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.

Apologies

Sorry friends!
I came to Leo hoping that I could spend some extensive time at the internet cafe however the internet has been down for the past week so I havent had the chance to share much. In good news, our project plan was passed and we are back in Bourra tomorrow for the next month. In other good news I have found myself more husbands, 2 under the age of 10, become one heck of a dancer and have discovered a talent for chicken whispering. Confused? Sorry, some of these stories will have to wait for home!

In the meantime, I hope that the following journal excerpt engages some of you all to understand why coming to Africa was so important to me. It makes me happy to know that there are things that we can do at home to make life better for people around the world. I am of the opinion that it is a responsibility to care for you neighbor, whether they be your friend who is ill at home, or the child who is not in school in Burkina Faso. Don't get me wrong, not everyone can or will care about everything. . . gah I am now doing that waffly - indecisive - not - really -making- any - statement thing that I so like to do . . . I just hope that this blog helps everyone to recognize the importance of foreign aid and international development. Even moreso, I hope it is convincing because its true, not because its preachy which I know I can do . . . haha enjoy.

June 16, 2007
I went to sleep frustrated last night for the first time. The crazy thing is that I was not frustrated by the realities here, rather by some ridiculous internal struggle with leadership and writing. When I woke up this morning, I felt myself needing to ask the question, “am I becoming desensitized by the realities?” How could I be as angry at myself for something so minour, when there is so many other things that could, and arguably shoud, keep me awake at night?

Before coming, my parents expressed to me that they were scared that my idealism and optimism would take a big hit during my time in Burkina Faso; considering that those characteristics are definitely defining for me, it could have been a relevant fear. At the time I was offended that they assumed me to be so starry eyed that I was unable to see reality too. With time, I came to scoff at it because it seemed so ironic to suggest that optimism (and the chance of losing it) could be the something that holds me back.

Now, being here for 24 days, I feel more optimistic that I did before coming. In Canada, poverty is really this overwhelming, mysterious shadow lurking in other parts of the world. We know that we don’t like it, and we know that we never want to experience it, but we really don’t seem to think we can do anything about it. We justify its existence by saying that maybe it’s just a form of population control, or that maybe the people are tougher than us, and are truly happy despite it all. Mostly, we say stuff like we can’t afford to help, nothing we can do will help, and they must ultimately help themselves. I’m excited to have this very proud opportunity to let ya’ll know . . . none of it is absolutely true! Poverty is not a form of population control, it is a symptom of injustices and inequalities. There are most definitely happy people, but allowing that fact to let us sleep better at night diminishes the unfair struggles they face regularly. Better yet, the world CAN afford to help, and that which we can afford WILL help and the people here. Most importantly, these people must help themselves, but ultimately there must be external assistance. Just as no individual is a rock, no country is even remotely independent.

These few facts are so full of hope and opportunity it isn’t even funny. Now if I was a glass half empty type of person, I would dwell on the fact that we have screwed up in the past, doing nothing or worse. However, armed with that never failing confidence that my parents were so wary of me losing, I know that the situations that exist here are CHANGEABLE. There is no need for any magic formula, the stars had been aligned for years and will be for many more years. All that is needed to make life better for millions of people is some empathy that translates into action and positive conditions here. In a conversation with Nathan, a friend here, he made the brilliant point that Burkina Faso doesn’t have much for natural resources, when so many other African countries do; what they do have is peace.

This point doesn’t only illustrate what I was trying to say (for those who may have missed it, I wanted to say that investment in a country like this will work because the people are ready and willing), but it also forced me to step back and look at the concepts of peace and natural resources differently. I had never thought of Peace as being something of a resource or as an opportunity. I thought of peace as being the way the world should be. This is definitely the idealist in me shining through. After the conversation, I realize how precious peace and stability is in this world, a wake of call to say the least.

Kristinas Thoughts

Hey everyone

So KDawg and I just got into Leo today, our means of transportation was an ambulance. No, dont worry mother, there was no practical need for it to be an ambulance, BHM just needed some stuff and we needed to be dropped off so into the ambulance we got. To make it better, it was an English ambulance, so the wheel was on the ACTUAL wrong side of the road = not the "it doesnt feel right" wrong side when you are in England and it is right. It was just chalked up to another experience.
What follows here is actually thoughts that Kristina has penned, not I. They are far more articulate than anything I could say (our favorite new Emily line is "They were Communist so they like had stuff but life like blew" = there was no context when I said it either) so I got her permission to post them. It basically goes through what our biggest struggle is right now; luckily it still has nothing to do with culture shock, at least not country culture, though it can probably be considered organizational culture shock after years of brainwashing on sustainability from RC and EWB. Anyhow, I`ll be sure to let you know how it pans out.

