Don't Say It!!

“Don’t say it!”

Week eight in Burkina Faso; I hate acknowledging people who remind me that there is less than two weeks left . . . only four days in Boura. I can’t believe how far I will travel to go home; I can’t believe how at home I feel here.

Things are still fantastic – we couldn’t ask for more in terms of an experience – thought week seven and eight also proved to be weirder than before. We had more time to ourselves this week, which was needed to catch up with work – both here and school work – but it also led to some extended downtime. Extended down time, as does at home, has upsides and downsides. The downside is that I realized I am a person who constantly needs to be distracted, though I am definitely easily distracted. This week saw me left to my own thoughts a little more, which again, as you can imagine, can be dangerous. Not for the first time, but definitely more, I got that twisty knot of home sickness in my stomach; 3 close friends at home had birthdays, a friend whose been in Ireland was home visiting . . . its been hotter here, testing my limits, we had a difficult money talk with someone and we’ve struggled with work a little again.

Because of the extra time and lack of distractions (namely the absence of Casmir, Phinney and Ezza my brats in Leo) everything, annoyingly, has been delved into that much deeper. . . . Considering these things, however, led to Kristina and I having a very positive conversation about whether this summer has been a challenge or not.

We were for a long while proud of ourselves; one assumes that moving from a very privileged life to a village in Africa is a challenge logistically, physically, mentally, spiritually. The fact has been, however, that there hasn’t been a disheartening moment, which really screwed us up. The word challenge insinuates a struggle, a tough situation, a bit of chaos. Maybe / I know I have been making a more conscious effort to not let things bother me: be easy going and glass half full. Has that attitude given me a fake sense of success? Or worse, has it led to me missing out on lessons?

At the end of it, I decided that it isn’t that I haven’t been challenged – it was my concept of a challenge that I needed to rework. I haven’t been shocked – physically, mentally, spiritually – by culture at any point in time. I have challenged myself to learn as much of a new language as I could, to integrate despite not knowing always how to communicate. Neither has been hard on the heart, only hard on the head at moments. Because I haven’t had to concentrate on dealing with things that really bring me down, I have been able to focus on other lessons, really delving deep into things that are different, even frustrating, on a rational level rather than an emotional reactive level.

Anyhow, as those of you can tell from looking at the pictures I managed to post (and as I said, there are hundreds more to come. . . the count is at 2200 pictures in Burkina Faso as of now; my computer and camera are amazing gadgets), the landscape it beautiful here. This is definitely one of the most prosperous parts of the country; the rain is a bit more consistent (though is never guaranteed) and there was a barrage built to aid in irrigating crops giving farming in the area a leg up. However, the success here is relative to the rest of the country; they still turn over the land using an ox and plow, tilling it and planting themselves. All underutilized land seems to be used - the school yard, what looks like our front yard – regardless of trees that intrude, or ownership (which, like the random animals running around, seems to just be known). The soil still has grass and weeds and their roots making me wonder how the little seeds will prosper with the competition. There are pesticides, herbicides and fertilizers all over the place, the market will have half a dozen vendors every week with various options, but they are not only expensive for the farmers here, they can be dangerous. Men spray themselves, with the chemical strapped on their back with a hand held hose coming from the carrier. Some will wear a face mask, almost none wear gloves or anything more than sandals. It is definitely depressing to think that I am leaving so shortly after things finally have been planted, meaning I miss the excitement.

I hope that everyone I miss right now is brilliant and good and righteous . . . as I have said before, don't hesitate in droppin me a line with alllllll of your news from the summer so that I can get a head start on catching up with you all in August.

Pictures . . . finally!!!

I must say, you crew are a terribly patient crew to check my blog despite its randomness . . . I know, there is a lot of reading for today and I apoligize and thank you all for staying interested. I continue to have a wonderful time and after 5 hours at the internet cafe in town here, I have finally managed to get a few up onto Kodak Gallery.

They are by no means the best of the bunch = and there are a bunch, but they shoudl give you a good image of how great this place is.

Hope all is well at home!!!

http://www.kodakgallery.com/BrowsePhotos.jsp?&collid=59805592808.274072400208.1184348734506&page=1&sort_order=0&navfolderid=0&folderid=0&ownerid=0

The Tea Master

I am sorry friends, so very sorry; between a week of the phone line not working at the orphanage and 3 or 4 days of overcast and rain (thank God) which meant that the solar panel wasn’t able to power our house, I haven’t said hello in a while. Things are wonderful here in Boura, Burkina Faso; as I said, it has rained a few times this week which is good, because the rains haven’t been reliable this year. The planting should be done by the middle of June, but things are just going into the ground now . . . definitely not ideal. But people are optimistic and hope that August will prove to be a rainy month.

