All I want for Christmas is my friend's two back teeth removed. It is not exactly a Christmas song but it's as close to one that you will find coming from the village of Rambo. My good friend and former neighbor, Ousseini, finally came to visit. I had been insisting for a while that he come, especially because he has been unable to sleep due to the pain in his back teeth. A week of no sleep and constant aching finally forced him to trek the 40k on a village bike out to see me.
The timing of his visit ended up being to my advantage as I was able to get out of the long-winded teachers' meeting that happens at the end of each semester. I am sure Ousseini saw less luck in his throbbing pains. However, he was lucky enough to be able to get into the dentist rather quickly. I would like to note here that I have Peace Corps medical services which means Peace Corps doctors and clinic but Ousseini has the catholic hospital run by village nuns.
While the hospital is a looming compound, it is really more vast space than facilities. The first building we entered was the dentist's nook. There we got a consultation and a slip of paper with a strict command not to return until we had proof of payment and rubber gloves. Then it was a small trek over to the cashier nun to pay for the upcoming operation. The total on that was only about $10 (US). The final trip was to the pharmacy to get aspirin and antibiotics (for the aftershocks) and rubber gloves at about $2. I gladly paid the amount but am now a bit ashamed to think that my Christmas present to my dear friend was a pair of pliers to the mouth.
The next moments are haunting if only because it was eerily silent and quick. Ousseini walked in and five minutes later walked out of the dentist's chamber without two of his back teeth. No screams. No strains. Just pain. Poor guy even ran into the door, he was so dazed. Amazingly he still had a typical Ousseini grin on his face.
Now, in my family, we have a tradition of going to Wendy's after a little tug and pull at the tooth doctor's place. A cold frosty does wonders for wounded pride and mouth. However, the closest we have here in Kong is cold yogurt. Ousseini loves cold yogurt, come to find out so, in the tradition of the Ellisons, it was a lunch of cold, sweet yogurt.
Afterward, the grin still did not disappear from Ousseini's face even as he gargled a bit of warm salt water at my place. The only signs of pain that really cracked out he masked by taking a nap. After a couple of hours, he popped up ready to eat and head out on the road like a champ, all to my shock.
Rough.
The only person I can think of that might know how the poor guy feels is my Mom. She's the only one I know who has faced the village tooth-knife and come out all smiles.
Merry Christmas.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Active Member of the Blogging Club
Personal:
Just a quick note to say that a stranger is in the mix (at least a stranger by French language standards). My little brother has been running around with me for a number of days now. It's been really nice to be able to share a bit of Burkina with him, including long hours in buses and weird animal smells.
Justin (my brother) comes with an automatic issue in hand, vegetarianism. It's nothing to me but it is a horribly difficult idea to explain to people that see meat as a wonderful luxury. Why would you reject meat? It's almost to the point of 'why would you burn money, you rich jerk'? Luckily, one can connect via religion. The idea being that I explain to them that Adam and Eve did not eat meat in the Garden of Eden which was paradise (in both the Quran and Bible). Thus, Justin is trying to build his diet in the manner of paradise. Burkinabe seem to be relatively content with such an explanation but others still seem to understand that the condescending tone in which they say 'he's a VEGETARIAN' translates despite the language barrier.
Even now in Kong (my home), when we have control of food and its preparation, the issue can rise in a different way. Most burkinabe do not have the capacity to eat out often so the restaurants cater to their desire for something grander and more luxurious which translates into meat. Thus, it becomes hard to find anything on any menu that does not have meat, meat sauce or a general wafting odor of meatiness. Even when the menu item is not injected with 'dead animal flesh' (his words, not mine though it is true), they are typically raw vegetables which pose the problem of digestion. To put it simply, vegetables are not often thoroughly washed and can contain traces of animal feces and pesticides, as they do. Not the worst thing if you are use to parasites and have had giardia three or so times (me) but can be rough if you want to spend the month visiting your brother and not wafting your tell-end over a latrine hole for 18 hours a day (Justin). (I am keeping Justin from posting any possible visual aids to the former) Thus, it is a lot of cooking at home and seeing my African diet from yet another point-of-view. Luckily enough, we've kept him well enough feed. Partially, we can thank the M&M's he brought.
In other news, we have turned the house into as much of a Christmas vacation spot as is possible. With stockings, a small tree, candy canes, a few lights and some homemade holly/paper chains, the house has turned into a reminder of family and home. It is our first Christmas away from the family and that has come with a sort of heaviness. In modern western society, it happens. Really, being together every Christmas for as long as we have (28 years) is rare for a family, especially a family that lives in multiple places abroad. It was bound to happen sometime which is apparently translated to this year. For me, no family really would equate to no real Christmas. The little brother helps make Christmas real this year. The decorations help breakdown the distance.