"Its not that we want to experience the culture: there is no culture. We want to experience a culture. Somehow this is hard to communicate: maybe they aren’t used to it. I don’t want to learn the traditional dances, or about the festival of masks. This is the stuff we use at home as filler. We accentuate it in visiting other places because the differences when we go to visit Alberta or California aren’t significant enough that they are interesting on their own otherwise. So we supplement whatever day-to-day, down-to-earth culture, with the museums and the festivals and the guided tours. Don’t get me wrong: I love that stuff, its interesting, and tells neat stories. But when there is more available, when the living culture is more than enough, more than huge, then that is what I have to go for.
Culture is how people live day-to-day. You don’t get that from museums or festivals or parks. It is the small, meaningless things, like the walk into town for groceries, or the chatting with strangers, or the laughter among friends. You get that from interactions with people. You get that from ongoing, sustained, continuing, simple interactions. This kind of culture isn’t easy. I don’t know how to speak the first languages. I can’t understand the politics. I’m not familiar with the foods. I don’t follow the religion. It’s work. It’s impossible. But I’m up to trying: I don’t want to feel cheated of that opportunity to put in the effort.
I hate that I’ve gotten attached to that idea: it would have been much easier if I hadn’t, if I had stuck with the initial broad project, if this place hadn’t stolen our hearts. Heart and Soul. That’s what Emily said. That we’d put it into whatever project. If it isn’t this one, she’s going to have to re-convince me, which won’t be nearly as easy as it was the first time.
I can completely justify this in what I’m seeing is a neat, logical way. I could begin with the easy one, we are paying for it. However, that isn’t really a fair justification, as we are here for more than that, we are asking for more than that. But there’s justification beyond that. We’re compromising, we’re making things work, we’re bending over backwards to be allowed to contribute. We continually ask what we can do, we are flexible, but we want it to be real. We understand that tourism is different, and that this is what they are seemingly more used to. Maybe that isn’t a fair statement either. But still, it shouldn’t be this hard. We’ve now had to apologize for being difficult, but append that with the statement that though we were sorry, we weren’t going to stop being difficult if we still hold any hope.
Beyond the logical, we just want to. I’ve already said it, Heart and Soul. Not normally one for a home, I’ve gotten attached to settling it, to a routine, so dramatically different from any previous one. I’ve gotten attached to seeing familiar faces, to wondering who will come up the road, to expecting ‘good morning’s from friends, to constant teasing, to awkward attempts at complicated conversations with second languages.
It’s a good thing its on paper: we may have to burn it.

Emily says I should give this context, and she’s right as usual, so here it comes.

Since early on in planning internships, Emily and I have been planning to do different projects while in Burkina Faso. She was to be working with NGO’s, on capacity building programs with them. I was to be working in education (the plan of exactly what changed 6 or 7 times before I left) in speaking with different stakeholders in the education system about the challenges they were seeing, and what might be done to lessen these.
About a month before Emily and I left home, because of some confusion in wording of conversations, we emailed Daniel to clarify that he knew we expected to be together, that though Emily and I were doing separate projects, we needed to come home to the same house each evening. We clarified that this was an expectation that we ourselves held, that our parents held, and that RC wanted (good ol’ RC, always stepping in where we need them to) for safety concerns. The response was slightly confusing: we were told that of course we would be together, but also that we would be fine if we were apart, that it had been done before by individuals our age and that they had managed fine and that we need not worry about being separated. So, though it seemed like a slight backtrack, we assumed that it could be taken care of. No worries.
As we arrived in Ouaga, we were presented with two separate schedules that had been drawn up for us: Emily was to spend a lot of time in Leo (where most of the NGO’s were based), and I most of the time in Boura (the center of the school district). They said that they had heard the week before that we were actually supposed to be together, and that they were still unsure how to make this work out. Easy enough, we decided to start together on most of my schedule and compact Emily’s a bit to do together later in the summer. It was reiterated several times that the schedule was not written in stone, and would be as flexible as we needed it to be.
So, its now week 3, and Emily and I have been visiting schools in Boura and generally settling in. (see previous postings if you aren’t convinced that we love it here).
Ah, I’d better explain why we love it here. We are able to be fairly independent, we are doing interesting work, and we are getting to talk with a lot of people. All of this was non-existant in both Leo and Ouaga. Ouaga is a giant city, having the benefits of some ‘from home’ ammeneties, but mostly the problems of urban centers. We were isolated, cut off, and generally stuck on our own, unable to be independent or meet with people, unable to settle in: we would always be ‘new’ in Ouaga, because we would invariably always see people to whom we were new. This means that both we are unable to feel at home and non-new ourselves, and, as importantly, that we are unable to get beyond very basic, surface conversations with anyone. Leo presents challenges of another kind. Where we stay in Leo is far from town, and we have to rely on someone to drive us to and from anyplace we want to go. As well, Pascaline (our translator) grew up there, and so has family and friends to visit, which is good for her, but necessarily leaves us even more isolated. We’ve become quite attached to the independence we’ve been able to assume in Boura, and to the relationships forged because of this, and aren’t anxious to give it up.
Not wanting to leave Boura is one reason we are trying to modify our schedule, though there are others. Emily’s project, as explained here, has turned into more of a ‘sightseeing’ expedition: go see what these NGO’s are doing, and be amazed by what they accomplish. Which means that we ourselves are accomplishing nothing, except being foreigners (in French, they use the same word for this and ‘stranger’, which more aptly describes our predicament) coming in to inspect, supervise, and gawk. We don’t want to encourage any sense of us being there to ‘check up’ on them and their work: we are not managers, we have no expertise, and we can’t understand an organization from a few translated meetings. We don’t see what BoH can possibly gain from this (we both see a lot to lose, in perpetuating stereotypes), and are mystified as to why they would have us do this.
Thirdly, from what we have seen in the schools and the very real challenges they face (mostly in students not going to school or not going very far in school), and ongoing projects within BoH to assist with these challenges, we see real opportunity to put in some of the grunt work needed to expand on these to increase their contributions to the community. On encouragement from one of the people here, and from Daniel in Canada, we’ve dreamt up (and apparently become quite attached to) a project which would help children who aren’t going to school to further their learning and to show them opportunities available to them in their community. Emily and I drew up a plan that would have us finish the work with the schools before they are out for the summer in July, and do the report on them as planned, and use shortened versions of Emily’s NGO visits to understand resources available in the community to individuals. From there, we would devote all of July to expanding on a club for children, in running programming and testing how its impact can be furthered. Both wary of short-term projects, the idea of this would be as a test-run, or proof that such a concept can (or cannot) work with positive impact in the community, with the idea that BoH would then take on the resulting group as a permanent project.
We are quite thrilled with this project and it’s potential. We would get to stay in Boura, build significant relationships with a group of youth and build leadership (how RC) and self-confidence ideas in them. We would be starting a project which would have long-term impact, long-term duration, and a lot of support from the Canadian head (which is where (unfortunately) all funding comes from at this time) (they’re working on changing that). It’s enormous.
And it’s recognized as such. Except that so far, people in charge of us (our schedule) aren’t seeing on the same page as us. They are trying to take Emily and I’s two very different schedules and cram everything into one common schedule. Life doesn’t work that way, or at least it doesn’t work well that way. We had two separate things: now we are being asked to do two things at once. We could do it, but not well. Never mind that one of the projects is ineffective on its own, it would cramp the other enough that both end up being ineffective. It is hard to be enthusiastic about. On top of that, it seems that, they are quite attached to the idea of us visiting as much of the country as possible, in as short amount of time as possible. They’ve got us travelling all over the place (a very expensive prospect, and not an effective use of time), spending a few days in Bobo-Diasolou doing tourist-y stuff, a few days visiting a small village in the north, and a lot of visits to Ouagadougou, where we are apparently supposed to visit the American Recreation Center (it has a pool and movies) and feel ‘at home’. Its so hard to explain that we aren’t here to feel ‘at home’, but that we are quite content to feel ‘at home in Boura.’
So, we have a final chance to convince BoH on either Thursday or Friday: wish us luck, wish us tears if that will help convince them, wish us good health until then, and wish us … I have no idea. Just make it happen, I’m not sure if we’re ready for alternatives."

