and stay close!

On a funnier note...roaches, pooh, and oh so much more...

Hello all. Well, I am stopping off in Bobo on my way back to village. I decided to go to my provincial capital, Orodara, to visit with another volunteer, Veronica, and some government bureaus. In my village the government built a BRAND NEW Maison de la Femme (a house which the government designates only for women and where they train them to do skills like sewing, cloth dying, etc.)...but thanks to the overwhelming efficiency and competency of the Burkina government, they put no equipment in it. So, for 2 years it has sat empty and unused...a great use of government money I would say. Anyway, I have to deal with various government bureaus to try and help the women get equipment and furniture to put in it (sewing machines, tables, soap making equipment, etc.). I also want to start holding health classes and maybe French or English classes there...I have a lot of plans for this place. So, off to Orodara I went to kiss some butt for a little bit and see what I needed to do to make things happen...

Anyway, I went to the dentist and again they say that nothing is wrong with my teeth...except that I was prescribed 3 medications and now the entire right side of my mouth aches so bad I am virtually on the verge of tears. I have special mouthwash, special toothpaste, pills, and the worst toothache ever...that they chalk up to a receding gum line!! WHAT?! Anyway, if in two weeks it hasn't improved I may have to go to either Washington or Senegal for consultation with another dentist...good and bad at the same time. But, honestly I would delighted for my teeth to just stop hurting because it is getting unbearable. Oh well, ça va aller.

My trip to Orodara was EXTREMELY interesting and entertaining! I was hoping that with my friend living off the goudron (i.e. cement/paved road) that our ride there would be smooth...however that was not to pass. I think I brought my bad village transport luck along. About 3/4 of the way there our reliable bus decided it just couldn't make it any further...the steam coming out of the engine was quite an indication. So, everyone starts piling off the bus to sleep on the side of the road until someone came to pick us up. They were getting comfortable...which made me nervous. Surprisingly, it only took about 15 minutes for the rescue bus to show up. Veronica and I are standing there and all of a sudden people start making a mad dash for the rescue bus (it reminded me of the people at Target on Black Friday after Thanksgiving). It was hilarious. Veronica gives me a look and then she was off too...she succumbd to the peer pressure...so of course--hiking backpack and all--I take off towards the bus. The backpack proved to be a great blockage device as people tried to cut in front of us to get a seat on the much smaller bus. Yet, all was for naught because there was room for everyone. But, at least it was entertaining. Now, before I get ahead of myself i have to rewind a moment...I forgot an integral and hilarious part of our story. As we were waiting for the bus we were observing this mother and her newborn baby. "Oh what an adorable little baby...kinda gross he doesn't have on a diaper...but cute all the same. Oh, what is that baby doing? Wait...is that what I think it is...oh god!" Yeah, well, in Burkina Faso I have yet to see a diaper so here was this little baby taking a nice poo on his mother's leg. She is just chatting away jiggling the baby smearing the saffron--I like to be descriptive--colored poo all over her leg. Eventually she looks down and realizes what happened . Calmly she picks up some leaves off the ground and wipes the poo frolm her leg and then uses a piece of trash paper off the ground to wipe the poor baby. That poor baby is just sitting there looking like he is in pure hell...it would be like getting wiped with sandpaper. And to think of all the wipes and poweders that my brother Dave had for his baby...geeze Dave you know you could have saved some money on diapers and wipes by just letting him poop anywhere and use old trash or leaves for his butt...this baby didn't seem to mind too much. After, still with the poopy remnants on the baby and on her...she straps the baby onto her back (where later I am sure the baby probably peed on her...oh well)

Now, the fun didn't just stop at our transport. We arrive at Veronica's house around 5 and I have to say that it was SO cute! She has the cutest little 3 bedroom house..it reminded me of an apartment back in the States. She had electricity and a spicket outside...so this is like heaven on earth for me...that is until night fell. There is only one slight drawback to Veronica's cute little oasis...and that would be the bathroom. As you all know my bowel movements are anything but regular or controllable...so around 8:00 I had to go out and use her bathroom. I stroll quickly--because I have about a 1 minute window before "take off"--only to be confronted by a freakin' colony of roaches taking up residence in her latrine. Holy hell...I can handle lizards, flies, mosquitoes, spiders, hippos, chickens, and goats...but I CAN NOT handle roaches. It was right then and there...make a decision...piss and probably poo yourself or go in...as Nike says, "JUST DO IT"...well, I couldn't. I run back in and ask Veronica to come out there and help me...what she was going to do I don't know...offer moral support? Talk me through it? Go in guns blazing with some roach killer? I like the last one best...but that isn't what happened. The countdown continues on my colon letting go, so she tells me to use her host families bathroom next door. In a mad dash I sprint to their toilet and I just pull my pants down...there is no waiting now. I look up while in there and there are 3 freaking HUGE roaches staring back at me from 6 inches away. So, I fight the urge to scream, die, run, pass out--I don't want to get poo on me thank you very much--and just finish as fast as I possibly can. I sprint out of there and pray to god that I don't have to go back to her bathroom at night ever again (which I did...but it gets a little easier every time...and I armed myself with rocks the next time). Things like that build character I think...so roach-infested bathroom, I say to you, "BRING IT ON...cause I am ready now!!!" Hehe...hats off to Veronica for living with her bathroom at night, when the creepy crawlies come out to play...she is a trooper!

Anyway, other than the whole life scarring bathroom incident at Veronica's we had a blast...we sat up talking girl talk, eating cookies, cooking fabulous cheesy Orzo by Matthew Pava (the unholy badass of the kitchen...I bow down to you and thank you so much for my package and recipes). Now, here I go trooping back to village with my bag full of goodies that I received in the 7 packages that came (THANK YOU Mom, Matt, Cindy, Tiffany, and Mike's sister/mom/dad). I can't wait to get home and cook and read and eat...I do that everyday but it's more exciting with stuff from America. I hope you are all wall and I will keep you updated on the happenings. Training and FESPACO are 2 weeks away and then after that it is a I get to look froward to a rendevouz with Mike at the end of May (We were going to Paris, but now it turns out we are probably going to Israel...I AM SOOOOOO EXCITED!!!). I will let you know what my plans are...but darn I am a WORLD TRAVELER...hehehe! Miss and love you all...Stay close!

And on a more serious note...

Okay, so I said I would post this last week...but thanks to the lovely infrastructure in Burkina the internet was out in the ENTIRE city of Bobo...so you had to wait a bit. Now I am back in Bobo because my teeth have decided to mutiny, and I have another appointment with the Burkinabé dentist...WOO HOO, wish me luck for that one!! Without further wait...here is the promised post:

I'm realizing that I am a development worker who's not completely sold on development. Maybe I'm just disillusioned with where all the newfangledness of Western life has gotten us. Maybe I see here what we lack: simplicity, community, a non-commercialized, revered culture.

Community in Africa still works...it's the glue in the face of catastrophes like AIDS and unrest. In the village no one falls through the cracks...I don't want to watch rituals crumble. I don't want to see children's games replaced by insipid images on a TV screen. I want no hand in Westernizing this village.

-- Nine Hills to Nambonkha, Sarah Erdman

I have a lot of time to read and this is one of the books that I came across, and in particular this quote rang true to me. For anyone that is more curious about what life is like here definitely check out this book. This was written by a Peace Corps volunteer in neighboring Cote D'Ivoire and the similarities are unbelievable...you can definitely get an inside look on what it is like (emotionally and physically) to be here.

