I’m on my back to Burkina after a week in South Africa. As I’m writing this I’m sitting on a plane to Accra. I’m seeing a lot of Ghana natives on this flight (naturally) and boy is it a sad day for them. Yesterday Ghana lost to Uruguay in a shoot-out; it was an exciting game, but after Gyan missed the penalty shot in OT, forcing the game to be decided by five pk’s, I was pretty certain that Ghana would lose. They were too jittery and hyped-up, whereas the Uruguay team was calm and collected. It’s easier to control and guide your shots when you’re calm and collected. So Ghana lost, and the Ghanaians (and practically all of Africa) are le sad. It’s hard to listen to my iPod while all around me my fellow Ghanaian neighbors are arguing loudly about the game.
Anywho, South Africa! What an amazing week! Thank you so much, Dad, for a spectacular vacation; it was great seeing you!
I arrived in Johannesburg around 5 AM and took the Gautrain (commissioned solely for the World Cup) to Sandton. Dad and I stayed at Sandton Towers Intercontinental, a hotel I highly recommend. Though considering where I’ve lived the past year I’m sure I’d also highly recommend a Motel 6 in Compton. I arrived and was given orange juice and a warm towel, how lovely! While I waited for Dad to arrive I went to the shopping center connected to our hotel through a skywalk. Now I know what volunteers (who’ve returned to the States or somewhere that’s not Burkina) mean when they say they were overwhelmed by all the “stuff.” I stood outside what looked like an upscale grocery store and stared in through a window until a guard approached me and told me that if I desired it, I could actually go into the store. I must’ve been standing there for a while with my mouth hanging open. I didn’t go into the store; I’m saving my grocery shopping experience for when I’m in Albuquerque in August. Costco, here I come!
Anywho, I walked through this shopping center in Joburg feeling somewhat detached from it. Oh Burkina, what have you done to me? The first thing I bought was a pre-made sandwich of turkey, ham, salami, cheese, tomatoes and cucumbers on ciabatta bread, and it was the best darn sandwich I’ve tasted. Dad scoffed at my pre-made sandwich when I told him about it, but I told him that my food standards are impossibly low. Another exciting purchase I made was a bra. The clasps on my old ones broke off a while back, and so I’ve been holding them together with safety pins. But no more!
My first night in Jo’burg Dad and I met up with some of Dad’s South African attorney buddies (who were incredibly nice and funny) for dinner. I had sushi and I watched USA lose to Ghana. The important part here is that I had sushi! California rolls, salmon, tuna, crab. And to top it all off I had chocolate mousse and brownies for dessert. At night I slept on clouds. It was a warm heaven of fluffy white pillows and high-thread count sheets, which is quite the change from my sweating the night away in Burkina on my lipico (think lawn chair). And thank goodness the airline gave Dad earplugs in business class. The whole sleeping on a bed of clouds experience would have been dampened by all the loud snoring. Love you, Dad!
Sunday brought us the Argentina vs Mexico game at Soccer City Stadium. The stadium was beautiful and our seats were great. From the outside the stadium looked huge, but inside it was actually quite cozy. Dad and I were seated next to Mexico fans, and I found myself cheering for Mexico alongside them. They were the underdogs and there were a lot more Argentina fans present. By the way, Dad and I were almost directly in line with the goal line and we saw Tevez when he scored that offsides goal. Holy frijoles he was off by a mile! I thought that I’d be annoyed by all the noise of the vuvuzelas (because on TV the noise is horrendous), but inside the stadium the vuvuzelas are a part of the game. I didn’t mind them at all, and I even considered buying one. However, I came to my senses. And I thank the soccer gods for not seating a person strapped with one directly behind me, because then I’d probably feel a lot different about them.
Before I forget, here’s a fun odd fact: South Africans call traffic lights “robots.” When I asked for directions to the hotel, I was told to “turn left at the second robot.” Robot is a cooler name than traffic light.
