Thursday, January 13, 2011
Death-Defying Expedition of Wonderment & Discovery
Written by
Chad
Even though mankind follows the seven-days-in-a-week rule, our sister village across the gorge has market every five days. So, each time we correctly calculate this clumsy interval, we go through our market day routine: rise and shine, slurp down our instant coffee, trade out our pajamas for dress casual, and kick open the double doors. Time to embark once again into the throes of danger, to scale the canyon, to buy carrots.
As we make our way out of village, we greet women wearing multi-gallon bowls like hats and kids kicking ragged balls in the dust. We shout our Jula greeting "ani sogoma" to everyone within earshot. Oftentimes, a neighbor waves us down, waylaying our galavant with an invitation to kick back in hammock chairs and sip some tea.
Here, tea parties are not rendezvouses solely attended by little girls and their teddy bears. It's adult men who crowd around their meticulously maintained tea sets, pouring an intensely potent Chinese blend into shot glasses. Once brewed, the teapartiers repeatedly pour it from one cup to another, aiming to maximize frothiness. The ultimate mark of a Burkinabe renaissance man, I've learned, is his proclivity for producing an excessively frothy brew. The target ratio appears to be 75 percent foam to 25 percent tea.
Exiting the village, we tread through a papaya grove and past a big termite mound, coming face to face with the half-mile-wide gorge. At the precipice you can look across from either side and see the stone buildings and tin roofs of the adjacent villages. Looking down, it's all treetops. This marks the ideal spot for the hundred-foot zipline I've been dreaming about, should they ever decide to convert the gorge into an amusement park. A zipline or maybe a bungee jump.
The farther you descend into the belly of the canyon, the more tropical greenhousey it gets. The creek in the middle, surrounded by an orchard of banana trees, is passable in winter by way of a two-log bridge. Come rainy season, however, if you're not Michael Phelps, it's best to just bike the three-mile detour. Down in the ravine, women are always washing their clothes. The hodgepodge way they lay out their clothes to dry makes it look like somebody's hamper exploded.
We saw a snake down here last time, but it saw my muscular physique and wisely fled the confrontation. It was hardly the life-flashing-before-one's-eyes kind of safari moment that one leaves his birth continent to chase. But wait, stay on the edge of your seat: by night there is danger afoot in the gorge! The creek is home to a band of nocturnal hungry hippos who consider the nearby cornfields an all-you-can-eat buffet. Tana and I are in talks to assemble a hippo-watching troupe. We will scale trees on summer mornings and train our binoculars on the depths of the creek. Just as birdwatching enthusiasts call themselves "birders," history will know us as "hippers."
Not to mention, there are these giant komodo dragon-esque reptiles called monitors. Modern-day dinosaurs. Tana was lucky enough to see one at a restaurant in November. Her local counterpart and mentor Ibrahim is to monitors what Steve Irwin was to crocodiles, minus the Australian accent. When Ibrahim captures a monitor, an entire family can eat from all the meat. Ibrahim has vowed to let us sample this delicacy following his next hunt. That's an especially awesome bullet point on my bucket list.
The ascent to the destination town involves climbing narrow red clay footholds. Pretty steep and not yet wheelchair accessible. Market is about as busy as Wal-Mart on Black Friday. It's a sea of people cramming through a tight labyrinth of unlabeled products. To avoid head trauma, you have to limbo under the protruding sticks of the vendors' wooden huts. At times it feels like traversing the tubes and ball pits at a McDonald's playplace.
All around you are tons of unidentifiable meats and colored powders in baggies. Products of all shapes and sizes and species. A table full of dried anchovies reminds me of the fishhead on my plate the other night that I respectfully declined, citing lack of courage. They also sell rocks here you're supposed to eat (especially pregnant women, we're told). I might as well try that while Uncle Sam's footing my dental bill.
Wow, I just realized this entry is way too long. I promise I'm not trying to punish you for caring about our whereabouts and whathaveyous. I just need to stop having thoughts, that's all. Maybe take up a hobby like widdling figurines out of soap.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Seeking Refuge from Reeking Refuse
Written by
Chad
Roosters are jerks. They do nothing but strut around, looking all pretentious and self-obsessed. They're kind of like locker room jocks who might slap you with a towel and call you four-eyes. I'll be sound asleep, dreaming about electricity and running water, and suddenly at 3:25 AM a rooster yells, "WAKE UP! SLEEP IS FOR THE WEAK, YOU PANSY!" Then all his rooster frat boy friends around the village crow in response, "YEAH, I'VE BEEN AWAKE THIS WHOLE TIME! I'M TOO MANLY TO SLEEP." It's difficult for us to tolerate their immature behavior, but I know that it stems from each rooster's insecurity and need to belong.