“The Honeymoon Ends”

Between insects and the Burkinabae inability to grasp the concept of rugby, I have discovered that Boura, Burkina Faso is in fact, not perfect; however, it is still bloody close.

I was tested the other night, and I failed miserably. Thus far I have been pleasantly surprised by the lack of a challenge the bugs of the nation have given me; the other night, that all changed. After a great rain, there were many bugs out the other day, none scary, just annoying, so Kristina and I decided to retreat to our bed, under the mosquito net, to do work before tucking in for the night. Around 2am, I woke to an itch which I scratched. Then something tickled again. Groggily I swatted at my leg, when I realized I was swatting something pretty big. Heart beating, due to my very irrational but prevalent fear of bugs, I sat bolt upright, and grabbed for the flashlight in time to see the huge spider that has been my terrified fascination from a far for the past week or so. It is about the size of 3 fingers and it moves really fast, scaling walls up and down easily. Apparently, it does battles with scorpions and wins. Anyhow, I see it scuttle across the bed, I squeal a little and the flashlight burns out. Kristina wakes up, realizing pretty quickly what is up and I frantically reach for the cell phone, as she tries to make the flashlight work. Her conscious and calm presence, and the evil thing crawling over my leg once more, gives me liberty to end the episode appropriately, by jumping up and standing on the bed with the cell phone light, hunched over because of the mosquito net. We think we see it crawl out from the mosquito net, and despite the heat I cocoon myself into my sheet.

Despite evil bugs, and football with the rugby ball, this places hasn’t ceased in its wonderfulness (I mean, look at the words I’m using – I’m running out of ways to describe it all). We had a successful week, with a series of interviews with the teachers, students and headmaster of Boura Public school (which is the equivalent of grades 1-6) and with the teachers, students and parents of Boura Private School SDK (run by Bridges of Hope with 102 first grade students). It has definitely been fascinating, though eye opening. There are definite limitations that face teachers, but after observing classes it is clear that the students in school are getting a spectacular education. However, it has become clear that there are actually more students not in school than are, due to a lack of room. We are continually made aware of the fact that it is the girls who will often not make it to school, for a series of traditional reasons that most commonly includes the fact that an educated girl will leave home and leave her family without a dowry, but also includes the young girl’s household responsibilities. From what Kristina and I can tell, most reasons that parents would hesitate sending their children (boy or girl) to school is waning; this generation seems to really value education, but school fees (which at Boura Public is about $4 a child) are too much and there is often simply not enough room for those students.

Something that I had been very wary of before coming was the concept of teaching a colonial language in schools. Burkina Faso has one of the lowest (if I recall correctly, it may be the lowest) literacy rates in the world. Previous to coming, I was convinced that was because school was taught in French, the colonial language, where most of the population speaks a series of indigenous languages. While this is indeed a prominent reason for low literacy rates, I have come to recognize that it may be completely necessary. With so many languages in one country – there are several in this small community – a common language like French for all is really important. Besides, while there is indeed an alphabet for these languages, very little is actually written to be read making that kind of literacy difficult. There is a group of community leaders in Boura who are just now working on translating certain books in the Old Testament to Sissali.

Next week we are back to Leo, this time for about 10 days. The idea will be for us to visit the Leo School, as well a several NGOs. Bridges of Hope wants us to get a better idea of what each of those NGOs do, so that they can better understand how they can help. Then we will be back in Boura. I will have access to an internet café there, so here’s to hoping I get some pictures up soon!

In the meantime, some of the lists KDawg and I made up to pass the time :)

Talents I have developed in Africa

o Speaking French – kinda
o Donkey Riding – kinda
o Burkinabae Dancing
o Canadian Dancing – kinda
o Playing the Spoons – kinda
o Eating without utensils
o Walking with stuff balanced on my head – really!
o Drinking lots of water
o Putting on sunscreen
o Staring down bugs / not touching the floor after dark
o Imitating Animals
o Converting thousands of CFAs to a couple Cnd Dollars
o Playing football with a rugby ball
o Saying football when we mean soccer
o Feeding/Bathing/Entertaining babies
o Owning a cel phone?!? This comes slooooowwwwly.
o Having private conversations across huge crowds
o Wearing pieces of cloth for skirts and frequently adjusting them without offending
o Rain Dances
o Communicating without talking (though, it is a constant struggle)
o “Helping”
o Dancing in public places
o Making up random songs
o Conjugation of irregular French verbs (aka ALL VERBS)
o Laughing at ourselves
o Laughing on command (thanks to Kdawg’s new game)
o Singing on command
o Sleeping without a fan
o Doing our laundry
o Having translated conversations
o Tucking in the bed net
o Using a donkey instead of a watch
o Dying African Dirt Shirts