Monday morning Dad and I took a plane to Nelspruit, which is about an hour east of Jo’burg. Dad scheduled a safari for us in Kruger National Park at Inyati Private Game Reserve. Again, I highly recommend this place, as does Dad’s Capetownian colleague. So I was back in the bush, but it was a different kind of bush. While driving to Inyati we were greeted by a troupe of elephants and we had to wait for Mom Elephant to finish eating and move off the road before we could continue on our way. Inyati is placed smack dab in the middle of Kruger National Park and has 11 “huts.” A hut to me means a bare mudbrick or concrete house with a shower and a lovely latrine, complete only with cockroach companions. But an Inyati hut means furnished rooms with electricity and running water, with tiled floors and thick rugs and a cleaning service, with chocolates on your pillow and heating pads to warm the beds. No sign of cockroaches or even mosquitoes, because it’s winter there. Yup, I much prefer Inyati’s definition of “hut.” Thry did have an outdoor shower (in addition to the indoor one), but I didn’t use it because it was freezing. I was so cold and oh so very happy about it! Temperatures in the 60’s—what a blessing!
There were eight people in our safari excursion group, including Dad and me. Our fearless tracker was Nelson, who sat on a seat that looked like an appendage off the hood of the car; and out knowledgeable guide was Piet. These guys were terrific, and they always had coca cola stocked in the cooler for me. Ash and Angela from Manhattan and Alan and Lora from Atlanta were in our group, and I had a terrific time with them. Ash was especially amusing, and I look forward to watching Lora’s videos and listening to her informative commentary (eg “This is an elephant”).
Our safari vehicle was a monster, one of those beasts where you wouldn’t notice if you ran over another car because it would feel like a speedhump. But the car was necessary for the terrain. We went out on excursions twice a day, from 6 AM-10AM and again from 4 PM-7PM. It was spectacular! We saw the Big 5 (elephants, lions, leopards, buffalos and rhinos) and then some: giraffes, hippos, crocodiles, mongoose (is it mongeese?), warthogs, zebras (a dazzle of them!), and a crapton of antelope and birds. We saw a leopard hunting impalas while her cubs waited in a tree for her. We saw lions feasting/sleeping on a buffalo. We saw baby lion cubs playing with mom and their older brother. We stalked a lion until it started stalking us. We thought an elephant was going to charge our car. Piet and Nelson weren’t worried, but the rest of us nearly crapped our pants. All the animals were so close to us—uncomfortably close at times. One elephant stopped within 6 feet of our car and I instinctively scooted to the far end of the seat. It was scary! Even the lions were right next to us, but one pride was feasting on buffalo so they paid us little attention. Yet I couldn’t help shivering when a lion pulled his head out of the buffalo’s stomach, looked right at me and licked his chops.
The rhinos were shy, the giraffes galloped gracefully away from us and the hippos were noisy. Nature called during one of our excursions while we were next to the hippo pond, but before I could relieve myself Piet had to inspect the area for predators. What a way to go: death by hippo while squatting in a bush.
On our trips we also saw homo sapiens standing outside their own monster vehicle drinking beer and wine—wildlife in their natural habitat. Did you know that elephants make a growling noise? It sounds like a growl, but it’s not a noise they make when they feels threatened. It’s actually a mode of communication with their fellow elephants.
Back at the lodge baboons and monkeys run amock. A baboon tried to get into our hut, but the door was locked. I watched as a baboon opened the sliding doors to the lounge, ran into the kitchen and came out with a handful of crackers. The kitchen staff chased after him, running and screaming. It was hilarious.
The day after our first night at Inyati a group of doctors from the U.S. joined our party. I met three of them (sisters) in the bathroom where we introduced ourselves and they asked me what I did for a living. When I told them I was a Peace Corps Volunteer, one of the sisters looked at me and said, “I knew it!” Should I be offended? I wasn’t wearing any PC paraphernalia, and yet she had me down for a PCV. It must have been the way I carried myself—confident, open, like a lived a hard-core life and I could take anything. Either that or it was my overall homeliness—my worn, stretched out and holey clothes (Dad informed me that there’s mold on my Puget Sound sweatshirt), my spotty complexion and my uneven haircut (I’m giving up hairdresser as a potential career).
Anywho, the food at Inyati was delectable. Cold salmon, meat pastries, ostrich, kudu, ox tails, kiwis, bacon, sausage, cheese, croissants, muffins, soups, puddings. I didn’t have rice once! Save for the sushi in Jo’burg, but that doesn’t count.
Dad’s and my last night together we spent at Cybele Forest Lodge and Spa. It’s another amazing lodge with spectacular food, warm and cozy rooms and our own private pool. I’d go back to South Africa just to spend a few days there.