We had a spectacular Canada Day, though one full of some humbling lessons. Basically we invited people to come and enjoy our Fete du Canada with us on July 1, and were shocked when nearly 200 showed up. Thanks to the help of a lot of wonderful friends, it went well with three legged and wheel barrel races and of course the classic clothes relay race where kids had to put on Canadian winter clothing that we scrounged up. Our help was thanked with hotdogs, crepes, potato salad, coke and peanut butter cookies. Since then, Canada and PEI pins and flags can be seen everywhere around town.

So I really have not given you folks a picture of what it is like here . . . Don’t worry, when I get back there are already well over a thousand photos I will be excited to share, it’s just that internet access hasn’t been reliable enough to get up and share. In the meantime let’s see if I can even begin to articulate what living in Burkina Faso is like:

The country is about the size of Newfoundland, only instead of 500,000 people there is 13 million, while still remaining largely rural. This gives you an idea of how frequent villages actually are . . . no more than 5-8 km a part. People race around the red dirt roads in motorbikes, bicycles and in donkey pulled carts if they aren’t walking. Almost all of them seem to be balancing something, be it a huge metal bowl full of water from the well on their head, a child strapped to the back or a huge board strapped onto a bike.

There are animals everywhere, roosters, goats, hens, pigs, donkeys and cows, in the cities and in the villages, all roaming free, somehow belonging to someone. Their calls can be heard throughout the day and night, reminding me a lot of my grandparent’s farm in Freetown.

Houses are pretty predominantly made out of a mud and concrete brick, most in the cities having aluminum sheets for roofs and most in the villages having straw roofs. The aluminum sheets rattle and shake like mad in the wind and rain, but I love how it means that everyone just stops trying to talk and goes about their work in silence, just enjoying the company and helping hand. A lot of the homes are actually 3 or 4 huts around a courtyard that serves as the living room and kitchen. The shelters are really just that – shelters to protect belongings or sleep in. One doesn’t do a whole lot else inside.

There are always bright colours around – the fabrics that men women and children wear here always make me happy. Blues, oranges, greens, reds and yellows on the fabrics that make up men’s shirts, women’s dresses and the amazing sheets of fabric that we wrap around our waist as a skirt, but also serves as a towel, bed sheet, laundry bag, everything!

Before it rains, it clouds over and typically becomes quite windy. At this point I will usually find some kids to do a “danse du pluie” with. When it does finally begin to rain, town shuts down, people sit in their homes, take care of some inevitable leaks and relax because they know there will a lot of work to do in the fields after the rain. Those around the BHM complex usually will enjoy laughing at the two stupid Canadians that like to run around and cool off in the rain.

Between 12 and 3 when the sun is really hot, you can usually find yourself sitting down with friends under some odd tree. I have taken to tea making, an art that is moving south from the northern Muslim countries of Africa. It is easily one of my favorite things here. Kristina and I invested in all of the supplies to bring to Boura – a wire furnace for the charcoal (300CFA) 2 metal teapots (700 CFA each) and 4 shot glasses (150 CFA each) – yes that’s tea in shot glasses. Essentially it is this massively time consuming art to make a pot of very condensed and sugar saturated green tea. You first boil about a cup of water, add almost a full shot glass of tea leaves, boil again, mix back and forth between a cup to cool it off before putting the brewed tea in the other tea pot. Then you add like a quarter cup of sugar and mix it by pouring the tea into a cup and then back into the teapot several dozen times, making it as foamy as you can. You put some of the foam into each of the shot glasses and then put the tea back on the furnace to heat up one last time before serving. It is a very intensive job, demanding a lot of concentration and patient friends. The thing I have loved about the art of this activity, besides the concept of using the sharing of something so simple as an excuse to sit around and talk for a solid hour, is that the person making the tea is generally quiet, laughing at jokes and ensuring the tea is perfect for everyone to enjoy. I know, I know you are all thinking – Emily being quiet and concentrating? It is actually a perfect role for me here – when I don’t have something to do, it makes people (and me) feel awkward because of the languages barrier – their conversations move much slower so as to accommodate me. Having the tea to concentrate on allows me to enjoy the company of friends, without forcing them to make and effort and allowing me to just listen.

Reading this over, I know full well I don’t even begin to give you a picture of life here. Maybe it’s because I will walk up the lane every now and then, take in this surreal scene of green grass and blue skies, wave at a friend and not be able to grasp where I am myself.

Mid Point Email . . . two and a half weeks late!