Different kinds of weather in Africa
o The cool sun, usually accompanied by a breeze
o The sun that doesn’t stay out for long, and is followed by rain
o The burning sun, that is just ‘hard’ – not necessarily hot
o The non-existent sun that is as humid as all get-out
o The rain that falls like hail
o A slightly cloudy night sky, where the moon reflects off of the clouds and lights up the night naturally
o The red wind in Ouagadougou (dust storm)
o The sun that leaves the shade as a place relief
o The type of heat that you don’t notice until your knees are sweating and you realize that you absolutely reek
o The 20 minutes violent sun shower
o The cloudy days that indicate the potential for rain . . . within the next week
o The clearest night sky, full of more stars that you can possibly imagine (particularly perfect for making up constellations)
o The rain!!!!!

“Don’t drink the local water, drink the local beer”

So it has been entirely too long since I last shared with you all, and I apologize for it. I am journalling lots, and have so much I would love to share with you all, its just that internet access is wonky, and I don’t want to overload you with a whole lot of nothingness so I will update you with my most recent thoughts and experiences. I tried to include pictures - heaven knows I have sooooo many to share with you, but it's just not goin to work. I hope you forgive me friends!

While emotions had inevitably been up and down, I am so happy to currently be in Boura, Burkina Faso. A village of about 30,000, it is actually very “small” in that it is not at all densely populated (it’s actually more like 10 villages feeding into this bigger villiage). It is stunningly beautiful and I fear too romantic for an inexperienced writer such as myself to begin to articulate.

The moment that I begin forming personal relationships with the people is the moment that I become confident that I can survive someplace. Such was the case here. Not being fluent in French has been a real struggle, but odd people will try in English and I in French, with Pascelene our guide and translator and Kristina helping me with the rest. Until now – and probably still – I have felt the language barrier preventing me from really participating in the culture, definitely from learning from it – and I have to try extra hard to show enthusiasm for things, put extra effort into my French and be extra sympathetic for not knowing French to encourage people to share with me, so they don’t think that I think I’m superior. I don’t really know that to be a problem – don’t get me wrong – but here where we are definitely the only white people in an isolated town, I am constantly conscious of the fact that being white means that I come with affluence. I really don’t want that affluence to represent progress and thus superiority.

Something we are constantly reminding ourselves are is that we are not always being treated as “white people” but as guests; it just so happens that being white is a dead give-away that we are guests. I was raised in such a way, however, that I like to be the one hosting people, making people feel at home and I’m not entirely sure as to how to react as the one being hosted. Moreover, I want to return the favours, but that’s so bloody hard to do genuinely, relatively

speaking. I mean, someone who shares as much as they can possibly spare makes it far less meaningful for me to share a lot of anything, because I can get more.

Anyhow, yesterday morning, Kristina and I spent the morning with Jonas and Joshua, sharing in the wonderful sport of rugby, the difference between our homes, education, careers, etc. It was clear that there was a bit of jealousy at times. It is times like that when I am not only massively grateful for the material goods I have, but the opportunity I have.

I’m on this constant high at the moment, which suffers from a minour nagging doubt that says I’m still on the honeymoon, and what is romantic and wonderful here will soon be marred by reality. Conscious of this, I am asking myself, what is reality? The reality definitely includes the fact that the beauty of this place is simply indescribable – I can only hope that my pictures and memories will be able to always make this place as vivid in my mind as the greens, blues and oranges I’m seeing. The dirt is red like home and the greens are fresh, lush, healthy and of many shades. The sun is far less harsh than in Ouaga, but just as bright, accentuating the colorus. Its undisturbed and natural here, yet not easy to agitate and available for enjoyment and exploration. Throw in the constant sounds: children, the wind in the trees, women singing praises off key, roosters, goats and my favorite, donkey’s crying on the hour – and there is something to constantly leave me in awe and make me confident that this is indeed paridise.

But then, we go on a tour of a hospital. Initially I am impressed, there are few sick people and facilities are satisfiable. But then they bring to the maturnity ward; it’s not that they say anything bad, or that anyone is ill there, but I am reminded of that as a Csection baby myself, I very well may have not survived. Then we talked to one of our colleagues at Bridges of Hope who is holding a new baby for the orphanage, which as it turns out is her neice – the mother (her sister in law) – died yesterday. We hear of AIDS, malnutrition and suicide. I hear that while there are 200 students in school, there are more not in school, many being young girls. Yet I find myself struggling to see any of it – the “reality” I fear is case by case to me at this point.

We walked through the market yesterday, rows of unstable stalls with straw on the top, goods both manufactured in China and here spread out on the grown everywheres. Dozens – hundreds of peopleare milling around, buying everything they will need for the week, because it is market day and there won’t be a need to buy throughout the week. Huge trucks come from Ghana (the border is only 5km away) and Leo with hundreds of people coming to enjoy and sell their goods. Donkey carts, bikes, motorbikes are everywhere. And as I walk through, my thoughts are not how unclean it is, or the looks I am getting or how primitive I may have thought it to be while at home in Canada, rather how wonderful it is, how it is a beauty in a league of it’s own.

Solidarity is a word constantly thrown out here . . . . a word I am magnificently jealous of. Kristina has reminded me to not take forgranted my communities at home but as we sat in a mud hut that I couldn’t stand straight in, about 9X9 feet and drink some sort of locally brewed cider or beer out of gords I feel really at home. Exiting we walked into a “bar” – or into the “terrace” in the back, sitting on workbenches with a table (also a workbench) moved to allow us to set our drinks on it. We laugh and say hello to most who walk by, old and young, using a bathroom in a corner with a short wall around it . . . at this point in time, I just feel like I can fit in despite sticking out like a sore thumb.

