death and school

(from October 2 2009)

it is a season of death in Rambo. over the past two weeks, there have been at least seven deaths amongst my neighbors in and near my compound. one could wonder what plague is sprouting its fingers into our water or air, what devil is hiding in mosquitos swirling about or what tainted potatoes lay waiting to spear us with poison. truth be told it is age and humidity. over the wreck of this season, we have seen torrential downpours that lay waste to Ouagadougou and pushed the crop yields higher here. the barrages and streams spilled over into our lives and left so much water about that it soaked into the very air. that sort of humidity is like a blanket sewn with heat. the burning day hides itself in even the smallest of drops floating on the breeze.

so this season of latent warmth drives the aged into a final sleep. they have become too old to adjust and continue the fight against the warm-laced wet that fills up their lungs. who can blame them for giving into the cooler night and resting there for eternity? at ages around 80 years old, they are truly titans falling back to earth to be buried beneath. such longevity is hardly the norm and is looked upon with awe by those villagers left in the swelter.

funerals here the quietest of occasions, the time of sitting and resting amongst those that knew the deceased. pieces of cooking and small amounts of money may change hands or find themselves in the pockets of mourners but there is hardly a fanfare. no wakes. no grand ceremonies. simple quiet with a motion of dirt on top. funerals here are vigils, the members of the congregation becoming the candles burning beneath the blaze of the midday sun.

in this, begins the school year. from the season of death and change will come the new sprigs of life and education. for these first few weeks, we will adjust to sitting in tin-roofed rooms amongst a hundred before we truly dive into any material. then the days of test will come and go, the heat and humidity will pass. before long, it will be another semester's beginning and end. we will have survived the latent heat of summer's end but find ourselves one step closer to the day our neighbors hold our vigil.

with no rush

Seasons determine time in Rambo and now I have lived through my first round of each. Of course, I plan on thriving through the rest. With my new short hair (yep, I am finally ridiculously good looking again. check out the photos) and a nice little re-energizing from the summer, I plan on rocking the face off this next school year.

School actually does not start until the first of October so there is still plenty of time to just chit chat. During these lulling hours, I have started collecting pieces of Moore to better my local language (now that my french has at least settled into being understandable). Part of my expanding Moore vocabulary comes from my tutored students. At any given time, my house has a few stragglers that are learning a bit of math or english. It would be absurd to demand payment for teaching them but I do anyway. That's right, now they have to give me a few words in Moore. Yep, what a miser I am. Right up there with Scrooge McDuck, himself. In all reality, they are often thrilled to see me take an interest (especially, since they know that it has no real practical purpose for my work here). It is an effort that is appreciated (and I can finally undertake). So thus pass my last days of summer.

On the cultivating front, all the corn and millet are now almost twice my height. The brown, Sahelian feeling of Rambo has been turned into tranquil greens. I cannot recognize my village anymore. We have had a full week of rain (so much that Ouaga was threatened by overflowing dams). It has only added to the lushness of the countryside. Husseini (my neighbor) keeps coming to my house with extra African eggplants (which I take, smile and then secretly give to someone else, yuck). With the plentiful rain there is an abundance of crop.

Of course, when I first heard this I thought Great! However, the reality of the situation is that everybody has extra so there is no real use in selling Husseini's eggplants in the market. Everyone already has too many, themselves. Thus, in some ways, it means he will have less currency in his pocket. Yet, it does mean that there is plenty to eat for the moment. With crops like corn and millet, it also means they will be able to put more into the granaries which will then be the main source of food for the rest of the year. Harvest time has not officially begun yet but you can see people pulling a few choice specimens to grill over the fire that evening (or to hand to me so I can fake a smile and feed someone else). It really is a bittersweet. Of course, having a variety of crops would help to eliminate such overabundance of similar items. We have actually been applying for a grant from the Millennium Corporation (good ol' America!) to help fund the purchase of seeds and irrigation equipment to help bring diversity to the local fields. The applications are in english so mostly I just help make sure it is clearly written and understandable to 'my fellow Americans' (that last part I did in a Nixon voice in my head, 'i am not a crook').

Other news; this month also happens to be Ramadan. While most of my villagers are muslim, it hardly is a strict environment. After all, it was a muslim neighbor that slaughtered his pig and gave me some of the meat before his family chowed down. Here, Ramadan seems to be mostly about the Eid (holiday) at the end of it. In some ways that actually makes religious sense. After all, Ramadan is suppose to be a month of fasting in which people can reflect on what it means to be impoverished and without necessities such as food. It is a full month devoted to understanding the poor man's situation. My villagers live such a life throughout the year so it hardly makes sense to change much throughout the month of Ramadan.