It goes without saying that I have found harships beyond belief here, and before coming here I had done all of my necessary research. However, I have stumbled upon something so unexpected and unbelievably beautiful. In most representations of Africa (in the news and in any other media outlet) you hear and see images of starving children, warring tribes, sad and destitute people living in conditions that are completely intolerable. However, upon coming to Burkina Faso I have realized that these things exist, but not in the way that I would have imagined. These people are not sad and they aren't wasting away. I have found a vibrant and thriving culture that makes the best out of what it has...which in most cases isn't much. It is truly amazing to witness. I was having drinks with the English teacher at the local school, and he put it so eloquently in saying that African's are rich because they are poor. It seems such an odd thing to say, but after being here only 3 months I see how that is true. I expected to come into a society and culture that needed my help and assistance, but what I found was culture and a society that I need much more than they need me. They understand the true simplicity and importance in life and community. They can make something out of nothing...and that is something that we as a developed society have lost. And as the continent strives to become like its Western neighbors, I fear its identity will be swallowed whole...lost forever in a stream of 50 Cent T-shirts and R Kelly CD's--I can't tell you how troubling it is that the idols for African youth are 50 Cent and Nelly...carrying smoking guns no less. Alas, not much can be done about it I guess...the ball is rolling and there is no stopping it now. Although I feel priviliged to at least get a glimpse into this society before it becomes something entirely different. I believe in helping these people to better their own lives, but I come up against a wall. I don't want to be responsible for aiding in their modernization (and inherent loss of culture)...I don't want to help Westernize them no matter how badly they think they want to be. So, where is my role here? What is it that I want to do exactly? That is something that I am still searching for...

I know it is so easy to get caught up in life and never think about these things, and believe me...I am not solely criticizing the United States. Honestly, I have never felt more fortunate in my life to be from the US. We have opportunities there that cannot even be imagined here, and I am SOOOOO thankful. I just can't help but think that rather exporting our culture, we also need to be taking cues from some of our "less developed" neighbors. It is a lesson that I never could have learned without coming here...and something that I want to challenge you to think about...you don't have to be in Africa to do that (but feel free to visit anytime!)

Anyway, thanks for bearing with me there as I got on my soapbox...I promise to follow up with a funny post soon. Again...THANK YOU to all who have sent packages and letters!!! I received 7 packages today...and I can't wait to open them. Thank you so much for all of your support. Things are heating up here...and I am getting ready to bunker down for the 2 hottest months of my life...then the glorious rains come. Stay cool...Although from what I hearabout weather in the States right now that isn't hard to do...Talk soon.

Je Devien Grosse!?!?

Alright folks…I’m back. Two weeks in village and I decided to pop out to celebrate Groundhog’s Day with the other volunteers. Although, no matter what Punxatawney Phil says (Kerry...can you let me know...you live there!)…I don’t get more winter (not that I ever had one), and I only have the heat to look forward to. It is like someone switched the light on the sun…it is unbelievable. The air is still a little crisp, but in the sun I just absolutely roast. It is so sad…the honeymoon is over folks.

The last couple weeks have been surprisingly busy. Well, Africa busy anyways. My supervisor visited me at site and met my organization and toured my town. I did some activities with villagers to try and figure out what the hell they want me to do. I read a lot. Ran a lot. Slept a lot. Read some more. Cooked homemade bread (I am freakin’ Betty Crocker now!). It felt like a productive past couple of weeks. I have 4 more weeks at my site, and then it is off to the capital for some more training, and the fabulous FESPACO film festival. I knew there was a reason that I was placed in Burkina, and the fact that it hosts Africa’s largest film festival seems like fate to me.

Before I came to Burkina I had done SO much research on the country, on the volunteers here, and what the experience would be like. For those of you that know me…I am a research freak. I don’t even buy pair of pants without comparing prices and qualities first. Well, anyway, one of the things that I had been told numerous times was that I should be prepared to be called “Grosse” on more than one occasion. In Africa it is “en vogue” to be “grosse” (or as the French Dictionary translates it: big, large, stout, fat, thick, broad, heavy, or swollen). It is a sign of status…it means you can afford to eat well. Well, you know what…in the United States it is NOT polite to tell someone that they are “devenir grosse” (becoming fat). Anyway, one morning after my run I went into town to buy some bread (maybe that is my first problem…carbs). The lady that makes my salad every night for dinner is there in the morning selling rice and beans for breakfast. Anyway, as I approach she says the dreaded words that I knew would be coming, but that up to this point I hadn’t heard. “OOOOHHHHH, Stephanie. Vous devenez grosse! C’est bonne!” Well, in hearing that I about fell over, and probably developed at least two eating disorders. I spent the next 20 minutes telling her that it isn’t polite to tell people that, and spent the rest of the day thinking that I was fat and disgusting. I immediately upped my running/exercise regimen to an hour of running everyday, and I didn’t eat for the rest of the afternoon. Before I came to Burkina I had been told by so many people…”they are going to tell you that you have gotten fat, they are going to try to fatten you up.” You know, I expected to hear it…but whether I expected it or not, it still hurt to hear it. In the States there is such a stigma around being skinny and in shape…it can’t be a coincidence that the term for fat here is “grosse” in French, and that “grosse” means…well…gross! It doesn’t help that most of you thought that in my coming here I was also getting free admission to the best fat camp in the world. I would like to disspell a myth…Africans may have malnutrition but they certainly are not starving…at least not in my part of Burkina Faso. My diet consists of carbs, some more carbs, oh yeah some carbs, rice, spaghetti, bread, and sauce. So, don’t be surprised when I step off the plane for my visit in September and you don’t recognize me. Oh god, I probably have about 3 mental disorders related to my weight now.

I have been running every morning, and besides the fact that it is to stave off any more “grosse” comments, I actually enjoy it. In the States I could always find a reason NOT to go running. “I have to go to work in two hours…I can’t possibly run,” “I don’t want to wash my hair,” “My favorite TV show is on,” “It’s cold outside/It’s hot outside,” “I don’t have any clean clothes.” But here, if I don’t go running in the morning there is NO excuse. Truly, one of the main reasons I go is because it takes up at least 3 hours of my morning. I go running for an hour, I get back and do crunches/dips/etc., heat water for my bath, heat water for breakfast, eat, and bathe. By that time it is usually 10:30. It’s almost lunch time. The villagers have slowly warmed to the idea of my running for, god forbid, exercise. At this point they know my route and wait for me to pass so that they can yell “Madame” or “Toubabou”…or greet me in Dioula of Moore. I have my own little cheering squad. On my path there are also tons of different kinds of animals. At first when they saw me running towards them I cause a mini-stampede as they rushed to get away, but now they just sit there watching me and probably thinking, “what is that crazy white girl doing?” One thing that does scare me a bit though are the enormous cows that line the paths. Most people here have cows…gigantic ones with enormous horns (think running of the bulls, Pamplona). Normally it is just a few, but lately they have been herding them across my path to the greenery near the river. So, the other day I was running and I was at this narrow portion of the path where there is a fence on one side and trees on the other…no escape. I slow to a walk, because I have no desire to start a stampede and get trampled. Well, as I pass by the cows evidently one of them didn’t like what I was wearing or the way I looked at him, but he turned to the cow next to him and speared him, and in turn that cow turned towards me and was headed straight towards me with its huge horns. I had always thought that if it happened (kind of like with the Hippos…if it is chasing me I have resolved to climb a tree) that I would jump out of the way or something…but no, I was scared to death. I just stood there with my face scrunched up in horror waiting for it to spear me. Luckily, the little girl leading the cows started beating them with a stick and they turned away from me. I don’t even think I realized how dangerous the situation was until later, or how close I came to being speared. Oh well, I chalk it up to life experience…and I will never get that close to those freakin’ animals again unless I am eating a fat juicy steak.

