We sat and watched for 20 minutes before we knew, without a doubt, what color our team was wearing. “I think we are definitely the team in the white.” We were too embarrassed to verify with any of our neighbors. We were already trying t convince that we weren’t “Nasaras” by speaking the local language. Once we were sure, we watched intently and with full emotion. Then it happened- GOAL!!!
And everyone jumped to their feet. There was dancing, drumming from the row behind us, high-fives (initiated by me of course)… and then magic- the guy in front of us picked up each one of his 3 sons and kissed them (in Burkina where public affection is rare, I was amazed to witness this.) Then another GOAL!! and even more excitement. The male and female dance troupe cheered the team on. Whistles rang for the rest of the game. We won against Guinea.
I’ve been to a lot of different sports games- US Open, football, baseball, etc. But this had the most excitement ever. Join in America and support our soccer teams.
Yesterday, June 20th, we played our neighbor Cote Ivoire in the qualifiers to qualify for Africa Cup. Burkinabé flags soared from motorcycles, stores and bikes. Jerseys were worn by all. Red, yellow and green. Our pride was strong. Then we lost. I only caught the last 5 minutes on TV but we lost. 2 to 3. Shucks.
Guess we wait to September against Malawi to see if we continue forward.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Saturday, April 4, 2009
I’m sorry, why are you in Burkina Faso again?
“Karla, can you hand me that knife please?”
“It’s dirty…” I brought over a bucket of water with me so he could at least rinse it off.
“Well that is how it is in Africa.” He started to cut the carrot with the knife covered in grime and blood.
“And that is why I am here.”
Everyone just giggled.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Every year, 18% of the Burkinabe children under 5 years old die because of malnutrition. But it’s not necessarily because a lack of food but rather because the children have not been eating a well-balanced diet and therefore cannot fight illnesses. So I'm here, to educate mothers about exclusive breastfeeding, preparation of porridges, and importance of variety of food groups.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
There are latrines for people to use all over the village. The NGO (non-governmental organization) built some a couple years back for the community. But people don’t use the latrines, they rather handle their business in the field. By using the fields, it does much more than just create an odor in the air. Children play with the dirt. People walk barefoot. The dust blows the dirt and most people do not cover their food. This is how people get sick. Maybe someone who used the field has a parasite and now so does anyone who has come in contact with it. Soap is rarely used when washing hands. And with all the latrines we have and that are not used, they still request I build more latrines. So this is why I am here, to do a study and find out why latrines are not used. And then help create more sanitary conditions for all.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Everyone complains about not having money in my community, even those who work in the city and have steady incomes. “We cannot afford to go to the CSPS because we cannot pay for the medicine.” But they come to the CSPS and they pay. But they do not have to come to the CSPS if they make just a few changes in their life. They are all preventable diseases.
Children frequently come in with colds, diarrhea, and malaria- all illnesses that with a little more information (education) could be avoided.
The elderly have high blood pressure because there is always too much salt and oil in the food.
It's all education.
So that is why I am here, to help educate and therefore to help save them money.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
I have no work day. Work here is very different than what it is in the States. The "work" I did before I left for training in March was as follows:
-Every morning, I went to the CSPS and sat in on consultations
-During vaccination campaigns, I helped vaccinate everyone in the village (never giving actual shots)
-Whenever there was an important meeting with anyone in the community, I attended
-Spent time at the market, introducing myself and hanging out with folks
-My afternoons were reserved for my language classes (Bissa and French)
I am here as a community health volunteer. My duties are to help educate my village members about AIDS, help battle malnutrition, empower the COGES (the village health committee), teach students about their health, and aid with the lifespan.
Some projects I may do in the upcoming 12 months are as follows:
-Presentation series at the school
-A camp for teenage girls
-Educational discussions with mothers about the health of kids under 5
-Lead enriched porridge demonstrations for mothers of malnourished children
After being here for six motnsh I know I cannot save the world, but maybe I can at least help one person survive. And that is why I am here.
“It’s dirty…” I brought over a bucket of water with me so he could at least rinse it off.
“Well that is how it is in Africa.” He started to cut the carrot with the knife covered in grime and blood.
“And that is why I am here.”