That was my South African vacation, and I simply can’t wait to go back. Dad, I’m so glad that you wanted to spend your vacation with me and I can’t thank you enough for that wonderful week. And thank you for the chocolate and the five jars of peanut butter! That’ll last me a few months!
I’ll most certainly post pictures, but I’m going to wait until I’m back in the States. And that’ll be next month. Sweetness in a can!
Monday, July 5, 2010
Saturday, June 12, 2010
do what you should
What a glorious month it will be. I came to Ouaga yesterday specifically for the premiere of the World Cup. Oh it was divine watching South Africa play Mexico under a fan, drinking a coke and eating a salad with eggs and chicken. And tonight! Golly I can’t wait for the USA and England game. England will probably win but I hope to be pleasantly surprised.
I don’t have much to update: School’s over, all my students have either returned to their villages and/or are working in the fields. I’ve been reading a lot, staring off into space, wrapping myself in a wet pagne and laying on my floor, covering myself in baby powder (blasted heat rash!), and hanging out in village people watching.
For a week there I thought that my cat Herman was dead. Someone left one of those traps outside of my courtyard that looks like an open jaw with razor teeth, and Herman got caught in it. Just his front left paw, but it was so mangled that it no longer looked like a body part. I called the veterinarian—he was in Gaoua, naturally—and didn’t show up at my door until a week after I found Herman. I even called my Major who runs the health clinic in Bouroum-Bouroum. I was desperate, but he said he couldn’t help me either. Herman wouldn’t let me near him after I tried to clean his wound and put it into a splint. He crawled into his litter box and just layed there for hours. He howled to be let outside and I let him because I couldn’t do anything for him. I thought he was leaving me to die, and I didn’t see him for a week.
But after returning from Diebougou, there he was! With Harriet! He’s limping, but he’s putting pressure on his paw. Two of his bones stick out in all their glory, yet he still tries to knead. What a silly kitty. Herman’s back to eating, drinking, being my little lover kitty. And the vet finally came and gave him shots of antibiotic, so I think Herman will do just fine.
In other news, I’m going to Johannesburg in two weeks! Dad and I are going to rendez-vous there and see a World Cup match on the 27th. Oh amazingness in a can!
I don’t have much to update: School’s over, all my students have either returned to their villages and/or are working in the fields. I’ve been reading a lot, staring off into space, wrapping myself in a wet pagne and laying on my floor, covering myself in baby powder (blasted heat rash!), and hanging out in village people watching.
For a week there I thought that my cat Herman was dead. Someone left one of those traps outside of my courtyard that looks like an open jaw with razor teeth, and Herman got caught in it. Just his front left paw, but it was so mangled that it no longer looked like a body part. I called the veterinarian—he was in Gaoua, naturally—and didn’t show up at my door until a week after I found Herman. I even called my Major who runs the health clinic in Bouroum-Bouroum. I was desperate, but he said he couldn’t help me either. Herman wouldn’t let me near him after I tried to clean his wound and put it into a splint. He crawled into his litter box and just layed there for hours. He howled to be let outside and I let him because I couldn’t do anything for him. I thought he was leaving me to die, and I didn’t see him for a week.
But after returning from Diebougou, there he was! With Harriet! He’s limping, but he’s putting pressure on his paw. Two of his bones stick out in all their glory, yet he still tries to knead. What a silly kitty. Herman’s back to eating, drinking, being my little lover kitty. And the vet finally came and gave him shots of antibiotic, so I think Herman will do just fine.
In other news, I’m going to Johannesburg in two weeks! Dad and I are going to rendez-vous there and see a World Cup match on the 27th. Oh amazingness in a can!
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Who is John Galt?
He’s a cool dude. But who is Dagny Taggart? People should be asking that question.
I’m in the middle of Atlas Shrugged, another one of my favorite books. I’m celebrating the end of the school year with Ayn Rand and her characters. I finished filling out report cards yesterday—sitting in a cramped room with the others teachers, swatting flies off my nose, listening to Burkinabe music and one random Nelly song. Next week we have a conseil to discuss the students’ grades and the preparations for the BEPC, which takes place on June 3. But after next Thursday, I am le done.