Okay, now I know that I have been seriously lacking in chicken stories lately, and for that I apologize. When I arrived back home from my last trip away I discovered that the hen in my courtyard had hatched some eggs. There were about 7 little chicks running around. I LOVE baby animals...it doesn't even matter what they are...I love them. Well, one day my organization is having their weekly meeting and I see that one of the baby chicks has fallen in the water bowl. Me being the animal lover that I am can not bear to see this poor little thing drown...everyone else was just staring and laughing--survival of the fittest and this one just didn't cut it. So, I go over there to fish the poor little guy out of the bowl. Everyone is staring at me and I have no idea why...but whatever, I am stared at all day long so how is this different. As I reach in to pull out the little chick the mother hen sees me, and rather than thank me from saving her chick from certain death, she attacks me!! She comes flying at me, wings out, skawking and pecking. I turn around and run and the damn thing follows me!!! WHAT?!?! All I was trying to do is help you stupid little soon to be dinner entreé! Anyway, while the chicken chased me and everyonelaughed as I dart around the courtyard someone snuck in and plucked the chicken out of the bowl. So, in the end I did aid in the saving of this poor chick's life...but I hadn't intended to be bait. Chickens are vicious little creatures...don't let "Chicken Run" fool you. They are mean! They attack me if I come near them, they attack eachother. The other day some of the chickens died in my courtyard...I know what you're thinking...BIRD FLU! But, it zqs some other crazy weird disease...anyway, when one of them got sick the other chickens ganged up on him and started attacking him. It was so crazy. I always pictured chickens as cute and docile creatures...but they are really blood-thirsty little varmints. I am learning so much here! I live in a little National Geographic documentary.

As the hot season approaches so do the roaches, scorpions, lizards, and crickets. What do they want, you might ask? Well, with the blaring sun all they want is to live inside my house. I am now learning all too well the worth of having a cat. Gateau is a vicious hunter. Every night I have had either a roach or a lizard in my house and every time he has caught and killed them. It is entertaining to watch...he throws his prey in theair and catches it. He flings it around for a bit..lets it go and then chases it some more. It is hilarious. There have been times where I have seen a roach and physically brought Gateau inside to show him...then he does his thing. He is my precious, adorable, cuddly, and efficient killing machine...exactly how I trained him. He had a lizard out in the courtyard and I felt bad, so I tried to take it away from him...OHHHH NO! He about clawed my eyes out to kill that thing...the little lizard got over the wall but Gateau leaped off the 10 foot wall; caught the lizard again, and brought it back in to my courtyard to play with some more. I feel bad for the lizard, but GOOD KITTY!

Alright, well I don't have much more time left today...I have a more serious post that I would like to add and I will get to that tomorrow. It can't all be laughs...there are some serious lessons to be learned by living here. Alright, well until tomorrow. A demain!

Rat de Brousse...A Burkina Delicacy...

WOW!! Back so soon! I know, I know…I just couldn’t stay away from you for that long. Actually, I came into town because one of the other volunteers in my region is “ET-ing,” something that isn’t all that rare in the Peace Corps (30% of all Peace Corps volunteers do it). What is it? Well, it is called “Early Termination” and that is when someone decides to go home…early. So, she was with my group that just arrived here, and she decided that it wasn’t for her, and she is heading back to the states on Wednesday. I am a little bit jealous thinking of her eating sushi dinners and showering a real bathroom, but I am not quite ready to pack my bags yet and head back. Honestly, I have no idea if I will make it here the whole two years, I wouldn’t even begin to try and guess, and I am just taking everything one day at a time. I know that I am pretty happy with being here, even if I miss my family and friends terribly, and when I am ready to go—whether that be at the end of two years or next month—then I will know it and I will have no regrets. Sorry to be all serious on you, but all this heading home stuff has really got me thinking about it…and I thought I would share with you. Okay…enough of that.

So, this week flew by so fast thanks to a little visit from my friend Nanette. That’s right…she felt so guilty for crushing me over New Year’s that she decided to visit Banzon. So, we headed back on transport together last Sunday when I was in town. The transport alone was memorable enough. I have begun to realize on Sunday’s that if the drivers of the large buses don’t feel like driving the route between Banzon and Bobo, well then they just don’t. So, as we stood waiting for a bus to pull up we realized that it was never coming. Our only option was this PETITE little Jed-Clampett truck with a little hood over the bed, and a rack on top. It looked like a toy wind-up car…but oh no…it was our ride home.

Here is a picture courtesy of Nanette:

Luckily, being foreign has some perks so we got to ride up in the cab with the driver and about 6 bottles of water that we had to continually pour on the engine every 30 minutes or so. Honestly, I feel like I could have jogged back to Banzon quicker. This poor little vehicle loaded down with about 15 people in the back and the three of us in the front looked like it wouldn’t even make it 5 feet, and a couple of times people had to get out and give it a helping hand. But, after much pushing and engine-inspecting by multiple people we were off. Aside from an odd naked lady accident, the trip went just fine. Naked lady incident you ask? Would you like to hear more? Every village has a few of what they call “foo’s.” It is the African name for anyone that is a bit crazy. Generally they are homeless, although in Africa there isn’t really homelessness because anyone would open their house for these people to stay in and offer them food to eat. But, during the day they wander around and ask for money, yell, rant (one even handed me a razor and asked that I cut my hair….wierd!), etc. As soon as our ramshackle vehicle pulled up to this down, and I saw the woman in reference, I knew exactly where we were. An old women with a TEENY loin cloth on and nothing else was sleeping on the side of the road. I looked at Nanette and instantly knew where we were and who she was, and when Nanette caught a glimpse of her she about fell out of the car. The woman had gotten up—when foreigners are around there is money to be begged for—and was approaching the car. She is probably in her 70s and her boobs were hanging down below her belly-button, and I know that I shouldn’t have looked but it’s kind of like a traffic accident. You know you shouldn’t look, but you can’t help yourself. She came over to the car and begged us for money, but all I had was the money for transport and a bag of bread…so I gave her some bread. Poor Nanette was sitting in the chair red-faced, and just couldn’t believe what was happening. Oh the joys of traveling to my village. Come on people…who wants to come next? I know you want to see the crazy naked lady, the chickens, and everything else.

Anyway, we arrived in my village just fine, and if one foreigner living there didn’t cause enough attention, well two did it. The village is just about used to seeing me around, and it is becoming less and less of a novelty, but with Nanette there once again the large staring crowds and trail of children commenced again. It was entirely worth it though, because I got the utter joy of speaking English around people when they couldn’t understand…finally they know how it feels when they talk about me in Moore/Joula and I have no idea what they are saying. We had a really great time…we went running, biked through the rice fields/mango groves, baked a chocolate cake, drank a lot of beer with the Majore (the head nurse/doctor at the government health clinic), ate Bush Rat—Rat de Brousse (it sounds so much better in French) and the time flew by. Did you do a double take there? Yes, Nanette and I ate Bush Rat which is basically a rodent that lives in the woods, about the size of a beaver maybe or a really large squirrel. It is a delicacy here, and aside from having to see the little claws still attached, it was really good. I know what you are thinking…GROSS…but don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.