By day, the music of the great outdoors is as predictable as the animal sounds in "Old McDonald Had A Farm." We hear the grunting of passing pigs. We hear what sounds like a wheelbarrow with a squeaky wheel- it's just guinea hens squawking and pecking in the trash pile.
But, by night, unidentifiable creaks, scratches, and movements come from all directions. By night, were convinced that the universe is out to get us. Within our five-room home, we find special solace and safety within our fortress of solitude, a yellow mosquito net canopied over top the bed. Flashlights in hand, we huddle close and wait out the savage sounds of the wild threatening to invade our sanctuary. At the unholiest of hours, chirping bats fling themselves against our metal roof and bleating goats ram against our front door. Perhaps they're scratching their backs, but more likely, they're plotting to break in and eat us alive. We know your game, Mother Nature.
Our latrine happens to be on the opposite side of the courtyard from us, so on any given midnight potty run, we must open the front door to our porch, which is also the door to the goats' bedroom. They awaken and frantically disperse from the porch. It's equally startling to see them on the way back from the latrine, floating through the courtyard like horned ghosts, glaring begrudgingly. I don't think they've warmed up to us yet, because these are the very goats who try every day to eat the straw off of the porchside lattice. There's just no room for diplomacy with an army of hungry goats.
Good news, though. I'm thinking I can deter their armies' advances in the disputed porch territory by spraying Rambo everywhere (Rambo is Burkina's own all-purpose ddt-laced insecticide. It smells awful). If our ongoing war with the goats reaches a ceasefire, we won't have to continue greeting the day each morning by sweeping their droppings off our welcome mat.
Each morning, we never set an alarm because in the wintry 70-degree weather, village children in Eskimo coats and earmuffs make fires in the trash pile that is only three meters from our bedroom window (that's about ten feet for those of you who still refuse to switch to metric). Many of these children for some reason have those little party favor kazoos. The limited repertoire of toys around our village means that children make the most of what they have. So, they blow liberally on their kazoo thingies, filling our ears with wake-up music as the carcinogenic smoke from their trashpile fills our lungs with lifespan-reducing chemicals.
As a passerby, the smell of burning garbage, like it or not, will often waft into your nostrils. It's unmistakable. It's emblazoned into your nasal cavity. If you endure this odor enough times as I have, you'll be able to conjure it up anytime at your beckon call, helping you lose your appetite, even faced with a hot plate of your favorite food. This could be a useful skill, I think--losing one's appetite on command--kind of like how a talented actor can make himself cry if he wants to... Hm, I lost my train of thought...
Oh, yeah, I meant to tell you- since there are no laws against littering in Burkina, these trashpiles are everywhere. The take-home message of this is that anytime, anywhere, you can drop your juicebox immediately after you finish it. In fact, it's encouraged! Finished with that diaper? Drop it on the sidewalk. Done with that nuclear waste? Just throw it out the bus window. You get the idea. Sure, it's any easy concept to grasp, but in practice, I'm still a dude with twenty-four years of goody-goody conditioning in middle-class America.
I had eaten the granola bar, yet the wrapper remained in my clenched fist. My mind said, "Drop it! When in Rome!" But my hand said, "No, let's wait for a trashcan. Littering kills baby ducklings and causes, like, global warming and cancer and stuff." Fifteen minutes later, I was still walking around the market in search of a trashcan- there were none to be found. My hand gripping the granola wrapper, sweat dripping down, I suddenly believed everyone was staring at me, whispering about me, "Why won't he drop his granola wrapper? What's wrong with that man?" I swallowed my fears and decided to loosen my hand muscles... but how to do it? Should I triumphantly heave the wrapper at the pavement? Too melodramatic... Should I ashamedly stash it my pocket so I can privately dispose of it at home? Don't be a chicken... Should I pretend to scratch my leg and "accidentally" drop it? I just can't do it... I looked at the empty wrapper in my palm and looked at Tana. "Hey! Want the rest of my granola bar?" I handed it to her and took off running.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Our Last Couple Weeks Retold through Haikus
Written by
Chad
T-Shirt Project
Tana busted her
butt to draw this graffiti
styled t-shirt for us
Early Morning in a Tropical Village
In our village, a
goat, a tree, a health clinic,
Tana walking in
Moving to Our New Village And Starting a Garden
Goodbye Koudougou
Salif, Tana, Ibrahim
Will sow seedlings here
Ode to Moussa, My Awesome Language Teacher
Moussa watched a
Hollywood movie, then asked
us: what does "thug" mean?
