It's hotter under the water

Sebastian had it wrong. It is most certainly hotter above water, at least in Burkina Faso. The Afrcian sun has been quite cruel these past two weeks. We has a glorious downpour two Saturdays ago, and since then all we’ve had is scalding heat. Even the Burkinabè are complaining. I’ve been informed that it’s hotter now than it was at the end of March (the peak of the hot season) last year. This early hot season means that either the rain will come earlier this year (yay!) or that there will be a nasty drought (boo!). The pessimist in le is preparing for the worst.

I’ve been in a bit of a pickle lately because of this saison chaud. I can’t sleep in my bed anymore because I sweat like I’m running a marathon in 100 degree weather, and I can’t sleep outside because 1) I don’t have a door to my courtyard and ) I live alone and someone could easily jump over my wall even if I did have a door. But I’ve found a solution! Now I leave my front door open but I close and lick my screen door, and I sleep directly in front of my screen on my Lipico. Every once in a while I catch a breeze and it is glorious!

I admit that I’m jealous of Herman because he can sleep outside. Oh to be a cat, one that’s loved. But Herman doesn’t sleep alone! He met his main squeeze, but I can’t actually confirm the gender of said squeeze because he/she won’t let me touch him/her. I’m calling this new kitten Harriet because I like the ring to “Herman and Harriet.” Harriet resembles Herman in color, except that he/she is also gray, and is severely underfed. But I’m currently rectifying the latter.

In other news, Herman got his rabies vaccination last week. That was a pleasant experience. I have a scratch on my left arm that resembles a sine curve.

So I’ve been in Bouroum-Bouroum for 6 months and Burkina Faso for almost 9. I feel comfortable here, but only as comfortable as I could possibly be in a place that is glaringly different from what I’ve known all my life. There’s no denying that I dearly miss so many comforts that I can never have here. Sometimes that truth is just so depressing. Some days are better than others. But I want to be here and I think that counts for a lot.

So I’m celebrating being in Burkina Faso. Warm coke, anyone? Bien sûr!

P.S. There are these goats that use an elevated log to climb atop my chicken coop. They proceed to dance around a bit and scream, head-butt each other--you know, goat activities. But then they inevitably start to freak out because they can’t figure out how to get back down to the ground ( bum bum bum…). It’s entertaining but also pathetic. Herman merely regards them with an expression that I can only describe as bored, and perhaps with a bit of hauteur. I adore him.

A family of trees

Is there anything ambiguous or confusing about the word ‘No’ ? At first, I didn’t think so. And saying ‘No’ forcefully—without a smile or teasing undertone—seems even more explicit. But apparently we females don’t really know what we want because ‘No (smile)’ means ‘Yes’ and ‘No (murderous-looking-for-the-nearest-machete-glare) means, wait for it, ‘Yes.’ Hmm, that doesn’t leave a girl with too many options, does it?

Well there’s a certain nameless dufus in Gaoua who believes this steaming piece of ‘yes means no’ crap is true of me. He’s been pursuing/making me insane for months now; he’s harmless, albeit annoying, and I’m certainly not the most patient person. But this morning, after refusing to give him my number for about 50th time and explaining (yet again) that I’m blissfully engaged to another volunteer (shhh…not really) who lives close by, dufus sat himself down to explain his feelings to me. Here is goes:

I am the trophy for the World Cup. Right now I’m picturing the gold thing that Zidane walked past with his head hung low after he got himself thrown out of the championship game against Italy in 2006. Anywho, I’m the trophy and dufus is one of the teams that qualified to play in the World Cup, and he’s playing to win the trophy. Oh barf. My ‘boyfriend’ is another team and so on and so on. According to him, the World Cup isn’t won until I’m married. Christ.

That machete’s looking mighty appealing right now. But I may just have fatten the lie instead of getting messy, which means that Mom, I might need you to send me a ring to wear—the one found at the bottom of a Cracker Jack box will suffice. I couldn’t help but laugh at this comparison, seeing as how I enjoy all things ridiculous, but poor dufus was serious. I might consider giving him my number if could find me an oreo blast and green chile cheeseburger from Sonic, but then again I probably wouldn’t. I would enjoy the food, though.

In other news, I’ve started an English Club at my school. Most of these kids want to do activities that will help them prepare for the BEPC (middle school exit exam), so I’m trying to come up with some cool songs and games to teach them. I plan on wowing them with my singing voice. Next week it’s going to be ‘Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes’ with a twist. The twist being that I have to figure out a way to work in the other body parts. I might just have to change the tune.

Also, I’m making invitations to send out to Ouaga, Bobo and Gaoua for 8 Mars. 8 Mars is International Women’s Day and it appears that Bouroum Bouroum will be rockin’ it like it’s 1999. Soccer games and theater pieces are scheduled for the day, as well as a dance at the end of the night. Burkina Faso designs a new pagne every year in celebration of 8 Mars. I can’t remember the pattern for this year (in either red or blue though!), but it’s pretty and I intend to make a dress and/or shirt out of the material. Guess which one I’ll wear more often? But I will get all gussied up for 8 Mars. I’m very excited that Burkina is celebrating its women, and that I’ll be a part of it.

Exams this week! I hope that this weekend my students are dreaming about fractions, triangles/angles, decimal approximations and calculations using powers of 10. What what!