Everyone just giggled.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Every year, 18% of the Burkinabe children under 5 years old die because of malnutrition. But it’s not necessarily because a lack of food but rather because the children have not been eating a well-balanced diet and therefore cannot fight illnesses. So I'm here, to educate mothers about exclusive breastfeeding, preparation of porridges, and importance of variety of food groups.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
There are latrines for people to use all over the village. The NGO (non-governmental organization) built some a couple years back for the community. But people don’t use the latrines, they rather handle their business in the field. By using the fields, it does much more than just create an odor in the air. Children play with the dirt. People walk barefoot. The dust blows the dirt and most people do not cover their food. This is how people get sick. Maybe someone who used the field has a parasite and now so does anyone who has come in contact with it. Soap is rarely used when washing hands. And with all the latrines we have and that are not used, they still request I build more latrines. So this is why I am here, to do a study and find out why latrines are not used. And then help create more sanitary conditions for all.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Everyone complains about not having money in my community, even those who work in the city and have steady incomes. “We cannot afford to go to the CSPS because we cannot pay for the medicine.” But they come to the CSPS and they pay. But they do not have to come to the CSPS if they make just a few changes in their life. They are all preventable diseases.
Children frequently come in with colds, diarrhea, and malaria- all illnesses that with a little more information (education) could be avoided.
The elderly have high blood pressure because there is always too much salt and oil in the food.
It's all education.
So that is why I am here, to help educate and therefore to help save them money.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
I have no work day. Work here is very different than what it is in the States. The "work" I did before I left for training in March was as follows:
-Every morning, I went to the CSPS and sat in on consultations
-During vaccination campaigns, I helped vaccinate everyone in the village (never giving actual shots)
-Whenever there was an important meeting with anyone in the community, I attended
-Spent time at the market, introducing myself and hanging out with folks
-My afternoons were reserved for my language classes (Bissa and French)
I am here as a community health volunteer. My duties are to help educate my village members about AIDS, help battle malnutrition, empower the COGES (the village health committee), teach students about their health, and aid with the lifespan.
Some projects I may do in the upcoming 12 months are as follows:
-Presentation series at the school
-A camp for teenage girls
-Educational discussions with mothers about the health of kids under 5
-Lead enriched porridge demonstrations for mothers of malnourished children
After being here for six motnsh I know I cannot save the world, but maybe I can at least help one person survive. And that is why I am here.
It takes a village…
To put out a fire.
And it did. My entire neighborhood worked hard to put it out.
I had just finished washing my dishes and was preparing to bathe when I heard this noise. And all the women were making it. (It actually did sound just like a siren). Confused, I froze for about 30 seconds watching everyone run around. Someone said something in Bissa and pointed at yellow smoke coming from the opposite side of “my block”. Then I heard it “Feu!” and realized fire. I got scared because I have no clue how mud cement homes hold up in fires. Everyone was running with buckets. I grabbed my bucket of dishwater and ran. (Of course a girl came to “my rescue” because as a Nasaro you have no clue how to carry water). We ran around the corner following and followed by a crowd of people. Everyone was dumping water on the fire, it got bigger. Everyone shrieked. More people came with buckets. Men arrived on bikes and motos. The chief came. And finally it was over. Whew!
And then they noticed I was there. And everyone forgot about the fire. And for the rest of the night people discussed the fact I came to the fire with a bucket of water (just like everyone else mind you). No one said anything about an elderly blind man cooking, who started the fire.
And it did. My entire neighborhood worked hard to put it out.
I had just finished washing my dishes and was preparing to bathe when I heard this noise. And all the women were making it. (It actually did sound just like a siren). Confused, I froze for about 30 seconds watching everyone run around. Someone said something in Bissa and pointed at yellow smoke coming from the opposite side of “my block”. Then I heard it “Feu!” and realized fire. I got scared because I have no clue how mud cement homes hold up in fires. Everyone was running with buckets. I grabbed my bucket of dishwater and ran. (Of course a girl came to “my rescue” because as a Nasaro you have no clue how to carry water). We ran around the corner following and followed by a crowd of people. Everyone was dumping water on the fire, it got bigger. Everyone shrieked. More people came with buckets. Men arrived on bikes and motos. The chief came. And finally it was over. Whew!
And then they noticed I was there. And everyone forgot about the fire. And for the rest of the night people discussed the fact I came to the fire with a bucket of water (just like everyone else mind you). No one said anything about an elderly blind man cooking, who started the fire.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Lost in Translation: The Language
“Good morning… How are you? What about your activities? And how is the house? Oh that is very good now. I am going to go in the house now, I’m tired. See you in a small while.”