Salesmen in Africa Often Approach You While You're Eating at Restaurants and Try to Sell You Random, Odd Things
During dinner they
Sell sunglasses, pianos,
Christmas trees, it's strange
The Southwest Swears In
We're the southiest
We're the westiest Peace Corps
Volunteers around
My Host Brothers and Sisters
Rashid rapped bout AIDS
Karim wrote homework for me
I taught them guitar
Little Gracie
Cutest host sister
Dances just like Shakira
Sings in high-pitched voice
African Lunch
Rice, cabbage, always
Food is ninety percent carbs
Tongue wants sugar drinks
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Never Play Cards in a Thunderstorm & Other Superstitions
Written by
Chad
Okay, just so we're clear, these are well-known superstitions in Burkina. Each is one hundred percent real.
So let's say you're a Burkinabe dude and you're gearing up for a roadtrip to the see the Hippo Lake near Banfora. You'll probably want to take your favorite jar of honey with you, maybe your pet duck, and hey why not bring your trusty mortar and pestle as well? Superstition dictates that if you indeed transport these items, you must spread honey on all four car wheels, wound the duck first, and put at least five francs in the mortar/pestle. If not, you'll have a highway accident. Make sure if you see a snake crossing the road in front of you, you change to a new route. Snakes are Africa's version of black cats, I guess. It's also important that if you accidentally hit a dog while driving, you don't look back or else you'll soon commit vehicular manslaughter. Just keep driving, but remember to stop after you've hit the dog and rinse the tires with urine (yes, urine) in order to salvage what little good luck you may have left.
By the way, if you're a woman, you're considered a bringer of life, so make sure you don't accidentally kill a dog or any other animal. When you're pregnant, be careful not to munch on the meat of any pregnant animal. Other foods to avoid: eating rat meat during pregnancy will result in your child eventually turning to a life of crime. Rats, after all, are like little household thieves. When holding your baby, it's especially good luck to let it urinate on your lap. When you're rearing this child, make sure you don't hit him with a shoe, a broom, or a spatula. If you do, the poor kid will become an idiot (shoe), lazy (broom), or impotent (spatula).
When choosing a wife, don't pick one with flat feet. If you do, you'll die. Note to self: find way to casually inspect Tana's soles tonight. Also, never bite your wife or husband, or else your marriage will be unlucky. It's widely believed that if a husband moves stones in the household foyer or intentionally breaks a jar of water, his wife is entitled to a divorce. It's doubly unlucky to throw a jar of hot water on the ground. The evil spirits will punish you for disrespecting any hot liquid in this way. It's a good idea to intersperse cloves of garlic randomly around your house: a garlic a day keeps the spirits at bay.
There are plenty of weird superstitions relating to animals. If you whistle after sundown, the snakes will come eat you. If you're on your way to a job interview (or any important endeavor) in Burkina and you see a hedgehog, bad news, my friend. It's not going to be pretty and you'll no doubt fail miserably, so just try not to notice hedgehogs on your way to your next inevitable next job interview. If you lose a tooth and toss it on your roof, you'll receive a rooster the very next day. I suppose the African tooth fairy is more of a rooster fairy.
In the Jula tradition, each family must have a totem animal that they must not eat. In Jula, the word totem is coincidentally pronounced Tana. So, much to our benefit, my host family's "Tana" is the dog. We haven't eaten dog yet, but mark my words- given the opportunity, I intend to sample some luscious Labradoodle or some mouth-watering Shetland Sheep Dog before I set foot again in America. I've already tried roasted caterpillar, a veritable delicacy in our neck of the woods. It crumbled like dirt in my mouth, suffocating my tongue in its bitter smokiness. An acquired taste, I suppose. I feigned a smile, flashed the obligatory thumbs up, then ran to my food suitcase (my only true safe haven in desperate times) to resuscitate my taste buds with some Skittles and gummy snacks.
So let's say you're a Burkinabe dude and you're gearing up for a roadtrip to the see the Hippo Lake near Banfora. You'll probably want to take your favorite jar of honey with you, maybe your pet duck, and hey why not bring your trusty mortar and pestle as well? Superstition dictates that if you indeed transport these items, you must spread honey on all four car wheels, wound the duck first, and put at least five francs in the mortar/pestle. If not, you'll have a highway accident. Make sure if you see a snake crossing the road in front of you, you change to a new route. Snakes are Africa's version of black cats, I guess. It's also important that if you accidentally hit a dog while driving, you don't look back or else you'll soon commit vehicular manslaughter. Just keep driving, but remember to stop after you've hit the dog and rinse the tires with urine (yes, urine) in order to salvage what little good luck you may have left.