After she left things got back to normal. I read, and ran, and read some more, did some Sudoku...and I am getting paid for this. Granted its $240/month, but here that makes me rich. Thank you tax-paying Americans! One very interesting development in my village has been the emergence of camels. That's right, camels...animals of the desert. Every year the Peuhl/Fulani desert people ride their camels to the South of Burkina and just ask for money along the way. Well, I didn't have my camera or money at the time, but when I get back to village I am paying some money and I am going to ride that freaking camel! They are SO big! It was really neat, and he only spit on me a few times...hehe! I can't wait to send pictures of that.

Now, I don't know what kind of weather you are experiencing back in the States, but right now I am experiencing probably the best that Burkina has to offer. It goes down to about 13 degrees Celsius (55 F) at night, but up to about 80's-90's during the day. It is absolutely perfect. Yet, I feel like I am in a perpetual "Sunday." You know what I mean...Saturday is great because you know you have Sunday to look forward to, but Sunday sucks because you know you have to go into work the next day...so you never really enjoy Sunday because you are thinking about Monday. I am about to make sense...I swear. All I hear is about how BLAZING hot it is going to be in April...like we are talking upwards of 47 degrees Celsius folks (117 F). WHAT?!?! So, while I enjoy this lovely weather that we are having now...this is not the norm...and all I do is dread the day when I wake up and it's blazing hot...I am just waiting for the floor to drop out. I am trying to enjoy the weather...but I am stuck in a perpetual Sunday dreading Monday...except my "Monday" is 6 months of BLAZING BURNING SCORCHING UNBEARABLE SOMEONE GET ME THE HELL OUT OF HERE heat from Hell. That's right, the devil is setting up shop next door and I will be living in Hell until next December when the "winter" comes. It can only make me stronger...right?

Anyway, I gotta run and catch my lovely transport back to village...fun times. I hope all of you are well, and you should start planning your trips to see me!!! Come on people...bush rat, naked old ladies, dead chickens, insane heat...it is a very attractive offer. See you all soon!

ATTENTION: NEW PHOTOS POSTED

Hello all...I popped into town to pick up some packages and for a meeting, but I wanted to let you know to check out my rockin' new photos...ALL 500 of them...THANKS DAVE! I hope you enjoy, and I will post something more tomorrow.

The link to my photos is under the links bar on the left hand side, just click on "Link to my online photo album"...ENJOY!!

Touching Poop is fun...No, really!

Hello All!!! I bet that title got your attention! Wow...it feels like eternity since I last popped on the internet. I have spent close to three weeks in village, and I have to say that I am VERY happy to be back around a few English-speaking people again. Look, this isn't to say that I don't like being in village or the people there...but, I haven't had a grown up and real conversation with anyone for almost three weeks and it gets to you. In general, especially with my limited French skills, conversations consist of turning down marriage offers--I am already married thank you very much, detailing why I CAN'T get someone to the United States, and well...actually that's it. Three weeks of that would drive just about any sane person stir crazy. I even talked to myself once, and after that I knew it was time to take a trip into the city. I spent Tabaski (a Muslim Holiday--otherwise known as the Fete de Mouton or Party of Sheep) and New Years in my village, which was quite interesting...

My friend, and closest neighbor, Nanette was supposed to come and visit for the weekend of New Years. I had left to go back to village on the 26th feeling pretty good that at least I wouldn't have to spend New Year's alone with the villagers. I was like a giddy little school girl waiting for her crush to pick her up for their first date. I cleaned my entire house, organized everything, hung pictures...my house looked perfect. I even bought a chicken--which was hanging out pooping in my courtyard--to kill for dinner. I was psyched that someone was coming to see me! Then, I get a text message from her saying that she had been forced to switch buses, and that the one that she was put on was NUTS! Either, she could sit on a man's lap for the 3 hour journey to my village or she would have to get off...and well if you know Nanette you know that she doesn't put up with shit like that, and she opted to get off. Now, I can write about this because its a couple weeks later and the "sting" of rejection has worn off, but to say the least I was VERY dissappointed. I had psyched myself up to have someone there, and when she cancelled at the last minute I felt like I had been stood up--a tear might have even been shed folks, I'll admit it. But, you try living in loneliness in an African village and you would have cried too! To ease the pain, I decided to bake a little...nothing wrong with a little comfor with food. I created a dutch oven with a giant metal pot and baked 2 types of cookies. Although I handed some out to the kids I ended up eating most of them...I was still moping at this point and ice cream wasn't an option. Surprisingly, it did the trick and I felt quite a bit better after that.

The next day was the Fete de Muton and everyone seemed to be gearing up for that. Earlier that week I had been required to get an outfit made for the celebration--each family has a cloth pattern that they wear for holidays, they call it the uniform. My homologue had brought home a goat the week before and had told me it was for the holiday, so I assumed that we were going to eat it, but that didn't stop me from befriending it. He was actually really cute. I named him Charlie, and occasionally I snuck little treats to him. I am such a sucker for animals! I live in a perpetual petting zoo! I am surrounded by lambs, sheep, donkeys (the baby one's are SO cute), chickens--of course!, and goats. Why I feel the need to pet them I don't know, because it causes quite a stir in my village. The only time they approach an animal to touch is to hit it or slaughter it, so the animals think I am nuts too. Anyway, back to my goat story. So, I leave to go get some flour to bake more cookies and 'Ol Charlie is just lounging in the courtyard. Well, when I come back from the boutique Charlie is there, but he is in about 20 different pieces. The youngest son of my counterpart is playing with the head, while the eldest is cleaning out the intestines and other internal organ goodies, which he tells me are his favorite--it's graphic I know, but take note how at this point it doesn't even phase me. Less than 2 hours later my counterpart presents me with a 10 pound bag of Charlie...well, Charlie's hind leg anyway. Now Charlie, you know I loved you...but DAMN did you taste good in my tomato sauce. I fed myself for 2 days on that meat (both the cat and I), and gave some away. It was amazing.

The rest of the day I spent being paraded around village in my outfit (which actually looked kind of cute this time since I got to design it), and having people talk about me while I sat there. I hear "Toubabou" and "Nasara"--Joula and Moore for "Foreigner"--and I get gawked at by everyone, but no one ever talks directly at me. You know that feeling when you go in a room and you KNOW that everyone just stopped talking about you? Well here they have no problem continuing to talk about you right to you face...except not in a language that I understand. I often wish that I had subtitles displayed for me...I wonder what they say? "God that white girl is pale," "Man, she just sits around all day and reads while I pound corn and haul water...white people are lazy"...who knows, and thing is I probably never will. Sometimes I get the urge to speak English, but then I would just be talking to myself, and that doesn't sound like fun--trust me, I've tried, and it isn't fun. It's a one-sided conversation.

The next day was New Year's Eve, and I wasn't sure how the village celebrated that holiday. Tabaski wasn't exactly a celebration. I was in bed by 8:30, my regular time. My counterparts son, who is 17 years old, was visiting and he kept telling me that we were going dancing, but somehow I wasn't so sure. I spent the day doing the normal things...eating, sleeping, reading, riding my bike a little--very taxing. Then 8:00 rolled around and no one showed up to go dancing. I was starting to feel sorry for myself again, and cursing Nanette for not showing up. So, I curled up with my portable DVD player (come on guys...you don't think I would leave home without that...I gotta have the amenities), and with a 4 hour battery life I was able to entertain myself with "Patch Adams" and "A Few Good Men." I was asleep right around midnight, and I don't think I even noticed when the clock struck midnight. Now, I don't know how you spent your New Year's Eve, but all I can say to you is "TOP THAT!!!" Hehehehe!

