Adios April!
Bienvenue May!
May means I have one and a half weeks of teaching followed by exams, followed by grade calculations and meetings to discuss the school year. 3 weeks total. Then I’m done with school until the 1st of October.
I was trying to remember what I was doing on April 30, 2009. I can’t come up with specifics but I do know that there was a lot of sitting going on and a lot of eating—a lot of “This will be my last opportunity to eat (enter tasty delight here) for a year or two.” I have fond memories of this time.
But this April 30, I’m in Burkina handing back exams and discussing plans with students for our school’s culture day that’s coming up in about a fortnight. There will be traditional dancing, singing, theater and bissap. The theme of this year’s culture day: Les grossesses indesirees en milieu scolaire, or, Unwanted pregnancies in middle school. I’m putting together a sensibilization for this theme and I’ll probably work in HIV/AIDS prevention strategies using my handy-dandy male and female wooden anatomical parts provided by the PC.
When I was talking to the students about the program for Culture Day and the subject of a soccer match came up, I suggested having a girls’ game in addition to the boys match. I told these students (all boys) that girls have the ability to play soccer every day, not just on 8 Mars International Women’s Day. They agreed to allow the girls 30 minutes of game time, the dears. Hopefully we’ll make it happen.
Well, with this hot season (115 degrees, give or take a few) I’ve sweat my body weight each day and got a lovely case of heat rash just about everywhere on my body. But the rain has come! Sort of. It’s rained twice in the last two weeks and both times I’ve thanked the rain gods with a dance. Mom and Remus, do you remember the one where I stomped around in circles whilst holding my left arm at a ninety degree angle and shaking my hand back and forth in a rapid motion? Anywho, that’s the dance and I believe it pleases the rain gods. They decided not to strike me with lightning, which I find encouraging.
And I just heard thunder. Must dance pronto.
Riddle me this: When is Cinco de Mayo?
Friday, April 30, 2010
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Water for Elephants
Entertaining book, by the way.
Being in Africa, I expected to see African wildlife such as donkeys, pigs, goats and cows. But elephants! And 5 of them, too! Running wild in Burkina just outside of Leo, these wonderful creatures were encountered by yours truly. Here are some pictures (only a few because it's taking forever to upload):
Being in Africa, I expected to see African wildlife such as donkeys, pigs, goats and cows. But elephants! And 5 of them, too! Running wild in Burkina just outside of Leo, these wonderful creatures were encountered by yours truly. Here are some pictures (only a few because it's taking forever to upload):
you and me and the satellites
I’ve had an odd and disturbing week at school.
On Wednesday morning at 7:45, Jillian (who was at my house at the time) and I heard a lot of noise coming from my school, which happens to be right down the road from my house. The noise was a mixture of cheers and angry screams. Jillian biked to the school to talk to 6eme kids about HIV/AIDS while I headed in the opposite direction into town to get gateau and a coke for breakfast. It being a Wednesday, I didn’t have class until 10. Jillian calls me while I’m en route to tell me that there’s some sort of student protest going on, a violent one.
Fast-forward a few hours. After waiting and watching as trucks filled with police and gendarmes pass my house over the course of the morning, I come to find out that what occurred was not a student protest. Here’s what went down:
There existed some disagreement between a teacher and a student which resulted in rocks and fists being thrown. Teachers got upset, the students a little more so. The teachers barricaded themselves in the office so as not to get struck by rocks, but then the police/gendarmes arrived and after a 7-hour conference all hostilities were at an end. The student who threw the first rock at one of my colleagues was expelled and classes resumed on Thursday.
Of course I didn’t know any of this until I showed up at school at 7 on Thursday morning. I was the only teacher not present during these events, and so I wasn’t present during the 7-hour meeting which took place immediately after. Nope. I stayed in my house all day reading Sense and Sensibility, hoping that my homologue would return my calls.
Thursday morning came and I inquired after Wednesday’s events. Then all of the teachers (myself included), the director, secretary, econome and surveillant went to speak to all the classes to lament what happened on Wednesday morning and to demand the students’ agreement that those events were indeed regrettable. Their forced agreement was a little unsettling.
But now everything is back to normal, and I delved right into math lessons and homework and talk of tests in two weeks. Everything’s fine now. I asked if something like this ever happened at our CEG before, but it never has. It is one isolated incident that got out of hand. Mob mentality is a scary thing.
And to add to this, I found out yesterday that one of my students died over the spring vacation. Though I have 70-80 students in each of my classes, I remember this student well because he sat in the front of my class and I’ve argued with him over points on his tests. I was sad when I found out that he died, but it was the way I found this out that made me even more wretched.
I was taking attendance when I asked the class where this particular student was. I was in a good mood, joking around, and I asked if he was outside eating or drinking or chatting up the ladies. No one answered me. So I asked his neighbor particularly where he was, and he replied, “Il est decede.” I meant to say something in response, but I was so surprised and ashamed of my behavior and that I didn’t know what had passed, that no sound came out of my mouth. I then turned to the board and started my math lesson.