Now this email was actually due for school . . . over two and a half weeks ago, however, due to wonky internet access and such, we didn’t get it in until just today. Kristina and I talked about it and thought that it may be interesting to some of you to have a read, get an idea of the logistical struggles of what we’re doing and what we’re responding to in terms of Renaissance College requirements

Mid Point Email – Emily and Kristina in Burkina Faso

Scene One – Ouagadougou.
We walk off the airplane and the heat hits us like a tonne of bricks. It is 7:30 at night, pitch black and still 35+ degrees Celsius. We are crammed into a bus and taken to a terminal. There were people everywhere, and we had no clue whether we were coming or going; all we could think about was the heat. We were the last two to go through customs, thus making it easy to pick us out as the two young Canadian girls that our driver was waiting for. He shooed us through the crowds of people, all offering in French and broken English to take our bags, drive us where we needed to go or telling us they would guide us, to meet Tatiana, the secretary for Bridges of Hope who would take care of us for the next several days. The car ride was surreal. Tatiana and our driver were in the front speaking a language we did not understand, occasionally pointing out something to us in French. We drove down endless unpaved streets, bypassing bicycles and motorcycles and people everywhere. There was no dividing line on the street, and there did not seem to be a need for one; we were the only car on the road, therefore we had priority as we dodged potholes. Along the streets were 3 walled shops, selling everything and nothing particular, in buildings that were no more than 10 feet square and with individual fluorescent lights illuminated the crudely stenciled signs.

Ouagadougou, as is the pronunciation of its name, was overwhelming. Excitement was the most prevalent feeling, but there was a nagging awkwardness; we had no clue what was going on, but we were more than happy to go along with it. Our home at the Bridges of Hope house in Ouagadougou had all of the amenities needed to ease our adjustment: air conditioning, running water, stove, fridge. From day one, we had someone cooking for us, a concept we were slightly uncomfortable with, but a concept we were even more uncomfortable to ask about.
Isolation summed up Ouagadougou for us. Big walls surrounded the BHM house, and when we did leave those walls, three times over five days, we were whisked around in a vehicle to places like the American Recreation Center and Ouagadougou 2000 – the rich end of town. We were not particularly concerned, though we were a bit confused, as we understood that there was a huge discrepancy between what we were seeing and what the city actually was. This isolation was also visible in our interactions with the organization; we did not see our program until Saturday – 3 days after arriving. We quickly identified a big problem, namely that for a big chunk of the internship we would be separate. That this was a huge problem was actually a good thing, as it meant that the fear of being apart was enough to drive us to insist that this change. The fact that our assertion was well received, ultimately gave us the confidence to take a very proactive role in the construction of a tailored internship.

Scene Two – Leo
An empty house far away from town. A translator and guide who frequently ran into town and left us. And dehydration. Two days in Leo was hard to handle to say the least.

Unlike Ouagadougou, Leo was beautiful and green, but five isolated days in Ouagadougou left us in need of more than just greenery and each other. The first night saw Emily cry and Kristina on the verge of tears. We were not prepared for how isolated we felt and were seriously concerned for the first time about the rest of the summer. It could not keep going like this.

Scene Three – Boura
Talk about rebound. Boura was beautiful and green and right from the start we were meeting friendly, genuine and welcoming people. Throw in a good rain and an orphanage full of beautiful babies and we were ready to stay in Boura for the rest of time. Boura was the start of everything: we started meeting people we would see again, we started doing work, and we started to feel truly at home. In many ways, it wasn’t difficult: Boura greatly resembled PEI, with the red dirt, green everywhere, and the ‘barrage’: a dam holding in a huge pond of water, used to flood and irrigate fields.