May 29, 2007; “How I nearly violated many young Burkinabes. . .”

Wow, so much has happened now in just a couple short days! Sunday morning, Kristina and I were up early for church. We had been warned before hand that this, the Pentecost, would be a very long service, and both of us knew that that meant it could get very hot, so we came prepared with lots of water.

Tatiana sang in the choir, so we found ourselves a seat and watched as the church filled up. From time to time people would extend their hands and say hello. We expected there to be some spectacular music and we were disappointed. To my benefit, they projected the words to the songs onto two walls, so that Kristina and I could join in. People were clearly enthused with Kristina and my effort with not only the French songs, but with the More songs (which I actually felt were easier to keep up with!). People clapped and swayed to the music easily, and as many of you can all imagine, I was quick to join in. It was so exciting to be in a place where so many people were so clearly wanting to be together – you could feel the enthusiasm and the unity. After the first song, “Le Saint Esprit est la” or the Holy Spirit is Here, I found myself so excited to be present that I almost started to cry.

The service was in French with concurrent translation in More; the head pastor would say a phrase and the More pastor would follow up, giving me extra time to translate in my head, or allowing Kristina the time to translate for me. My French is undoubtedly getting better; I find myself able to follow more conversations, and get by in the simpler of conversations. After a lot of singing, everyone seemed to go to their knees. Kristina and I, naturally followed. What ensued was definitely a bit different, both exciting and scarey. A number of people were at the front and the various pastors began to pray upon them. Some of the choir members continued to sing, and the congregation remained on their knees, praying aloud themselves and singing. I too prayed, but to myself, and I was pleased when the pastor later said that some feel the grace of God and fall to their knees and others receive him less dramatically – that neither was better than the other. This continued for about a half hour, with lots of yelling and crying and various noises filling the church.

As this segment of the service concluded, we were about 3 hours in church. Fortunately, what followed was simpler and less intense; first there was a long list of announcements and then new people were asked to stand and introduce themselves; we had been warned of this, and so we did so without too much problem. Finally, ‘witnesses’ or people who had felt God that morning, were invited to come up and talk. I was definitely a bit tired at this point and found it hard to follow. Finally at 12 pm or so, church was concluded, and after sitting since about 8am, Kristina and I got up eager to leave. As we turned, however, a white woman was standing there waiting to greet us enthusiastically. She introduced herself as Dorothy.

Dorothy as it turns out, is the Canadian warden for the Leo area – meaning that just the day before, she had been in the consular to find that two new young girls named Emily and Kristina had registered in Burkina Faso with a Leo address. So, lucky we were when she was in church and heard us introduce ourselves. As it turns out, she was heading back to Leo on Monday – as were we and we managed to get ourselves a free drive!

After church, Kristina and I took it mostly easy. I meant to write, but I just couldn’t concentrate to do so. I definitely cannot wait for next Sunday though. Later in the evening, before supper, we decided we would go for a walk. I took my camera, but as I have said, I have been scared to use it. Outside our house, however, with the kids who have greeted us everytime we left the house, I asked in my horrible French if I could take a picture. This, as I should have known, drew a large crowd of kids, and I had people laughing. Two young boys, about 16 or 17 were walking down the street, and in broken English asked if we wanted in the picture and we agreed.

The brothers, continued to talk to us, and one ironically, was just in Helsinki Finland, and knew quite a bit of English, so we were talking as the kids stood around. Kristina and him started talking a bit of French so I decided to squat and play with the kids who were just looking at us and as I squatted what do I hear but a . . . “riiiippp”. My wonderful quality Stitches capri’s split right in the back. Fortunately, we were right outside of our gate, so I stayed sitting tossing pebbles around with the young ones and hoping that Kristina would wrap up the conversation soon. As she did, I stood up with my back to the gate, front to the group. Then, to my horror, Kristina and I realized the gate was locked. So I squatted again, just to hide it, when my phone rang – it was Dorothy finalizing plans for the next day. When the gate was opened, I moved backwards inside and turned to go inside. But I wasn’t home free yet – two of Abiba’s sisters (our cook) came in an d asked to have a picture taken also – so I took the picture so I wouldn’t have to move and finally got to run inside, Kristina laughing behind me. That is how I nearly violated many young ones with my big, white, bum

Salut

Sorry all =

Just wanted to let you know that I am living it up wonderfully in BEAUTIFUL Leo, Burkina Faso and really doin wonderful.

I haven't been able to make my USB key with entries to work so this is just a breif note saying hi hi hi and there is lots to come so stay in touch!!!

Much love

Em

Whoa =)

HERE!
I am in Burkina Faso. Like, that’s in Africa.

As our luxurious plane prepared to land, I searched frantically out the window to see lights; there were low hanging clouds obstructing my view and I was excited as we the run way came into view. Kristina and I were seated 2 people apart, and we exchanged looks that were full of excitement, anticipation, fear, and uncertainty – together, I’m sure we just looked overwhelmed.

As we exited the plane, the heat hit us like a tonne of bricks. . . The pilot had told us that it was about 97 degrees F, but I found myself desperately hoping that the heat was coming from the huge plane engines I was passing. It wasn’t – it was 100% real. And it was dark. Though it was only 7:30 BF time (which is 3 hours ahead of Atlantic Standard time by the way) it was pitch dark. I don’t know whether that is due to no Daylight Savings Time, or whether there is just a screw up with their time zone . . . but it seemed about an hour and a half too early for it to be that dark!