The next day I was awoken by my cell phone ringing, and realized that I was late for the infamous "race" that everyone had been talking about. I wasn't exactly sure what was going on, as is generally the case since with my French I only get an "idea" of what they are trying to say. But, evidently, every New Year's Day they hold a bike race. Now when I envisioned this bike race I pictured a couple of guys on their bikes riding in circles, but OH was I wrong. This is a community event! Everybody had shown up for this, and riders had come from all over the region to participate. It was a 2K course that they repeated 10 times for a total of 20K. They had the entire course marked, ropes set up...it was really great. All the competitors lined up, and this was nothing like a race you would see in the United States. The bikes are from the 1970's, and by the end of the race half the competition had been disqualified because their bike had just fallen apart. Some had shoes on, other had flip flops...it was a menagerie of different people. As they flew around the course it made me think of the Tour de France...well this was nothing like that. Although they did call it the Tour de Banzon. In the end it came down to a rider from Banzon and a rider from Orodara (a neighboring city). As they were coming down the homestretch they let me at the finish line to take pictures. All of a sudden the entire crowd rushed out onto the finish line (and the race wasn't even over yet!). The riders, at full speed, were heading towards the finish line, and a mob of people--including me because the crowd swept me away--were directly in their path. Thebikes came careening through the finish line, and Banzon had won. Although, I don't know how they could tell that since the riders never even made it to the finish line because they crashed into people. All this time I am just holding my camera over my head clicking pictures...and I was a little bit scared because the crowd was pretty rowdy. Then all of a sudden someone started to run, and then it turned into a stampede. Now I know how stampedes start and how dangerous they can be. It was unbelievable. People were getting stepped on, it was exactly like what I thought it would be. Luckily, someone pulled me out of the mess before I tripped over a bike and got trampled. But, for a split-second I was genuinely scared that I was going to get trampled on. It was like a mosh-pit from hell. As far as I know no one got hurt, and the village celebrated their victory for the rest of the day by carrying the winner and his bike around the entire village. It was quite a sight.

It was an interesting end/beginning of 2006/2007, and one that I will never forget. Otherwise, life in village has been pretty boring and laid back. I decided to plant a garden in my courtyard, and that was quite an endeavor...and also explains my very entertaining and eye-catching title to this blog, "Touching Poop is Fun!" With all the time on my hands I pretty much just sit around an plan what I am going to eat next, and since the diet here consists of Toh, Toh, Toh, rice, and pasta...it doesn't exactly help my figure. So, I thought I would plant a garden with some fun veggies that would prove to be a bit more healthy. It also proved to be quite a workout as well. First I had to lug bucket-load after bucket-load of rocks from outside my courtyard to the inside to make the lining of the garden. Then using a half-broken axe I had to dig up the dirt, which in Burkina is more like clay and rock. After that my counterpart approaches me and says, "It's looking good, but now you need to find the 'caca de bouef.'" Caca de what?!? So he hands me a box, and tells his son to go with me, and we go on a poop expedition. There are cows everywhere in my village, so there is no shortage of pooh around, but I never had any intention of actually touching it with my hands...I mean, who touches poop with their barehands? The people here, that's who. So I stand there while he picks up random cow patties and crumbles them in his hand. They have to be exactly the right texture/moisture level he tells me. Oh, well in that case...YUCK! Anyway, so I stand by and watch while he fills the box with crumbled cow pooh. Occasionally he tries to get me involved, but I have standards people! And, although they have been lowered quite a bit by living (I have no problem peeing in a hole, or eating something that had a bug in it), they have NOT been lowered that far...yet. So we go back and sprinkle--well I say we, but what I really mean is he...I just watched--the cow poop in my garden and plant my seeds. Anyday now, or next year, who knows how long it takes, I will have a gorgeous garden of watermelon, cucumber, lettuce, tomatoes, sweet potatoes, and one banana tree. I can't wait. The next day I was inspecting my flowers and garden (I planted flower seeds by my house), and I was picking the rocks off of them and seeing if they had sprouted. Well, in the process my hand grazed across some cow poop. At first I recoiled in horror, but then I picked it up--barehanded--and just threw it aside. That's right...I touched poop, and you know what...it isn't that bad! As I grazed some more my hand ran across some other random pooh, and again, I didn't recoil in horror. I just picked it up and brushed it aside. No big deal...and for a second I was proud of myself. Now, as I tend my garden and flowers I just fling poop around like it were a piece of paper or a rock. What is happening to me?!?! Will I be suitable for life in the United States after this? You probably will be wary the next time you shake my hand, huh?

Everything else is going along really well. I have been meeting with a lot of people from the village, and I think slowly I am finding exactly what it is that I want to do here...albeit VERY slowly. At times I feel so lost, and that I am entirely useless...but then I have those "Eureka!" moments where I break through or have a connection with someone, and it reaffirms why I'm here. "The toughest job you'll ever love"...I don't know if I love it quite yet, but it is tough...and I am having a good time figuring out if I love it or not. Next week I am doing some activities with some students at the middle school (called "College" here), and I hope through that I can learn a bit more about what they want as a community. People are always emailing me and asking me, "so, do you like it there?" Honestly, it would depend on what day, hour, minute, and second that you asked me...because it constantly changes. The people here survive just fine...they have been enduring their hardship and they do it with a smile on their face, so it makes it difficult to see what kind of things I can offer. I am sure it will all materialize, but I just want to thank all of you for all of your support, calls, letters, and packages. It helps immensely and I don't think I would have made it this far without them. I have so much more I could write about, and I am sorry to leave you without a chicken story (I have one...but I am kind of tired now). So, for next time...I will have a great chicken story ready, and a fabulous roach story. And, for those of you fitnessed-minded people out there, stay tuned for "Stephanie's African Workout." Oh yes, on DVD and out in paperback next year...I will whip your butt in to shape with well-water pulls, water bucket bicep curls, rock hauling squats, and more. All in the next edition of my blog...so STAY TUNED!

Happy Holidays from across the Globe!

Well, Merry Christmas! Happy Chanukah! Merry Kwaanza! Happy Tabaski! And, finally, Happy New Year!! The holiday season is upon us, and I have to say that it feels like it snuck out of nowhere. It feels anything but like a holiday. It isn’t that people here don’t celebrate Christmas, or other holidays…but without family it just isn’t the same. So, I have decided that I am putting Christmas on hold…a rain check if you will…that’s right ladies in gentleman. When I come visit next September we are going to have to celebrate Christmas 2006 and New Years. So, don’t throw away your tree quite yet, and keep those goofy 2007 glasses and crowns that I know you are going to wear on New Years in your drunken/partying stupor…if it goes poorly the first time, don’t worry, because when I return to the states for a visit in 9 months you will get to do it all over again. Sound like fun?!?! I think so…

It hasn’t actually been that long since I last posted. Thanks to the holidays I was able to come up with a good excuse to come back into Bobo, and bask in the glow of lights and the sound of television. I know many of you enjoyed my transport story from the last time, and I didn’t want to bore you with another one, but it was just so interesting I can’t help myself. With the onslaught of all the Christian/Muslim holidays, most people have decided to take a break…including all of bus drivers in my village. Which left me with no options to getting into the city from my village…well, no options that my mother would approve of anyway. So did I walk the 65K (roughly 35 miles) into Bobo, ride my bike, crawl? No sir, I did not! I stood out on the side of the road, stuck my thumb out, and hitched a ride on a Brakina Beer truck that was picking up empty bottle along the way to drop off in the capital. How very convenient for me!! I got to sit up front in the VERY small cab of the truck with 3 other friendly Burkinabe men, while we bumpily made our way into town. To be honest, it was the fastest and smoothest ride I have experienced thus far…and the best part was that it was free. I must have charmed their pants off. AND, what transport story would be complete without a chicken story??? I know Erica’s dad, Bubba Baker, likes them!! Hehehe! Halfway on our journey we stopped and picked up a woman holding 4 chickens and a pintard (a bird that resembles/tastes like a chicken). Luckily for me, but unfortunately for your entertainment, my travel this time included no bites or run away birds…

Life in village is slowly settling into my bones, and I am getting my house more and more set up everyday. I have to say, I am pretty pleased with the way it is turning out. My biggest thing was that I didn’t want it to look like a “hut”…it had to look as close to a “home” as possible. I needed to feel as settled as possible in it, and I think I have accomplished that…I will try and post a few pictures of it now, but all my pictures are currently in the mail on their way to the United States where my lovely brother will post all the pictures that I have taken thus far.