All I can think about now was the last time I saw him; I told him he received 8.63 in my class (out of a possible 20). “Insuffisiant” as the Burkinabe educational system calls it.
What a sucky week.
On Wednesday morning at 7:45, Jillian (who was at my house at the time) and I heard a lot of noise coming from my school, which happens to be right down the road from my house. The noise was a mixture of cheers and angry screams. Jillian biked to the school to talk to 6eme kids about HIV/AIDS while I headed in the opposite direction into town to get gateau and a coke for breakfast. It being a Wednesday, I didn’t have class until 10. Jillian calls me while I’m en route to tell me that there’s some sort of student protest going on, a violent one.
Fast-forward a few hours. After waiting and watching as trucks filled with police and gendarmes pass my house over the course of the morning, I come to find out that what occurred was not a student protest. Here’s what went down:
There existed some disagreement between a teacher and a student which resulted in rocks and fists being thrown. Teachers got upset, the students a little more so. The teachers barricaded themselves in the office so as not to get struck by rocks, but then the police/gendarmes arrived and after a 7-hour conference all hostilities were at an end. The student who threw the first rock at one of my colleagues was expelled and classes resumed on Thursday.
Of course I didn’t know any of this until I showed up at school at 7 on Thursday morning. I was the only teacher not present during these events, and so I wasn’t present during the 7-hour meeting which took place immediately after. Nope. I stayed in my house all day reading Sense and Sensibility, hoping that my homologue would return my calls.
Thursday morning came and I inquired after Wednesday’s events. Then all of the teachers (myself included), the director, secretary, econome and surveillant went to speak to all the classes to lament what happened on Wednesday morning and to demand the students’ agreement that those events were indeed regrettable. Their forced agreement was a little unsettling.
But now everything is back to normal, and I delved right into math lessons and homework and talk of tests in two weeks. Everything’s fine now. I asked if something like this ever happened at our CEG before, but it never has. It is one isolated incident that got out of hand. Mob mentality is a scary thing.
And to add to this, I found out yesterday that one of my students died over the spring vacation. Though I have 70-80 students in each of my classes, I remember this student well because he sat in the front of my class and I’ve argued with him over points on his tests. I was sad when I found out that he died, but it was the way I found this out that made me even more wretched.
I was taking attendance when I asked the class where this particular student was. I was in a good mood, joking around, and I asked if he was outside eating or drinking or chatting up the ladies. No one answered me. So I asked his neighbor particularly where he was, and he replied, “Il est decede.” I meant to say something in response, but I was so surprised and ashamed of my behavior and that I didn’t know what had passed, that no sound came out of my mouth. I then turned to the board and started my math lesson.
All I can think about now was the last time I saw him; I told him he received 8.63 in my class (out of a possible 20). “Insuffisiant” as the Burkinabe educational system calls it.
What a sucky week.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Running up that hill
Guess what today is ? If you guessed ‘The day after St. Patrick’s Day’ then you’re one smart cookie! However, today is also the first day of spring break. I finished filling in over 200 report cards yesterday and then I celebrated with a coke and a sprite!
And now I’m rockin it in Diebougou with some internet and mayhaps some chicken. I might even have the honor of selecting a chicken that suits my fancy, while said chicken is still enjoying the flow of oxygen. As for my spring break plans, I intend on relaxing and reading oodles of books. Lately I’ve been engrossed in everything Jane Austen. Surprised? I recently finished a series entitled ‘Fitzwilliam Darcy, Gentleman’ which chronicles the events of Pride and Prejudice through Darcy’s point of view. And then I proceeded to read a book (Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife) which begins where Jane Austen left off with P and P. All I can say about that book is, if Jane Austen weren’t already dead, she’d have an aneurysm upon reading this. Her seemingly chaste characters are anything but, in very explicit detail. It was very amusing and somewhat ridiculous. But I did enjoy parts of it and I look forward to reading the sequel. Oh that wretched Wickham!
Last week was 8 Mars, International Women’s Day. I wore my pagne and met up with Jillian and Ibe in town. I knew it was going to be a good day because I had warm gateau and cold coke—an unmistakeable good omen. First thing was the Lobi dancers. When they do their traditional dance it kind of looks like they’re having an epileptic fit (is that too un-PC for the PC?), but I believe it’s supposed to look like they’re shaking/ruffling their feathers—some kind of rooster-chicken dance of love. I’ve tried dancing like the Lobi, but all I’ve managed to accomplish is an amazingly strong headache.
We then watched a bike race of girls from my CEG. They biked 4 km and upon returning nearly collapsed and/or lost their gateau. It was a little disconcerting that these girls who are so accustomed to hard labor (carrying water, wood, etc. atop their heads and walking for miles under the lovely African sun) would almost keel over after a 7 minute bike ride. But I suppose it’s a different form of exercise for them, working different muscles and such. I know that I can’t carry large objects on my head—I tried once with a bucket of water and it was oh so painful.