Now, we have not yet come to the celebration at the end (Eid) of Ramadan (Sept 21st or so) but there are already whispers in the air. All my neighbors have popped by to asking if I am making anything and to tell me about all their plans. Instead of the usual to' or beans, they are patting their stomachs in anticipation of freshly slaughtered lamb and riz. To hear my kids speak of it, you would think Christmas was coming (though, a very bloody Christmas. mmmmm lamb). For my part, I have been thinking of trying to put together something American in nature whether that be pancakes or just some kind of cake. Of course, finding ingredients is difficult and my only oven is a dutch oven that can cook all of two cookies at one time (it is tiny) but I will manage something. So far, I have caught the attention of my fellow compound-goers with my pancakes, biscuits (with honey) and tortillas. The women are astounded by this weird white guy that cooks and the kids think of it as utterly exotic goodness. It is the luxury of being different. The critics are easy to please. Thank goodness!

On a more personal note and as I mentioned before, Kris came to Burkina and bummed around with me. It was a nice bit of a vacation that pulled so much stress from my bones (one could call it major homesickness). It was unbelievably fulfilling to finally be able to share some of this experience with someone I love. It has been incredibly hard experiencing so much so far from the fam and friends. To say I miss home is a complete understatement. So, connecting back to home via Burkina was a nice release (this blog is a piece of that, too). After her visit, I have found that village life is not nearly so distant from what can be called my life. Instead, it has been incorporated into the whole, instead of remaining some anomaly (some extended vacation or rabbit trail apart from the rest). Thus, where I once felt as if I was breaking from my life, it has now become an understandably congruent stretch of the Thomas narrative. Thus, it is getting easier to see the arc of betterment that results from the barrage of those pesky life lessons always being thrown one's way.

To expound; I have learned to allow things the time to mature. In village life, nothing can be rushed. It is a waste of energy. If you truly want something to happen then you set the wheels in motion and let it happen. There are times to maintain pieces but pushing it too hard will just cause pain and/or damage. Now, I have always been the kind of person to wear my new clothes home or immediately sit and play with whatever new device I just bought. It's a now fascination. Somewhere over the past year, I began living as if there is a good bit in my life worth the time it takes to mature. Kris is a major example but so are the little interactions I have everyday that equal up to a full service. I have no idea the impact I will ultimately have here or whether or not it will fade. I could lose my entire will to continue focusing on that particular point. Yet, I find that I am fulfilled by the relationships and interactions I have with my community. More than just simple conversations, friendships and trust have been built and not because that is what I came here for. None of the people that weave themselves in and out of my day are a part of it because of obligation. Instead, I truly enjoy having them around (and I can guess by their reactions, vice versa). While I am still a stickler for getting to class on time (and deadlines do mean something), I have found that allowing for that patience and African-time mentality has worn away so many of the loose strings hanging in my life.

I will close out this long rant by saying that I miss my family and friends (that probably includes you, I'm sure) and life is going well. I can only hope the same for them.

Oh and check out the pictures I put up of Kris and I, the haircut and a few I thought were lost.

worlds apart

the last few weeks have been something of another world. to start, any confidence i put together from standing in front of 100 students left when Kris stepped off the plane. suddenly, i was my students sitting at the front of the class and looking at my shoes. nervous.

our time went amazing. between a haircut and a missed bus, we took our time getting out of Ouaga. what a trooper, too! though there was the long ride out to my village, the heat, the sickness and any number of crawling things, she took it all in stride. and my villagers were impressed. i didn't realize there were so many girls in my compound. where were they hiding?

so she charmed my Rambo then watch me go into shock as we headed south. apparently, Burkina is divided much like the Christian afterlife. you have the Sahel (the north, just 'hel for short) and Paradise (the south). waterfalls, hippo lakes, picturesque sugar cane fields, huts with A/C... the list goes on and on. i had to check my pulse a few times to make sure that i really hadn't died and crossed over. Lord knows, if i did, it wouldn't be too far different. needless to say, future visitors (that group hopefully includes M&D) will definitely have a southern tour on the itinerary.

then, it was back to Ouaga to hangout with the collection of PCV's, ISO teachers and other acronymed types. any number of people were in town for Swear-in and general mayhem. we added to such.

the airport and saying goodbye was the difficult part. it is that reach of uncertainty. when you live worlds apart from those you love, it gets harder to remember why you are on the path you are on. fortunate for me, i have all the time in the world to mull over those thoughts. though honestly, it never hurts to have reminders of connections tempered with patience. this country has taught me how to wait for those things that are truly important. there's no need to rush the truly important parts of life. it is far better to do them right.

at the moment, i'm as homesick as i have ever been but i'm by no means unhappy. now, it's back to village and my rowdy courtyard of students. wish me luck.