Since I last spoke to you not much has been going on. I started running in the mornings, and I am really glad that I finally got on this wagon. First, all I eat are carbs, carbs, and more carbs…and although being “gross” (or “fat” in French) is attractive to people here, I have no intention of coming back looking like a beached whale or a in my community, a “hippo.” Not only that, but I find that it relieves a lot of stress that builds up throughout the day. Stress you say? How could I be stressed, you’ve seen my daily activities schedule…it isn’t all the reading that does it. You would be very surprised just how stressful and draining it is to live in a village with no other French speakers, and to have to constantly be “on” when you walk out the door. Every time I want to go to the marchÈ I have to greet EVERY person that I pass on my bike, I have to smile, I have to turn down 4 marriage proposals, I have to laugh, and shake hands…and it gets tiring. All I want is a tomato or a cucumber, and I get mobbed everytime. Now I know what a celebrity feels like…and you know what…I don’t particularly like it. I know in time the attention will wane as they realize that I live amongst them, and they can see me everyday…but for the first few months I have heard it’s hard…and I am experiencing it now. I try to be as gracious and inviting as I possibly can…but come on folks…everyone has their limits…even selfless and helpful Peace Corps Volunteers…hahaha! I can see how people become hermits…I would prefer to sit and read or do a puzzle then go outside and fumble through my French/Joula to have a conversation with someone. It is a challenge. I never realized how therapeutic running was until I started and now I think I am addicted. I step out of my house every day at 7 a.m. to go on my jog (and at this time of the season I can see my breath in the air…it is about 55-60 degrees in the mornings), and there dutifully waiting for me is my homologue’s son, Ali. He trails behind me in his flip-flops with a glowing grin on his face. I went to all the fuss (and money) picking out the perfect running shoes for my gait and my feet, the perfect running shorts and dry-fit top…and there he is trailing behind me in his jeans and t-shirt with his foam flip-flops…and I’ll be damned if he doesn’t keep up with me for most of the way, and he NEVER stops to walk. I am really impressed! It is the one time in the day where my mind clears and I can just take in the scenery…I run past the hippo lake, and so far I have been lucky enough not to run into one (they may look like lovely creatures from afar, but from what I hear they are pretty vicious). I figure if I ever run into one then it’s just motivation to move faster right? Everyone needs some motivation every now and then. I hope this is a habit I can continue…for my sanity, my health, and my growing derriere!

I am trying to diversify my diet a bit, and I have started to venture out to the various meat sellers in my village. I will admit it, I am a carnivore, and I love it. Chicken is my favorite, but with all of the killing and feather-plucking it seems like too much work. So, I have moved on to easier “viande”…the meat of “mutton” (sheep) and “bouef” (beef). Men set up little grills all around town, hang a few sheep legs from a hook, and all you have to do is pay them some money and they will give you some hunks of already dead meat…no killing involved thank you very much. I like this much better. So, the other day I was dead set on having some beef for dinner. I stopped by the meat sellers shack and sitting there on disply was the ENTIRE head of a sheep! I know this is gross, so if you don’t like this kind of stuff stop reading here (Morgan, I know you love this crap and can’t wait to continue reading…hehehe). Blood was still seeping out of the thing and I immediately turned around…I was seriously re-thinking my desire for meat at this point. But, my stomach won over and said…”you want meat…this is where meat comes from…deal with it!” So, I pleasantly asked them to remove the rotting “tete” (head) from the table…which they did promptly. I could continue. Sitting on the table was a gigantic hunk of meat that was entirely covered in flies…and once again I started to rethink my decision to buy meat…but I forged ahead, Hey, a girls gotta eat! I asked them for a “filet” of beef and he pointed at the rotting cut of meat on the table. I quickly told him that “homey don’t play that”…and I pointed to the gigantic beef leg hanging from a hook under the hangar. This at least had less flies on it, and it looked like a “leg”…I don’t know why that helped me, but whatever. So, with the quick slash of his machete I had a bug chunk of beef leg handed to me in a paper bag…TASTY! I got home and realized that the skin was still attached so worked with my knife to get that off. They tell us that the meat should be red and elastic in texture…and this was definitely neither of those, but the hunger in my stomach overrode my fears of e.coli or bacteria poisoning. I then proceeded to attempt to tenderize the meat, because if you don’t, then it will be as hard as a brick. Without a mallet or a hammer I had to turn to my broomstick handle. Now, as a white person I am already an oddity, but as I stood outside beating a black bag with a broomstick handle, I became the CRAZY ASS white girl. About 4 people lined up to watch me. It wasn’t until I revealed to them what was in the black bag that they finally all laughed, said “toubabou feu” (white girl crazy) and walked away. Oh well…I had soft and chewy meat that night…so whatever. After 30 minutes of cooking (because of my fear or worms and disease) my meat, that started out about the size of a dinner plate, was about the size of my palm…it was still good. Man did I feel accomplished at the end of that meal!

My kitten, Gateau (here is a cute picture of him enjoying some lounge time on my hangar), is doing very well. He is definitely my companion and my family here, and I don’t know what I would do without him. I do fear, however, that he has narcolepsy. Now, I know you think I am crazy, and maybe it is the heat of the day…but I swear…that cat runs around my house like a wild banshee and literally two seconds later he is passed out asleep on the floor. I can’t understand it. Is it the fish I am feeding him? Is there some disease? It’s pretty funny to see him one minute playing in my backpack, and the next minute his head is half hung out, mouth open, sleeping like a baby. It provides me with entertainment I guess, and a reprieve from him wanting to get into everything.

Well, anyway, I am probably boring you to death with the mundane details of my village life…the cat fell asleep reading this…so that can’t be a good sign (or it is just proof of his narcolepsy…I don’t know of which). I hope that everyone is enjoying the holiday season…because for the most part I am trying to push it from my mind. I would rather ignore it than think about what I am missing. I hope that everyone enjoys the holidays, and think of me as you dig into your turkey, roast beef, leg of lamb, wonderful side dishes…because my mouth is watering already.

I am heading out to my village tomorrow, and I actually don’t know the next time I will be back in town. I am going to try to stay out there for 2-3 weeks or longer without escaping to the city. I feel I need to have a constant presence in village so that people get used to seeing me, and realize that I DO actually live there. It makes a difference on how I am perceived…trust me. My phone always works so feel free to give me a call or pop a letter in the mail…I will respond to EVERY letter, and that is a promise. Take care. A plus. A la procieme.