By the way, if you're a woman, you're considered a bringer of life, so make sure you don't accidentally kill a dog or any other animal. When you're pregnant, be careful not to munch on the meat of any pregnant animal. Other foods to avoid: eating rat meat during pregnancy will result in your child eventually turning to a life of crime. Rats, after all, are like little household thieves. When holding your baby, it's especially good luck to let it urinate on your lap. When you're rearing this child, make sure you don't hit him with a shoe, a broom, or a spatula. If you do, the poor kid will become an idiot (shoe), lazy (broom), or impotent (spatula).
When choosing a wife, don't pick one with flat feet. If you do, you'll die. Note to self: find way to casually inspect Tana's soles tonight. Also, never bite your wife or husband, or else your marriage will be unlucky. It's widely believed that if a husband moves stones in the household foyer or intentionally breaks a jar of water, his wife is entitled to a divorce. It's doubly unlucky to throw a jar of hot water on the ground. The evil spirits will punish you for disrespecting any hot liquid in this way. It's a good idea to intersperse cloves of garlic randomly around your house: a garlic a day keeps the spirits at bay.
There are plenty of weird superstitions relating to animals. If you whistle after sundown, the snakes will come eat you. If you're on your way to a job interview (or any important endeavor) in Burkina and you see a hedgehog, bad news, my friend. It's not going to be pretty and you'll no doubt fail miserably, so just try not to notice hedgehogs on your way to your next inevitable next job interview. If you lose a tooth and toss it on your roof, you'll receive a rooster the very next day. I suppose the African tooth fairy is more of a rooster fairy.
In the Jula tradition, each family must have a totem animal that they must not eat. In Jula, the word totem is coincidentally pronounced Tana. So, much to our benefit, my host family's "Tana" is the dog. We haven't eaten dog yet, but mark my words- given the opportunity, I intend to sample some luscious Labradoodle or some mouth-watering Shetland Sheep Dog before I set foot again in America. I've already tried roasted caterpillar, a veritable delicacy in our neck of the woods. It crumbled like dirt in my mouth, suffocating my tongue in its bitter smokiness. An acquired taste, I suppose. I feigned a smile, flashed the obligatory thumbs up, then ran to my food suitcase (my only true safe haven in desperate times) to resuscitate my taste buds with some Skittles and gummy snacks.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Presidential Pants
Written by
Chad
I have a theory that Barack Obama’s presidency is just a cover for a larger scheme – he’s secretly getting rich by selling his own promotional paraphernalia and clothing all over Africa. Either that or the President hasn't endorsed this, making him the most popular black market in Africa. Obama is so much a hero here, not even Superman has this many products: Barack belt buckles, Barack flashlights, Barack socks. Amazing, I know.
We saw a man selling this gem at the NAK festival in Koudougou: pants with Barack’s gold-encrusted signature on one leg. I wonder how they got him to sign them? Perhaps, some crafty pants salesman snuck into the Oval Office and added these pants to Barack’s pile of Congressional bills. On the other pant leg, you can see his Presidential face and upturned hand along with the most inspiring words ever spoken by any American president.
OBAMA: I put on the mins of blacks people !!
- December 25, 2010
- January 13, 2010
I Hope American indeed
- January 24, 2011
Obama mayonnaise?
Thursday, December 09, 2010
I Play Tennis Little Little
Written by
Tana
OK, so playing tennis was even more hilarious than I expected. My host sister (not pictured, who is 18) and I showed up at this rec center where there was a pool and one tennis court and a lot of spectators. She told the staff that I wanted to play tennis, but then I told her that I don’t actually know how to play and that I thought we’d just hit around some balls. I need to work on my sports vocabulary in French. I narrowly escaped playing a match in front of everyone when an overzealous challenger arrived at the scene and selected an opponent of his same size and physique. But I wasn’t off the hook yet. My sister refused to play at all because, she said, she doesn’t know how. So it was decided that her friend and I would practice serving back and forth. Every other time I hit the ball it went onto the court where the competitive man couldn’t decide what language to shout in. Oh, foreigners. I just tried to make a series of apologetic faces whenever I interrupted their play. Despite being the most embarrassing thing I have done in this country, it was actually pretty fun. I just kept reassuring both girls that I’m really much better at basketball and baseball, although I hope they don’t make me prove it. Afterward we made a deal that next time we will swim in the pool instead or else my host sister has to play tennis with me.