I’ve been here about a year and I have approximately one year left. Unless I decide to extend my service, but I don’t see that happening. Anywho, lately I’ve been trying to plan what I’ll do with my last year. This first one passed by so quickly that now, at my review of it, I feel like I didn’t have enough time to actually get started. I taught one year of school, I had an English Club that went the way of the buffalo, and I coached soccer and did sensibilizations on HIV/AIDS and moringa.
But there’s nothing in those things that will still be here after I leave Burkina. I was pleased to see that some of my students’ math grades improved after tutoring sessions with me; hell I was pleased to discover that I didn’t actually loathe teaching; I had fun talking to students about HIV/AIDS preventions and I hope that they’re now informed of how to maintain a healthy lifestyle in that respect. But none of those things are tangible or lasting, nothing that 5 years from now the people of BB will look at and say, “Yep, that right there is something that white girl did while she was living here.”
Enter World Map Project. This summer I’ll start planning a World Map Project for Bouroum-Bouroum. I’ve found the perfect place for our world map—it’s on the side of the 6eme building of our CEG. The wall faces the road (not the goudron, as my house and school are 2 km off the main road), so everyone passing by as well as all the students will be able to see it. I won’t be able to start the actual painting of the world map until after the saison de pluie, so I’m thinking November.
Though I realize that PCV’s plans are often revised or thrown out completely, I’ll do everything in my power to paint the world in Bouroum-Bouroum. Even if it’s the size of my palm. Next year I also will set up a correspondence program between my students and the students of a middle school in Doylestown, Pennsylvania. The only problem with this correspondence program is that it ends once I leave. My students will lose their correspondents unless they’re able to pay for postage and to pay for transport to a place where there’s a post office. Oh well. It’s not sustainable, but it’s something that these kids desperately want.
I’m in the middle of Atlas Shrugged, another one of my favorite books. I’m celebrating the end of the school year with Ayn Rand and her characters. I finished filling out report cards yesterday—sitting in a cramped room with the others teachers, swatting flies off my nose, listening to Burkinabe music and one random Nelly song. Next week we have a conseil to discuss the students’ grades and the preparations for the BEPC, which takes place on June 3. But after next Thursday, I am le done.
I’ve been here about a year and I have approximately one year left. Unless I decide to extend my service, but I don’t see that happening. Anywho, lately I’ve been trying to plan what I’ll do with my last year. This first one passed by so quickly that now, at my review of it, I feel like I didn’t have enough time to actually get started. I taught one year of school, I had an English Club that went the way of the buffalo, and I coached soccer and did sensibilizations on HIV/AIDS and moringa.
But there’s nothing in those things that will still be here after I leave Burkina. I was pleased to see that some of my students’ math grades improved after tutoring sessions with me; hell I was pleased to discover that I didn’t actually loathe teaching; I had fun talking to students about HIV/AIDS preventions and I hope that they’re now informed of how to maintain a healthy lifestyle in that respect. But none of those things are tangible or lasting, nothing that 5 years from now the people of BB will look at and say, “Yep, that right there is something that white girl did while she was living here.”
Enter World Map Project. This summer I’ll start planning a World Map Project for Bouroum-Bouroum. I’ve found the perfect place for our world map—it’s on the side of the 6eme building of our CEG. The wall faces the road (not the goudron, as my house and school are 2 km off the main road), so everyone passing by as well as all the students will be able to see it. I won’t be able to start the actual painting of the world map until after the saison de pluie, so I’m thinking November.
Though I realize that PCV’s plans are often revised or thrown out completely, I’ll do everything in my power to paint the world in Bouroum-Bouroum. Even if it’s the size of my palm. Next year I also will set up a correspondence program between my students and the students of a middle school in Doylestown, Pennsylvania. The only problem with this correspondence program is that it ends once I leave. My students will lose their correspondents unless they’re able to pay for postage and to pay for transport to a place where there’s a post office. Oh well. It’s not sustainable, but it’s something that these kids desperately want.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
in my haste
The rain came yesterday and my heat rash is going away. Life is beautiful.
This past week Jillian came to my three classes to do moringa sensibilizations with my students. The moringa tree is so important here in Burkina because its powder contains a crapload of nutrients—Vitamin A, C, calcium, protein, etc. Since malnutrition, especially in children, is a huge concern in Africa, moringa serves as an important supplement to the peoples’ diet. During certain months it’s difficult to find any vegetables at all, and meat is expensive. So it’s difficult to stay healthy when you have neither the means nor the resources. But moringa combines a lot of the essential nutrients a body needs into a powder.