Toh, Toh, and more Toh....oh yeah and fish...

HELLO!! Wow, it seems like a long time since I last wrote you, and it’s only been a week and a half. It is interesting how time moves here…so SLOW, yet so fast at the same time. I am officially “en brousse” in my village, and I can’t possibly think where to begin to describe what has been going on here.

I had a lot of time to think about it on my 2 ½ hour “bush taxi” ride into the BIG city of Bobo-Dioulasso, my new home base. And, I am still not sure how I sum up 10 very interesting days. Firstly, I must describe to you my voyage to get here…that in and of itself was an experience. I don’t know if you have heard about transport in Africa, although I know you can use your imagination. What classifies as a vehicle and what they put on it are very loosely defined. Honestly, it makes my Chinatown to Chinatown bus to Boston look like a limo ride…yeah, I will never complain again about public transport back in the United States. So, the car goes by my house at 7:30 in the morning, which is very convenient. So I sit outside waiting for it to pull up…and in the distance it appears. It looks like an oversized VW Bus, except with a lot more holes…and I certainly have never seen a VW bus with goats tied to the roof and people riding on the top. I literally started laughing out loud when I saw this “vehicle” approach. There were people hanging out of the windows, goats strapped to the roof standing up, people strapped to the roof, rice, bikes, luggage, chickens, you name it and it was on there. We were a land-faring Noah’s Ark…but not as sea worthy. I hop on, and what do you know…they had saved me the one seat that was left—it’s good to be a foreigner sometimes…hehehe. So, I sit down and prepare for my bumpy 60 km journey into Bobo. I had taken the road to get here in a cush Landcruiser Peace Corps vehicle, and it had been hard then…I had no idea how this car was going to make it. I pop on my headphones look out the window and eventually semi-doze off. That is until the attack of the chickens. Now look, I know what you’re thinking, another chicken story?!?! I don’t know how I attract them, I don’t know what I have done to deserve it…but as long as I don’t have bird flu I am totally fine with that. So, I am sitting there listening to a little Toto, “Rains Down in Africa” (very appropriate right?) when I feel a little nip on my foot. I look down and I am so shocked at what I see that I literally jump onto my seat. The poor elderly woman next to me thinks that I am absolutely nuts. It wasn’t the chickens that scared me…but the surprise that (a) I was being bitten by a chicken…do they even have teeth? And (b) what the hell are chickens doing by my feet?!?! That little bugger bit me about 4 times the entire ride. What the hell! The funny thing about all of it is, by the time we got to Bobo all I could think about was…”mmm…I bet he would be really good for dinner.” Oh goodness, that is what Toh and fish sauce everyday will do to you. Alas, I arrived safely…we all did. We didn’t break down, the car didn’t flip, and I didn’t get to eat the chickens for lunch…an interesting ride that I am sure to experience many more a time. I am now in Bobo enjoying electricity, decent food—SCHWARMA!!, and the company of my fellow volunteers…I never thought I would be so happy to see English-speaking people.

So, I arrived in village on Wednesday a week and a half ago, I would equate the whole affectation/move-in experience to college—except this time I didn’t cry (yeah, ask me about that later). You drive along this horrendous dirt road until you come up my village. It is a pretty large village that appears out of nowhere…one minute nothing and then BOOM…my village. So I pull in with furniture strapped to the roof, in a cushy Landcruiser brimming full of luggage, beds, stoves, etc. That doesn’t attract attention, right? Hah, I think the entire town came out to see what was in this car…I think they were disappointed it wasn’t gifts for them…oh well, I think I am a pretty good gift. So, the Peace Corps driver helps me unload my car, I get a tour of my house, we sit in awkward silence for a little bit—sometime that happens quite a lot—and then he hops in his little vehicle and is off to the big city. There I stand, surrounded by all my belongings, 20 Burkinabe people…all alone. Just like college, I sat down in the middle of my room and I said to myself, “what do I do now?” Luckily, I had my lovely kitten with me who could cuddle and make me forget that I just got dropped off at a house with people I don’t know, in a third world country, 2 ½ hours from a city, no electricity/running water/decent food/English speaking people, no family…I am surprised that I didn’t freak out, but I think really I have to hold it together, because if I don’t then nobody will…it is just me out there people!

I spent the first several days meeting important people, the mayor, the chef du village, the Majore (head nurse at the clinic), head of every agricultural organization. It was tiresome. I repeated the same introduction over and over again until I thought I would pass out. “Je suis Stephanie. Je suis un voluntaire avec le Corps de la Paix…” AAAAHHHH! The one thing that has kept me sane, besides my kitten, is the fact that the landscape is so beautiful. Truly, it reminds me of Africa out of history books. We have a river that flows through the village which is utterly amazing. There are mango groves, banana groves (I never want another banana again…), rice fields (my village is the rice capital of Burkina), corn fields…it really is beautiful. I spend a lot of my days just riding through them, or sitting and reading by the river.

After meeting all the necessary people I took it upon myself to do some small home improvements. I had a bookshelf and an armoire built at the carpenter’s, I had them cement my courtyard, I organized, I am going to paint. I have tried to keep myself busy…maybe I can keep myself distracted long enough before I realize what I have gotten myself into. For you readers at home though, how do I capture what my life is like? Well…one thing that might be helpful for you is a “Day in the Life”…that sounds like fun, right? Well, I am gonna write it anyway…here is a day in the work week of Stephanie…

Stephanie's Daily "Work" Schedule:

6:30 AM - Wake up and run to the bathroom (will my bowel movements ever be solid and controllable anymore?)

7:00 AM – Boil water for hot tea and instant grits (ooohhh, yummy)

7:15 AM – greet my counterpart before he leaves for the marche, get some hot water from his wife for my bucket bath (it is COLD here right now in the mornings…)

7:25 AM - Take my bucket bath…refreshing? No. Do I feel clean? No.

7:30 AM - Eat my breakfast--which consists of powdered milk and corn flakes, or instant grits...thanks Mom!--while simultaneously greeting people in Moore, Joula, and French. That’s right folks…three languages are spoken in my village, and everyone assumes that in the week that I have been there that I have become fluent in all three…WHAT?!?!

8:15 AM – Sweep the layers of dust that have caked up in my house

8:30 – 10:30 AM - Read whatever book of interest I have…anyone have any good suggestions?

10:30 AM – go outside and sit with 1 of the 2 wives of my counterpart while she talks to me in Joula, and I just nod my head like I understand. This is also the time when children and adults come over and laugh at me for a reason I still don’t know.

11:30 AM – Ride my bike to the marche where I sit at my counterparts boutique, talk about America—tell him no it isn’t possible to take a bus to America…at least I don’t think so, greet people as they ride by, walk through the market and buy some veggies for lunch. Realize that I am about to have an explosive diarrhea attack…run home and hopefully make it to the bathroom in time (it’s gross, but I promised I would be honest with you guys about the reality of my life here…so that’s the brutal truth…take it or leave it).

12:00 PM - Make lunch, eat, pretend to eat the Toh and fish that my counterpart’s wife makes for me, sweep the layers of dust that have accumulated out of my house, and take a midday nap.

3:00 PM – wake up from my lovely nap and go sit out front again with my counterpart’s wife while people laugh at me and talk about me (I have no idea what they are saying…but I hear “toubabou” (white person)…eat fried patates (like sweet potatoes)…get laughed at when I use my ketchup.