Then, we watched women’s associations from Bouroum-Bouroum and surrounding villages march on the road, singing and wearing coordinated pagnes. By far the most enjoyable part of 8 Mars was the soccer game. The week before I coached 6eme and CM2 girls in preparation for the match on Women’s Day. These girls play AYSO-style, but that’s to be expected seeing as how they have had no instruction, and sports in general are a privilege only boys enjoy. Come International Women’s Day; my team was 6eme versus Jillian’s team CM2. My team claimed victory 1-0, but that wasn’t important. The audience and recognition that these girls received was tremendous—tons of people, including the mayor of BrBr and other officials, came to watch them play! I loved that these girls had such a grand audience because all that attention is usually never given to them. They were so excited and they behaved well (unlike during my coaching sessions), which is always a plus.
And then the clouds came, bringing a breeze and a few raindrops.
Everything started over an hour late, unsurprisingly, but it made for a late evening. After Jillian’s 6eme’s theatre piece (with a depressing but realistic ending where impregnated teenage girl later discovers that she, her husband and two children have HIV), there was the ball. You’re picturing the kind of ball from Cinderella, aren’t you? Not quite. But I stayed out way past my bedtime (10 PM!) and biked (uncomfortable when wearing a skirt) home happy with my day.
Last thing for now: Albuquerque, here I come! In 5 months, August 14th, I’m there.
And now I’m rockin it in Diebougou with some internet and mayhaps some chicken. I might even have the honor of selecting a chicken that suits my fancy, while said chicken is still enjoying the flow of oxygen. As for my spring break plans, I intend on relaxing and reading oodles of books. Lately I’ve been engrossed in everything Jane Austen. Surprised? I recently finished a series entitled ‘Fitzwilliam Darcy, Gentleman’ which chronicles the events of Pride and Prejudice through Darcy’s point of view. And then I proceeded to read a book (Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife) which begins where Jane Austen left off with P and P. All I can say about that book is, if Jane Austen weren’t already dead, she’d have an aneurysm upon reading this. Her seemingly chaste characters are anything but, in very explicit detail. It was very amusing and somewhat ridiculous. But I did enjoy parts of it and I look forward to reading the sequel. Oh that wretched Wickham!
Last week was 8 Mars, International Women’s Day. I wore my pagne and met up with Jillian and Ibe in town. I knew it was going to be a good day because I had warm gateau and cold coke—an unmistakeable good omen. First thing was the Lobi dancers. When they do their traditional dance it kind of looks like they’re having an epileptic fit (is that too un-PC for the PC?), but I believe it’s supposed to look like they’re shaking/ruffling their feathers—some kind of rooster-chicken dance of love. I’ve tried dancing like the Lobi, but all I’ve managed to accomplish is an amazingly strong headache.
We then watched a bike race of girls from my CEG. They biked 4 km and upon returning nearly collapsed and/or lost their gateau. It was a little disconcerting that these girls who are so accustomed to hard labor (carrying water, wood, etc. atop their heads and walking for miles under the lovely African sun) would almost keel over after a 7 minute bike ride. But I suppose it’s a different form of exercise for them, working different muscles and such. I know that I can’t carry large objects on my head—I tried once with a bucket of water and it was oh so painful.
Then, we watched women’s associations from Bouroum-Bouroum and surrounding villages march on the road, singing and wearing coordinated pagnes. By far the most enjoyable part of 8 Mars was the soccer game. The week before I coached 6eme and CM2 girls in preparation for the match on Women’s Day. These girls play AYSO-style, but that’s to be expected seeing as how they have had no instruction, and sports in general are a privilege only boys enjoy. Come International Women’s Day; my team was 6eme versus Jillian’s team CM2. My team claimed victory 1-0, but that wasn’t important. The audience and recognition that these girls received was tremendous—tons of people, including the mayor of BrBr and other officials, came to watch them play! I loved that these girls had such a grand audience because all that attention is usually never given to them. They were so excited and they behaved well (unlike during my coaching sessions), which is always a plus.
And then the clouds came, bringing a breeze and a few raindrops.
Everything started over an hour late, unsurprisingly, but it made for a late evening. After Jillian’s 6eme’s theatre piece (with a depressing but realistic ending where impregnated teenage girl later discovers that she, her husband and two children have HIV), there was the ball. You’re picturing the kind of ball from Cinderella, aren’t you? Not quite. But I stayed out way past my bedtime (10 PM!) and biked (uncomfortable when wearing a skirt) home happy with my day.
Last thing for now: Albuquerque, here I come! In 5 months, August 14th, I’m there.
Friday, February 26, 2010
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.
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.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
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!
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!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