Today was the 21st market day, which is a larger market. We ran around town with David (visiting) and Molly. Molls and Justin ran through the market looking at fabrics and laughing. Dduck (David) sneakily bought little things for Christmas gifts (mine was an awesome calculator watch). I walked around getting poked by kids, only to look down and realize it was my students stopping me to say hi. It was not exactly Christmas shopping but it had the right feel and that's what really counts. It even came with minions for Justin to summon and do his bidding (two little market urchins that kept trying to hold my hand and get us to buy them things).
Soon the trip will turn to Rambo and a visit amongst the village. Then, Molls, Justin and myself will probably turn southward and try for a Togo vacation. We will see if success is in the adventure cards for the closing of the year.
Just a quick note to say that a stranger is in the mix (at least a stranger by French language standards). My little brother has been running around with me for a number of days now. It's been really nice to be able to share a bit of Burkina with him, including long hours in buses and weird animal smells.
Justin (my brother) comes with an automatic issue in hand, vegetarianism. It's nothing to me but it is a horribly difficult idea to explain to people that see meat as a wonderful luxury. Why would you reject meat? It's almost to the point of 'why would you burn money, you rich jerk'? Luckily, one can connect via religion. The idea being that I explain to them that Adam and Eve did not eat meat in the Garden of Eden which was paradise (in both the Quran and Bible). Thus, Justin is trying to build his diet in the manner of paradise. Burkinabe seem to be relatively content with such an explanation but others still seem to understand that the condescending tone in which they say 'he's a VEGETARIAN' translates despite the language barrier.
Even now in Kong (my home), when we have control of food and its preparation, the issue can rise in a different way. Most burkinabe do not have the capacity to eat out often so the restaurants cater to their desire for something grander and more luxurious which translates into meat. Thus, it becomes hard to find anything on any menu that does not have meat, meat sauce or a general wafting odor of meatiness. Even when the menu item is not injected with 'dead animal flesh' (his words, not mine though it is true), they are typically raw vegetables which pose the problem of digestion. To put it simply, vegetables are not often thoroughly washed and can contain traces of animal feces and pesticides, as they do. Not the worst thing if you are use to parasites and have had giardia three or so times (me) but can be rough if you want to spend the month visiting your brother and not wafting your tell-end over a latrine hole for 18 hours a day (Justin). (I am keeping Justin from posting any possible visual aids to the former) Thus, it is a lot of cooking at home and seeing my African diet from yet another point-of-view. Luckily enough, we've kept him well enough feed. Partially, we can thank the M&M's he brought.
In other news, we have turned the house into as much of a Christmas vacation spot as is possible. With stockings, a small tree, candy canes, a few lights and some homemade holly/paper chains, the house has turned into a reminder of family and home. It is our first Christmas away from the family and that has come with a sort of heaviness. In modern western society, it happens. Really, being together every Christmas for as long as we have (28 years) is rare for a family, especially a family that lives in multiple places abroad. It was bound to happen sometime which is apparently translated to this year. For me, no family really would equate to no real Christmas. The little brother helps make Christmas real this year. The decorations help breakdown the distance.
Today was the 21st market day, which is a larger market. We ran around town with David (visiting) and Molly. Molls and Justin ran through the market looking at fabrics and laughing. Dduck (David) sneakily bought little things for Christmas gifts (mine was an awesome calculator watch). I walked around getting poked by kids, only to look down and realize it was my students stopping me to say hi. It was not exactly Christmas shopping but it had the right feel and that's what really counts. It even came with minions for Justin to summon and do his bidding (two little market urchins that kept trying to hold my hand and get us to buy them things).
Soon the trip will turn to Rambo and a visit amongst the village. Then, Molls, Justin and myself will probably turn southward and try for a Togo vacation. We will see if success is in the adventure cards for the closing of the year.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Student Protest
Work/Community:
In 1998, a journalist by the name of Norbert Zongo was killed. Shortly there after, students protested across the nation in order to force the government to investigate further what they called an assassination of the highest member of the free press. Every year, the protests continue. It is student led and student decided. This year, the protest started today.
English class at 7 this morning was interesting and fun. My students were in a fit of laughter due to my exaggerated stick figures meant to describe certain adjectives like short, tall, fat, thin, pretty, ugly and your mama, when there came loud chants across the courtyard. Before long, there were students yelling and banging on the door and windows of the class. They then came pouring into the room, snagging students, forcing them into their chants and protests. It was a zoo.
I have to acknowledge a bit of pride in my class. While they were being man-handled by student much older than them, they frantically wrote the remaining notes that I was furiously scribbling on the board. Some even protested the start of the protest in order to draw out a particularly large stick figure, plump and full of cake.