At the CSPS (hospital) in Bouroum-Bouroum, women mix moringa powder into porridge and give it to infants to help them gain weight. Jillian told me she once saw a little girl at the CSPS who weighed about 12 pounds at the one-year mark. No bueno. But after about a month of eating bouille containing moringa, the girl had gained another two pounds.
During our sensibilization, we gave students moringa seeds and showed/told them how to plant and maintain them. You can even buy a moringa tree in its adolescent stage in BrBr for 100 CFA, which is about 25 cents. They require very little water—a good thing considering how close we are to the Sahel—and the rainy season is almost upon us. The only obstacle with moringa is making sure those blasted goats don’t eat them. Earlier last year goats ate my papaya tree, but I won’t let them take my mango tree!
Good stuff, moringa.
Jillian and I had a girls’ night on Thursday. A little surprised? Yep, me too. But I had a great time and Jillian made dinner at my house—a place where food is never prepared. She made spaghetti and garlic bread. We listened to Lucky Dube, shaved our legs (quite a lot of work for me), and painted our nails. We even had honey/sugar facial masks, though we had to remove about 10 or 15 bugs out of the honey (BrBr is known for its honey and yams) before we could use it. Pictures are posted.
In about a month the new Secondary Education stage is arriving in Burkina. If you’re wondering what you should bring, I can tell you that a solar charger is probably one of the best things I have here. That and peanut butter. Unless you’re going to teach IT, there’s a very good chance that you won’t have electricity at your site. And if you’re anything like me then you need to listen to music every day. My Solio Magnesium charges both my iPod and phone, and it’s simply magnificent.
Next week, exams. The week after, grades. The week after that, no more l’école. As I said before, life is beautiful.
Happy Mother’s Day, Mamita and Shelly! And Grandma, Nana and Aunt Mary!
This past week Jillian came to my three classes to do moringa sensibilizations with my students. The moringa tree is so important here in Burkina because its powder contains a crapload of nutrients—Vitamin A, C, calcium, protein, etc. Since malnutrition, especially in children, is a huge concern in Africa, moringa serves as an important supplement to the peoples’ diet. During certain months it’s difficult to find any vegetables at all, and meat is expensive. So it’s difficult to stay healthy when you have neither the means nor the resources. But moringa combines a lot of the essential nutrients a body needs into a powder.
At the CSPS (hospital) in Bouroum-Bouroum, women mix moringa powder into porridge and give it to infants to help them gain weight. Jillian told me she once saw a little girl at the CSPS who weighed about 12 pounds at the one-year mark. No bueno. But after about a month of eating bouille containing moringa, the girl had gained another two pounds.
During our sensibilization, we gave students moringa seeds and showed/told them how to plant and maintain them. You can even buy a moringa tree in its adolescent stage in BrBr for 100 CFA, which is about 25 cents. They require very little water—a good thing considering how close we are to the Sahel—and the rainy season is almost upon us. The only obstacle with moringa is making sure those blasted goats don’t eat them. Earlier last year goats ate my papaya tree, but I won’t let them take my mango tree!
Good stuff, moringa.
Jillian and I had a girls’ night on Thursday. A little surprised? Yep, me too. But I had a great time and Jillian made dinner at my house—a place where food is never prepared. She made spaghetti and garlic bread. We listened to Lucky Dube, shaved our legs (quite a lot of work for me), and painted our nails. We even had honey/sugar facial masks, though we had to remove about 10 or 15 bugs out of the honey (BrBr is known for its honey and yams) before we could use it. Pictures are posted.
In about a month the new Secondary Education stage is arriving in Burkina. If you’re wondering what you should bring, I can tell you that a solar charger is probably one of the best things I have here. That and peanut butter. Unless you’re going to teach IT, there’s a very good chance that you won’t have electricity at your site. And if you’re anything like me then you need to listen to music every day. My Solio Magnesium charges both my iPod and phone, and it’s simply magnificent.
Next week, exams. The week after, grades. The week after that, no more l’école. As I said before, life is beautiful.
Happy Mother’s Day, Mamita and Shelly! And Grandma, Nana and Aunt Mary!
Friday, April 30, 2010
a sippy cup of milk
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?
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?
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.
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