It was almost entirely the people we met that made Boura feel like home. Pascaline, our translator, came out of her hard shell, to become a very close friend, and an incredible asset to our work and our leisure. The people with BHM were open and friendly, making every effort to help us understand what we could do to help them. Though we soon discovered that this wasn’t all that clear to them, and therefore difficult to explain to us, it was enough that we felt we could work something out that would be an asset to them.
More frustrations hit with our first visit to BHM’s private school. SDK school is currently composed of two grade one classes, of about 50 students each. From our very surface observations, we could see that the school was clearly flourishing, however after meeting with the teachers, we were left worried that our questions were inadequate, insufficient, incomprehensible, and possibly offensive. This was a great concern, and we spent a day trying to rework our questions to be able to get answers that would be of use to us and to BHM. A meeting with the parents of students at SDK was the instantaneous turning point in our view of our work. Over sixty parents showed up to meet and speak with us, voicing very real concerns about education, but also very real solutions and suggestions. While there were issues, they could see ways these could be resolved, provided that someone had the time to put it in place. We became truly interested in our work, and this increased as we visited the public school and met with the school inspector of the region. We loved it, and were not keen to leave it to do work with NGO’s.
While the work which had been initially outlined for with NGO’s had seemed interesting, it became clear that there was little real benefit that could come from this. We did not have the qualifications to do much work of use to them, and saw that our 4 day visits, where we were supposed to teach them about organizational structure and environment, was unsustainable. Plus, we wanted to stay in Boura.
We devised a plan. After talking with Jonas, the director of BHM’s social work, we drew up a schedule that would have us spending the remainder of the summer, after a brief two weeks in Leo (which we despised on principle of our bad first impression), in our beloved Boura. We proposed taking the Thursday Kid’s club that already existed and making it a summer literacy and youth leadership program that would run three days a week. Jonas really liked the idea but preferred that we work with the Thursday Kids Club, but focus on starting a club for girls who were otherwise not reached by BHM. We jumped on the idea, and drew up a detailed schedule outlining our plans to propose to BHM. Initially, the idea was poorly received. There was concern that we would not see enough of the country, that we would offend by not visiting the NGOs, and that we would quickly become bored with Boura. Our initial experience in Ouaga, asserting ourselves and our needs within our program to BHM helped us to not back down, and to really pull for what we both knew we needed the summer to be. Our insistence that we would benefit more from the relationships built in one place than from traveling and seeing sights was what tipped the balance in our favour: the stubbornness neither of us expected in the face of near strangers allowed us to truly shape our experiences here.

Scene 4 – Leo, take two
An English ambulance, standard, with the wheel on the right side of the vehicle, was our transport back to Leo, the place we loathed to return to. The ambulance (the drive in which was actually an experience all on its own, involving a carsick child, two live chickens, and concerns of diarrheic explosions) dropped us off at our house and left. Pascaline left soon afterwards, leaving us stuck in a house with nothing to do but mope about the patheticness of our situation. However, by the next day, things were looking up. We started spending large chunks of the days at Pascaline’s family’s house, playing with three kids and attempting conversations and tea-making with those our age. While there were significant organizational frustrations, the Zopoula family was what made our second Leo experience one a little hard to leave behind.

Despite the fact that we wanted to spend our summer in Boura, there was a need for us to visit Leo: we had some schools to visit in the city, and also were convinced of a need to at least show our faces at the NGOs there, so as not to offend. The school visits were certainly valuable, though slightly repetitive, however the visits with NGOs were a mess. We hated showing up, usually unannounced, and asking people to essentially entertain us for half a day. Furthermore, we were breaking to them the news that this was truly only for our benefit, that we had no qualifications to train them in anything, and little time to spend with them. To their credit, the NGOs were generally understanding, if disappointed, and we personally benefited a lot from seeing the different sorts of work, leadership, problem solving, and citizenship in action.
Leo was also the setting of our first (and only to date) moment of frustration with one another. An interesting thing about this trip is the reversal of leadership roles it forced in us both. While Emily tends to be a vocal leader, taking charge, making decisions, and asking tough questions, Kristina is quieter, and inclined towards observation and reflection. However we have both proven to be adaptable, to more than just heat; language has forced a near reversal of roles between the two of us. Kristina’s knowledge of French have required her to become Emily’s mouth, as well as her own, while Emily’s lack of French has forced her to take on a more observant and analytical role. This is sometimes difficult: Emily is not able to carry forth the decisions she wants to make, and Kristina finds the pushing of ideas concerning. This came to a head over a minor question of how to deal with the organizational frustrations we were experiencing with BHM. We both saw it had to be dealt with, but were unable to act on it, symptomatic of our non-articulation of the role reversal we were experiencing.
There are, as always, exceptions: Emily is still loud with kids, and Kristina will use translation as an opportunity to allow more time for reflection. We are learning to take on new roles, but still finding ways to make use of our more instinctive talents.

Epilogue – Reflection
Writing this reflection together was an obvious choice. We are having an amazing time together, and cannot imagine this internship with any other person. Most of the town considers us to be the same person anyhow, a stereotype we sometimes enjoy exploiting. Working together has not isolated us from the community as much as we had feared, but has rather been a perfect way to balance our two personalities in interactions with others, allowing for significant integration into the community: dancing, singing, attending church, making tea, learning Sissala, and having tough conversations. We are challenged, and we are able to challenge others. It is truly panning out to be a near perfect experience, the most complete Renaissance College internship we could have ever imagined, complete with leadership, culture, and individual challenges.