Once the class finally emptied, the drone of the road lay beneath my bike, I began to wonder; does anyone remember the reasons for the protest? Most of my students were not alive when Zongo was killed. They were not even twinkles in their father's eye. Is the protest just a rhythm, a part of the cycle and pulse of class here? Or does it show new generations the value of remembrance and justice, no matter the length in time?
I often wish I could open up the head of one of my students and view their the thoughts that go whirling by, to watch the zoo and riot before it breaks out in my class. Perhaps, it would make me a more effective teacher. There would be no more days of struggling to jump the cultural/generational gaps. Perhaps, I could contain the riot and tame the zoo? Or perhaps, I would join. I like zoos (though not as much as my brother) and I'm down with a little riotous action now and then.
Personal:
Since I mentioned my brother, I have wonderful news. HE IS COMING HERE! Yep, that old guy that reports to be my younger brother will be stepping off a plane to be met by his first hot taste of African air. Thrilled hardly captures it. What a Christmas gift to be able to share my work here with my family (at least a part of it)!
It will break my heart to not be with my the rest of my family this Christmas but Skype will help to heal some of that tear. I can honestly say such will be a new experience for me. In all my 28 years, I have NEVER missed a Christmas with my family. A part of me does fear that without my family, Christmas will not come. The 25th will disappear into the oblivion. Maybe, just maybe, having my little bro here will retain that day. Maybe that is why he is really coming, to deliver, with postage, the 25th.
In 1998, a journalist by the name of Norbert Zongo was killed. Shortly there after, students protested across the nation in order to force the government to investigate further what they called an assassination of the highest member of the free press. Every year, the protests continue. It is student led and student decided. This year, the protest started today.
English class at 7 this morning was interesting and fun. My students were in a fit of laughter due to my exaggerated stick figures meant to describe certain adjectives like short, tall, fat, thin, pretty, ugly and your mama, when there came loud chants across the courtyard. Before long, there were students yelling and banging on the door and windows of the class. They then came pouring into the room, snagging students, forcing them into their chants and protests. It was a zoo.
I have to acknowledge a bit of pride in my class. While they were being man-handled by student much older than them, they frantically wrote the remaining notes that I was furiously scribbling on the board. Some even protested the start of the protest in order to draw out a particularly large stick figure, plump and full of cake.
Once the class finally emptied, the drone of the road lay beneath my bike, I began to wonder; does anyone remember the reasons for the protest? Most of my students were not alive when Zongo was killed. They were not even twinkles in their father's eye. Is the protest just a rhythm, a part of the cycle and pulse of class here? Or does it show new generations the value of remembrance and justice, no matter the length in time?
I often wish I could open up the head of one of my students and view their the thoughts that go whirling by, to watch the zoo and riot before it breaks out in my class. Perhaps, it would make me a more effective teacher. There would be no more days of struggling to jump the cultural/generational gaps. Perhaps, I could contain the riot and tame the zoo? Or perhaps, I would join. I like zoos (though not as much as my brother) and I'm down with a little riotous action now and then.
Personal:
Since I mentioned my brother, I have wonderful news. HE IS COMING HERE! Yep, that old guy that reports to be my younger brother will be stepping off a plane to be met by his first hot taste of African air. Thrilled hardly captures it. What a Christmas gift to be able to share my work here with my family (at least a part of it)!
It will break my heart to not be with my the rest of my family this Christmas but Skype will help to heal some of that tear. I can honestly say such will be a new experience for me. In all my 28 years, I have NEVER missed a Christmas with my family. A part of me does fear that without my family, Christmas will not come. The 25th will disappear into the oblivion. Maybe, just maybe, having my little bro here will retain that day. Maybe that is why he is really coming, to deliver, with postage, the 25th.
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a little about burkina faso
Burkina Faso (formerly Upper Volta) achieved independence from France in 1960. Repeated military coups during the 1970s and 1980s were followed by multiparty elections in the early 1990s. Current President Blaise COMPAORE came to power in a 1987 military coup and has won every election since then.
Burkina Faso's high population density and limited natural resources result in poor economic prospects for the majority of its citizens. Recent unrest in Cote d'Ivoire and northern Ghana has hindered the ability of several hundred thousand seasonal Burkinabe farm workers to find employment in neighboring countries.
Location:
Western Africa, north of Ghana
Geographic coordinates:
13 00 N, 2 00 W
Area:
total: 274,200 sq km land: 273,800 sq km water: 400 sq km
Burkina Faso's high population density and limited natural resources result in poor economic prospects for the majority of its citizens. Recent unrest in Cote d'Ivoire and northern Ghana has hindered the ability of several hundred thousand seasonal Burkinabe farm workers to find employment in neighboring countries.
Location:
Western Africa, north of Ghana
Geographic coordinates:
13 00 N, 2 00 W
Area:
total: 274,200 sq km land: 273,800 sq km water: 400 sq km