4:30 - Sweep the layers of dust that have once again accumulated in my house. Stand over the well in my courtyard and with rope and bucket and draw water from the well to fill my water container…this is another time where people like to stare and laugh as well.

5:00 PM – go to the marche to hang out at my counterpart’s boutique some more…walk around…talk to people…read. Run home with most likely another explosive bathroom attack…oh my poor poor bowels.

6:00 PM – it is dark at this time. Take my second bucket bath, brew some water for tea, make something (most likely Easy Mac or powdered mashed potatoes—which by the way have NEVER tasted so good—THANK YOU DAD and HONI!)

7:00 PM – eat dinner with my counterpart’s wife and his two kids (boys, 2 years old and 10 years old). Watch as they spill food everywhere which then attracts an entire colony of ants which I battle with for the next hour. Pretend to eat the Toh and fish sauce…

8:00 PM – Sweep the layers of dust that have accumulated in my house. Blow my nose and watch the Kleenex turn brown. Or, if I don’t have Kleenex, blow a snot rocket on the ground…yeah, who wants to waste precious toilet paper on their nose…not me, not when NO toilet paper is sold in my village. Lie in bed, read a book, listen to my satellite radio.

9:00 PM – ZZZZzzzz….and get up 1-2 times a night to run to the bathroom because whatever I ate has made my bowels saying, “HELL NO!”

That, with a little variation here and there, is what my days consist of right now. The Peace Corps tells us not to start any projects…just observe and get habituated into your community. So, that is my busy busy day…a little different than a work day in NYC huh? Aside from my occasional hippo hunting session (that’s right…there is a hippo lake literally 400 yards from my house). We tried to go see them, but once I realized that I was stuck in mud up to my knees, probably getting Schistomastiosis (an interesting disease that I will have to tell you about sometime), trying to find one of the most dangerous animals on the planet…I decided to turn around and go home. I will wait for another time to see them…when I am not stuck in mud and unable to move…a perfect target for a stampeding hippo.

All in all, I am very happy (I don’t know if I conveyed that in my daily activities schedule). The people in my village over all are very nice, my counterpart is nice, his wives (that’s right…plural) are nice, his kids are nice…I am just taking it all in. The organization I work for is very motivated, and I think there is a lot of good work to be done here. First, I have to acclimate to this new lifestyle…more shockingly different then I would have thought. My house is great; it is starting to look like a real home. I am going to plant flowers and a vegetable garden. HAHAHA, I sound like a 60 year-old retiree…and you know what, I will enjoy it while I can. I know what the working world is like…and I am in no hurry to return. This is like a vacation…that is if your idea of a vacation is torturing your body, living in a country where you don’t speak the language, not having electricity/running water, eating Toh every night, and being thousands of miles away from family/friends…so far that’s my idea of a pretty good vacation, and I get to live it everyday…are you ready to join me?

Well, it is back to the village and isolation I go. I get cell service so feel free to drop me a line…would love to hear from you. With the holidays coming up I will be coming to Bobo a couple of times…but after that it is village life with the occasional visit to the city. So, I hope to post another entry by Christmas.

Happy Holidays to everyone, and I am sad I am not there to share in the festivities. Mom, thank you more my sax-playing/dancing Santa Claus doll…they searched all my packages when I picked them up at the post and I was able to distract them with the dancing Santa Claus while I hid the DVD’s and electronics from their eyes (I don’t want to have to pay taxes for that). To see grown men in military uniform ooh and ahh over a dancing stuffed animal is a sight to see…truly.

Happy Chanukah…Merry Christmas…Happy Tabaski…or whatever holiday you are celebrating! Talk soon!

Gateau...a tasty cake? I think not...

Wow, I can't believe how much has happened in just the few short days since I have written. I am writing this from the cush offices of the Peace Corps in the Burkina capital, Ouagadougou, as I wait until tomorrow for my dentist appointment. Honestly, it couldn't have worked out better for me. I have been staying in the Peace Corps transit house (a hostel for PC Burkina volunteers), eating tons of junk food--ice cream, pizza, cheeseburgers, chocolate shakes--and just hanging out with some of the other volunteers who are in the capital. I am living it up!!! Thank you rotten teeth...that is all I have to say!

I am now OFFICIALLY a Peace Corps Volunteer, and no longer a Peace Corps Stagiare/Trainee. It is such a strange feeling. One minute I was stepping off the plane into the hot Burkina air wondering what the hell I got myself into, and the next minute I am finished with training and I am heading out on my own. How did this happen?!?! It seems to have gone so fast, yet so slow! I am ready to move to my village and start my two years of service, but I can't help but be frightened to death of being alone, lonely, bored, confused, scared, misunderstood, stared at...and a multitude of other emotions. Truly, I have to take everything one day at a time...if I think too far into the future I stress myself out. So, one day at a time...one step at a time...or "baby steps..."

Luckily (and at the same time unforunately) I have my kitten Gateau (French for cake, Spanish for cat). Some volunteers think it is a poor choice for a name since people do eat cats here, and naming your cat a tasty treat doesn't help much...but I say bah humbug. That's right...I adopted a kitten. I couldn't help myself, and for those of you that know me, you know that I have a soft spot for things like that. He is SOOO cute! He is black and grey tiger-striped, and is just the most rambunctious needy little thing ever! He is so adorable, but traveling with him on transport while trying to drag my suitcase and bike, and then having him at the hostel with 10 other people makes it hard. Plus, he seems to like this brown couch on the screened-in porch, and likes to use it as a litter box...not exactly appreciated by the other lodgers in the hostel. I basically run around doing damage control. Hopefully, once I get to site he won't be so antsy. Truly though, I am glad to have him around. He likes to crawl up and sit on my shoulder like a parrot while I walk around doing errands, brushing my teeth, going to the bathroom!! That's right...I have to take him with me, because if I don't he screams bloddy murder outside my door. Oh god, someone help me...I didn't intend to adopt a child! It is endearing, for now anyway!

Before I sign off I want to leave you with a quick little story. I left Ouahigouya and my host family on Friday. I went over to my host family's house to have breakfast with them one last time before I left. So, as I came in to the house the grandmother approached me. This woman is missing most of her teeth, and doesn't speak French all that well (as far as I can tell) so mainly I NEVER understand what she is saying and I just nod my head and say "ya soma" (Moore for "it's good") or "Laafi" (Moore for "It goes well"). Anyway, she shook my hand and placed 200 F.CFA into my palm (equivalent of about .50 cents). I was so shocked, because I know she doesn't work, and I didn't understand why she was giving it to me. I told her thank you and walked into the house to ask my mom about this gift...why? What was the significance? For people that have so little, it makes me uncomfortable to accept monetary gifts...no matter how small. So, my mom told me that it is customary when a grandchild goes o a long trip that the grandmother gives that child a little money to buy bread and some water. Honestly, I almost cried. It seems so insignificant, but at that moment I truly felt accepted by them. They have helped me so much by showing me around, telling me when I make faux pauxs, helping me navigate the marche, buy things, etc. Never once have they been frustrated or dissapointed. They have simply been there...and I can't imagine an America family showing that same hospitality.

It sounds so cliche, but it seems to me that it is the people that have the least that give the most...something I am learning a lot about here. I don't know...just a little food for thought.

So, tomorrow is my appointment with the Burkinabe dentist. Hopefully, all is well and I will ship off to my site on Tuesday. Stay tuned!

Thanks for continuing to read. I don't think I will get to post for a while as I transition into living in the middle of nowhere, a good 35 miles away from internet/electricity/etc. Stay tuned though!