We entered the packed airport, and it just seemed like a calm chaos. There were people everywhere, waiting in a number of lines, but no one seemed to be in any kind of rush. Kristina and I certainly weren’t. We waited calmly at the back of the line, to have our passport, visas and identification cards examined. Mine was accepted without problem, but Kristina was given a harder time, as she was asked to rewrite information in pen. In the meantime, I met one of Daniel’s brothers who was there to pick us up – he eventually helped Kristina explain where she was staying in the Capital. We grabbed our luggage and exited through the ‘nothing to claim’ door – honesty, it seems, is a trusted virtue, because while there were men there to search our things, we were waved by. We entered more chaos outside, where Tatiana met us. She wasn’t the only one – there were many, many cab drivers, and men who struggled to help us carry things, but Kristina and I, being warned of this, held our own. We climbed into a Land Rover and drove out, with Daniel’s brother (whose name I fail to remember) and Tatiana in the front seat.

As we drove through the streets, I stared out the windows in awe. There were people EVERYwhere. Not an overpopulated type of crowded, but just scattered around. We were one of a few vehicles on the road, which was shared with many cyclists and even more motorcyclists. We passed shop after shop, selling all kinds of goods, all of the shops looking somewhat run down, but selling very familiar sounding items. I can’t really effectively describe all of those sights. . . we just arrived to our home for the next few days, a little awestruck.

Entering the Bridges of Hope office and guest house, I felt like a spoiled queen. . . it was walled, with a gate, had two small buildings, one being the office, and the larger one in the center, which was the guest house. With beautiful gold long curtains, and a tv, I knew that life was going to be a lot simpler with time, and that was reaffirmed when Daniels brother said that it would be a lot different in Leo, and then Boura. I have taken some videos to give you folks at home a tour of what it is like, and I encourage you to check ‘em out.

There was a huge feast of cheese covered spaghetti and meat sauce, papaya and a huge salad tray. . . . we couldn’t even begin to eat it all and left much of it. Today we really had to explain our reasons for leaving it, and we made more of an effort to eat what was set in front of us, though it is near impossible! There is so much food, and with this heat, it is hard to find an appetite. However, we have discovered a taste for the incredibly fresh, sweet and juicy papaya and melon that is set in front of us. . . . friends, I wish I could share the deliciousness of that kind of freshness for tropical fruit with you all, but I can’t, so I will just enjoy on my own ;)

We have changed over a bit of money, have our cell phones almost running and will be visiting the Canadian Embassy and the market later today. David, another one of Daniels brothers will be here in the morning and apparently we can head to Leo on Monday, though nothing is written in stone – they are being wonderful and helping us to acclimatize ourselves to the environment. Too much enthusiasm I have been told, will tire me out . . . but that’s hard!

Home and Away

Nearly in Ireland a week and I haven’t said very much. I just can’t believe I made it here. . . . parts of it doesn’t feel any different – just parts of home I haven’t seen before. Rocks, hills, flat stucco buildings – kinda the same kind of arctecture that I had seen in Montreal, only everywhere - cobblestone streets. . . Irish stew, I have discovered, is always worth ordering and I still don’t like Guniess. The people are generally like at home – easy to talk to and laugh with if the girls aren’t a little bit high maintenance looking – I’m not yet able to 100% understand the accent but 100% of the men who speak with the Irish twang are sexy.

The best feeling is definitely that of comfort. I’m a tourist – in every single sense – but I almost feel like an educated tourist. Having Whitney helps with that of course, as I don’t know where things are or places, but I find myself easily able to identify with the culture. Stuff like bilingual signs (while I don’t know Gaelic, I recognize it), drinking, rugby . . . I love knowing all the words to the songs sung at the traditional pubs and merrily dancing to the reels.

If there’s anything to really love about Ireland, it’s the scenery – it’s breathtaking. I’ve said it once or twice now, but it has the greenery of PEI and the rockiness of NFLD – very similar to Cape Breton. I’ve been to the far North in N. Ireland, the East (Dublin, Belfast) and the west (Galway) . . . though I didn’t quite see NFLD.

The Giants Causeway in the North was unexplicable. . . . the weather didn’t even mar it’s magnificence. Each pillar rose out of the ground like unkept blades of grass growing uncontrollably, the outer rocks more flattened and trampled on – only a few bothered to scale the high up pillars. Waves violently attacked the formations, but unlike the grass and clay of PEI that would wash away, the pillars stood tall and proud looking back to Scotland.

There is an election taking place on Thursday, actually, and while I haven’t really done any reading on it, I have enjoyed the realization that they have a successful multi-party system with active independents. There are several more parties than in Canada but I don’t know who is typically in power. Signs are everywhere, and the most interesting election ploy I observed was when this marching band complete with signs and rallyers, marched down one of the pedestrian streets on Suinday.

The weather has been miserable, but apparently it always is. Whitney calls it moody. Apperently it is always overcast with the potential of rain, somewhere between 5 and 15 degrees Celsius. Unfortunately I only had the clothing for far warmer temperatures, being off to someplace far warmer, so thank God for whitney’s winter jacket.

Some of the policies here are not at all inherent. There is some brilliant public transit – inexpensive, frequent, utilized and best of all it reaches many many places, with city buses traveling between villiages and towns into rural Ireland. However they recycle only cans and cardboard – no glass, despite EVERYTHING coming in glass bottles. At the same time, there is an interesting garbage tage system which is not perfect as is, but has potential.

The boys – way more forward than those from home. It could have something to do with being drunker. I don’t know. However, many of them are a charming kinda confident forward which I find to be somewhat attractive . . .