PS- Thanks to those of you who have posted recipes! We can't wait to try them out. To everyone else, keep 'em coming!
Sunday, December 05, 2010
Two Weeks Until Village Life...
Written by
Tana
Hi Everyone! Here's what's new with us in Burkina...
Today I am going to play tennis with my host family. Haha. This week we will meet our counterparts who will act as professional advisors to us in the next two years in our village. It will be really cool to finally get some concrete details about our village and start thinking about how we will be able to collaborate with our counterparts. On Friday, I will pick up some more exciting outfits from the tailor. No shrimp this time, but I'm excited just the same. Saturday Dec. 11 is one of the independence days of Burkina Faso, so that should be fun, but I'm not sure if our host family is planning anything yet. Then on Dec. 16 we will have our "swearing-in" ceremony where we will become official Peace Corps volunteers. We will spend some time with the US Ambassador to Burkina, take an oath, and several trainees (including me) will give short speeches in local languages. Then our move to village begins! Because we're going so far south, our move will take about 2 days, but we'll be traveling with some friends.
We need your help! We will be moving to our own house in two weeks, and we would like to make some delicious meals once we are there, especially for Christmas. We are looking for recipes for the following dishes and sauces, so please post them as a comment if you know them! Also, feel free to add any other recipes that you think would benefit us, but keep in mind that we have no refrigeration, a very small Dutch oven (think large pot on a stove), and limited access to meats and cheese. Still, we'd like to try to create the following things:
Grandma’s rolls
Dad’s fried chicken strips
Leslie’s deviled eggs
Sherry’s fried green tomatoes
Papa Chester’s French toast (ok I know it’s a secret recipe so you can send it to me by email and I promise not to print, forward, or otherwise publish it in any way)
Eric's homemade mozzarella sticks, if they turned out ok when you made them
Pickles
Potato soup
Pickle relish
Basil pesto
Italian dressing
Cole Slaw
Potato salad
Croutons
Carson’s chili and/or sesame chicken sauce
Thanks to anyone who can help us out! You will get full credit if we prepare something you suggest and our friends and neighbors like it!
Keep in touch! We like hearing from you as much as you like hearing from us! (Or perhaps more...)
PS-Happy birthday Britni, and happy almost birthday Jamie!
Today I am going to play tennis with my host family. Haha. This week we will meet our counterparts who will act as professional advisors to us in the next two years in our village. It will be really cool to finally get some concrete details about our village and start thinking about how we will be able to collaborate with our counterparts. On Friday, I will pick up some more exciting outfits from the tailor. No shrimp this time, but I'm excited just the same. Saturday Dec. 11 is one of the independence days of Burkina Faso, so that should be fun, but I'm not sure if our host family is planning anything yet. Then on Dec. 16 we will have our "swearing-in" ceremony where we will become official Peace Corps volunteers. We will spend some time with the US Ambassador to Burkina, take an oath, and several trainees (including me) will give short speeches in local languages. Then our move to village begins! Because we're going so far south, our move will take about 2 days, but we'll be traveling with some friends.
We need your help! We will be moving to our own house in two weeks, and we would like to make some delicious meals once we are there, especially for Christmas. We are looking for recipes for the following dishes and sauces, so please post them as a comment if you know them! Also, feel free to add any other recipes that you think would benefit us, but keep in mind that we have no refrigeration, a very small Dutch oven (think large pot on a stove), and limited access to meats and cheese. Still, we'd like to try to create the following things:
Grandma’s rolls
Dad’s fried chicken strips
Leslie’s deviled eggs
Sherry’s fried green tomatoes
Papa Chester’s French toast (ok I know it’s a secret recipe so you can send it to me by email and I promise not to print, forward, or otherwise publish it in any way)
Eric's homemade mozzarella sticks, if they turned out ok when you made them
Pickles
Potato soup
Pickle relish
Basil pesto
Italian dressing
Cole Slaw
Potato salad
Croutons
Carson’s chili and/or sesame chicken sauce
Thanks to anyone who can help us out! You will get full credit if we prepare something you suggest and our friends and neighbors like it!
Keep in touch! We like hearing from you as much as you like hearing from us! (Or perhaps more...)
PS-Happy birthday Britni, and happy almost birthday Jamie!
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