Today was actually spent in Galway at the Cliffs of Moure. Whitney didn’t love the rockiness of the landscape but I found it to be quite romantic – looking over it, you would see a green pasture, lucsh with grass and shrubs for the livesstocks palates, surrounded by intricately set up stonehedges. Outside of the stone was either another pasture, or land littered with rocks and stones. You just knew that the pastures only blossomed with growth because of the hard work of many generations of farmers and labourers. They mastered the art of stacking stones to fit perfectly, withstanding angry bulls, winds and rains over the years without the aid of cement or mortar. Soil was then brought in, being carefully laid for the benefit of the animals. . . . Communities likely worked together so as to ensure one another’s prosperity, adding to the bueaty of the landscape.

Ruins of castles, lookouts, abbey’s and churches litter the landscape. I was awestruck, trying to figure out how these, 12^th, 13^th and 14^th century structures lasted, much less were initially built, to be so magnificent without todays technology. The determination of people to show their reverence to God or to demonstrate pride in their family is something I almost envy.

The cliffs themselves rate amongst the most spectacular things I have ever seen in all of my life. Nothing in any city can compare. It is hard, once seeing such new-to-me beauty, to understand how anyone can be hindered by negativity in the world. Ireland is unmarred and unexploited in such a way that I am constantly reminded of other wonderful places I have been – not just home on PEI, but out west and in Montreal. It just inspires an appreciation for all of the homes I have been lucky to know, and the world in general. It is hard to be jaded about – and I emphasize – ‘stuff’ when seeing, remembering and reflecting on such beauty, natural or constructed. I guess, while on the bus back to Dublin from Galway, all I can do is really thank everyone who has supported this opportunity. Cheers. . . .

Irish Eyes are Smilin’

And for the record, those are my eyes, and though they are not biologically Irish, it has been confirmed – I am Irish at heart.

I arrived to my almost-fully-Irish-best-friend Whitney, on Wednesday morning after nearly 24 hours of travel, and over many more without a good night’s sleep. Needless to say, we took it pretty easy Wednesday, cleaning up, takin a nap and getting myself situated at Whitney’s in Dublin. She lives right off of one of the shopping districts right in downtown Dublin, down an ally called Jervis Lane. It’s a two bedroom with four roommates, all from Canada, and massively high ceilings.

Early, early the next day, Whitney and I took off for Belfast. So I had barely been in the Republic of Ireland for a day, before I was in Northern Ireland. As we took the bus through the country side, I couldn’t help but look in awe at how GREEN the country is . . . first hint that I belong. The funny thing is, I didn’t notice much for crop land, it all just seemed to be grazing for the cattle and sheep. Cattle didn’t seem to be in specifically bred herds either, with Holsteins, Angus’ and other breeds all munchin away side by side.

We arrived into Belfast starving at noon so went in search of someplace to eat. Right outside the Europa Hotel and the Grand Opera House, where the bus brought us, was the Crown Bar, this magnificent looking Victorian Saloon. Whitney and I quickly agreed that this would do for lunch. We step into a beautiful dining room, with stall like booths, and are directed upstairs. We ordered some delicious Irish Stew and coffee. Well delicious Irish Stew anyhow – the coffee must have had 4 shots of whiskey in it, and at noon, I couldn’t quite stomach it all. We left in search of some sterling and information.

After exchanging our money, and visiting an info center, we both came to realize that the Crown Bar is actually the best bar to visit in Dublin – it was clear why, but the two of us figured that our taste is pretty good to have figured it out without being told.

We spent the day milling around, visiting some Botanical Gardens at the university, different memorials around town and what not. We left our stuff at our hostel for the evening and found a good supper at the Deers Head, from which we were directed to Irish music at the Robinson Arms institution – a series of 6 connected pubs which also connects to the Crown. So we go and enjoy – I tested several Irish beers, and though I still cannot finish a Guinness for my life (and I have been practicing!), I did find a good lager to enjoy. We made our way back to the music, of which we knew most of the words to most of the songs, a fact I found to be both ironic and hilarious. Whitney eventually convinced me that the 50+ crowd wasn’t our style and we found a bar to sit down and wind down our night. We left for home, but not before extended conversations with security (friendly, no worries) and strangers on the street.

The next day, again, found us awake and getting ready for the day before 7am. The weather was ominous for the trek to the north we were about to make, and downpour started while we were having our MacDonald’s breakfast. We purchased a rambler ticket, which allowed us limitless access to all Northern Ireland's transit options for the day, including buses, city buses, trains and even touring vehicles at various spots.

So we make our way up to Coulraine, N. Ireland, where we caught a bus to Portrush. However, the bus driver told us that what we should have done was take the train, so we spent our time on the bus just enjoying the country side. Then we caught the train, only to find out that we were brought to the same place as before. We caught a cab and went to the Giant's Causeway, one of the 7 Natural World Wonders of the world. As you can tell by some of the included picutres - it was spectacular. . . the water was wild, the wind was strong and it hailed for a few minutes, but the scenery was unexplicably beautiful, with strange stone pillars naturally forming a series of hexogonial shapes in the ground, with more than 37,000 of them. The causeway was formed 60 million years ago by molten lava cooling and shrinking as it came in contact with the atmosphere. Legend has it, however, that the Giant’s Causeway was constructed by the great Irish giant, Finn MacCool, to be used as stepping stones to Scotland. It was just mind boggling. . .

From there, Whitney and I were lucky to catch a train back to Belfast, and a bus back to Dublin. I am an absolute sucker for all things Irish - I definitely own my own flag already. . . it's just been a pity that rugby isn't played all year around.

I will be here until Tuesday night, when I am catching a flight to London, and Wednsday will be heading to Burkina Faso! I promise you keep you posted. For those of you with facebook, I will be posting pictures of the next few days in Ireland.

(PS I am having difficulty posting the pictures, so they will be up asap! Thanks for checkin it out friends!)

Burkina Faso at a Glance

As promised, I have some info about Burkina Faso for those of you who are not familiar with the country. I just got back to PEI for a nice two week vacation and I will be heading out to Ireland and then Burkina Faso in a short 16 days :)

*Neighboring Countries: Mali, Niger, Benin, Togo, Ghana and Ivory Coast (Cote D’Ivoire)

*Population:12.1 Million

*Capital: Ouagadougou (1.2 Million)

*Major Cities: Bobo-Dioulasso, Po, Yako, Dori, Fada

*Life Expectancy: 47.5 Years

*Annual GDP: $3.1 Billion US

*Language: French (official language), Moore, Dioula and Fulfulde (national languages), dozens of local languages

*Religion: Animist, Muslim, Christianity

*Currency: Communaute Financiere d’Afrique (CFA) franc.

A Brief History

The story of how Burkina Faso became is difficult with very few written recollections; most of the history we know began with French occupation in the late 1800s. Mossi oral accounts dominate, telling us that they were descendents of Nedega, a powerful Mamprusi chief who ruled the kingdom of Gambaga, in northern Ghana. The exact details of the story are confused, but the basic understanding is that Nedega refused to marry his eldest daughter, Yennenga, because of her considerable fighting prowess. The story varies as to whether Yennenga escaped her fathers overbearing court or whether her horse bolted while she was out riding, but she got lost, far from home in a forest. Here she encountered Riale, an elephant hunter said to be of Mande origin. They fell in love and named their son, Ouedraogo (‘stallion’ in memory of the horse that brought them together). Ouedraogo was the first Mossi.

The Mossi were highly organized and as a result the population enjoyed security much higher than was found in other places. A French historian wrote:

The Mossi empire was centralized. The internal struggles often seen with other groups, between villiages, neighborhoods ad even compounds, do not exist with the Mossi. Therefore they have internal peace and security. . . . One is struck upon entering Mossi country by the absolute security that the population enjoys, where everywhere else war and slave-raiding parties desolate villages. One notices with envy the Mossi peasants who go out alone in their fields . . .

Documented history began with French colonialism. While Burkina Faso didn’t offer much in resources to the French, it was an important geographical bridge between Cote D’Ivoire and Mali. Since colonization, it has changed names five times: at first is was a part of an amalgamation state that consisted of today’s Mali, Niger and Burkina Faso, called Colonie du Haut – Senegal – Niger. In 1919 is was renamed Upper Volta or Haute Volta. In the 1930s, the French dissolved Upper Volta and split it amongst Mali and Cote d’Ivoire. In 1947, when the initial pushes for West African independence where making noise, colonial authorities decided to recreate Upper Volta. In 1958 it was again renamed the Voltaic Democratic Union and within two years, Upper Volta was an independent country.

Friends around the world . . .

Hey hey and good day!

No, I'm not gone yet, however today marks one month - that's right 30 days - until I will be in Burkina Faso. I plan on posting some historical and contextual information about Burkina Faso in the upcoming days, so that all of you who have never heard of the place before can become acquainted with the place which has stolen my heart already, all the way in Canada.

What I wanted to point out today was that I have been adding links to the side bar there; most importantly I wanted you to note my fellow friends blogs. As I had said last time, I am involved with Engineers Without Borders and this year our chapter is sending two Junior Fellows overseas (Holly to Ghana and Owen to Zambia). Both of these folks are terribly smart and exceptionally articulate, so I encourage you to check out their experiences. Below those links, you will see the links of my friends on their Renaissance College Internships. I have friends going to Ghana, Vietnam, Bhutan, Ecuador and Slovenia. Thus far I just have Joanna's blog posted, but be sure to check it and the new ones I post with time. Joanna is going to Vietnam and she will be working in Da Nang . Joanna and our other friend, Dana, who is going with her, have been doing a super spectacular job of preparing themselves for Vietnam, so their posts are sure to be really insightful, not to mention full of beautiful pictures!

Anyhow friends, I'm going to continue to tie up the loose ends that are school work, and I will talk to you all sooner than later.

PS I am beginning to become rather frustrated with the fact that spell checks (both on this Blogger website and on my Gmail) fail to recognize Burkina Faso as being a word. I mean, it's a country, seriously!

'My Summer Vacation'

I did not always to go to Africa; the first time Africa ever crossed my mind as a potential destination was last summer. I had been introduced to an international development NGO, Engineers Without Borders (EWB) by my would be roommate. He actually spent the entire summer of '06 in the Upper West of Ghana, stationed exceptionally close to where I will be in Burkina Faso. Anyhow, my program at the University of New Brunswick (UNB), Renaissance College, actually requires that its students take an international internship in their second summer, or their sixth semester, so I actually had been contemplating where my summer would take place. For the longest time, I pondered the possibility of going to Bhutan, that little country nesseled between India and China, whose GDP measurement is actually the Genuine Happiness Indicator. . .

But as I became more and more involved with EWB, who focuses it's efforts on Africa for sustainability reasons, I became more drawn to the continent where The Lion King came from. The clincher came when I was at a conference in September of 2006 in Ottawa, where I seen Daniel Zopoula speak in a workshop; his story, a fascinating one to say the least, caught me off guard. I was quite emotional after the power of his presentation, so I failed to introduce myself. He stuck with me for the following few weeks however, and so I contacted his organization, Bridges of Hope, for more information, soon realizing that there was, indeed, and opportunity for me to do my summer internship with them.

To make a long and boring story short, I found a partner to go with me, cut through the red tap and now in possession of a plane ticket that will see me to Burkina Faso for 10 weeks!

So, along with my good friend Kristina Nilsson, I am counting down the days until I find myself in "The Land of Upright People", Burkina Faso. With time I will share some history on Burkina Faso in an upcoming post, as most people I come across raise their eyebrows and say, 'you're going where??' In the meantime, I hope you find yourself well!!

. . . And for the record, I am 49 days away from an opportunity of a lifetime!