Everyday I greet an elderly man who spent 33 years in Ghana. Everyday he asks me the same thing, genuinely concerned of course. And everyday (unless I am visiting a Peace Corps Volunteer) that is about all the English I get. So I spend most of my days attempting to speak French and Bissa…actually I spend most of my time hearing others speak languages I don’t understand.
“Moi? Encore, sil vous plait.” (Me? Again, please)
I am so used to sitting there not listening that I don’t know when people are actually talking to me.
“No c’est pas vrai. Je compri bien mais je parle mal.” (No, that’s not true. I understand but I speak poorly).
This is a statement I say often. I think people actually look down at me. Poor girl, she doesn’t understand French. What does she speak- English? No, not the English of Ghana. Poor thing.
Right now it’s difficult. I am still learning. I have gotten used to just thinking, watching, living a solo life. And learning how to hold my tongue when people think of me as a “poor thing.” (Maybe its best I don’t know French, hehe).
***
Greetings here are extensive. In America, unless I really know the person, I would just ask how they were doing and expect a “fine” or “good”. Here, there is the same expectation- “Laafi”, “Laafi Bala” (Moore), or “Laafi Tan” (Bissa)- but it is “prope” to ask about almost everything- house, business, family, your morning/afternoon/night, and so on. I am actually astonished sometimes how long the greetings are.
If you are seeing someone for the first time in an area, you say “Yassi Yassi” (Bissa) or “Bonne Arrive” (French). Every person, every time. I have gotten so accustomed to it. So much so I actually got a little upset the other day when I came home from working and was just stared at. I demanded a “Yassi Yassi”. It was probably bad timing.
If you see someone working “Ziiba Ziiba Ziiba” (Bissa) – loosely translated to “keep up the good work”.
If someone comes back from wherever it’s “Kit a ka?” (Bissa)- “Where were you?”. Now I’m used to living a semi-private life and sharing only the information I want to, so this is always a difficult question for me to respond to… but I do because I am here and to integrate I must.
There is always an exchange of benedictions, which I don’t know yet. But people are always blessing my health, my life, my work, my day, my house. And since I don’t know them yet when people say them, I always respond “Barka” (Bissa/Moore)- “Thank you”. And then I get the correcting whisper “Amina”- “Amen”. And then I respond “Amin Amin Amin”- always three times and without the “a” on the end (this is the way everyone says it so I follow suit).
And everyday, my greetings are their own little adventure. I know how to respond, but I am never quite sure how to start off. There are at least four languages I have to know to live in my village and I am never quite sure how someone is going to respond:
Most people will speak to me in Bissa.
Some people I know are Moosi (major ethnic group here), so I talk to them in Moore.
For some reason men, especially teenage boys, will only speak French to me (maybe they are trying to display their education).
And then others always speak broken English to me, always. And they are always excited. And I always give them the same reaction- my face lights up in shock. I usually respond in French. They say “I speak English small small.” I nod. They ask “I want to learn English, teach me English?” I say “After I learn French and Bissa, I will teach you English.” “Okay, Merci.”
And finally there are my favorites- the preschoolers. We have a Danish NGO here that provides our village with many different amenities including a “Prescolaire”. My little buddies love to greet me. Whether I am riding past on a bike, sitting on my porch or walking through the community it’s the same thing each time. They fold their arms, take one step forward and say “Bonjour Madame, Bonjour Tante.” (Good day Ma’m, Good day Auntie.) I adore them.
Everyday I greet an elderly man who spent 33 years in Ghana. Everyday he asks me the same thing, genuinely concerned of course. And everyday (unless I am visiting a Peace Corps Volunteer) that is about all the English I get. So I spend most of my days attempting to speak French and Bissa…actually I spend most of my time hearing others speak languages I don’t understand.
“Moi? Encore, sil vous plait.” (Me? Again, please)
I am so used to sitting there not listening that I don’t know when people are actually talking to me.
“No c’est pas vrai. Je compri bien mais je parle mal.” (No, that’s not true. I understand but I speak poorly).
This is a statement I say often. I think people actually look down at me. Poor girl, she doesn’t understand French. What does she speak- English? No, not the English of Ghana. Poor thing.
Right now it’s difficult. I am still learning. I have gotten used to just thinking, watching, living a solo life. And learning how to hold my tongue when people think of me as a “poor thing.” (Maybe its best I don’t know French, hehe).
***
Greetings here are extensive. In America, unless I really know the person, I would just ask how they were doing and expect a “fine” or “good”. Here, there is the same expectation- “Laafi”, “Laafi Bala” (Moore), or “Laafi Tan” (Bissa)- but it is “prope” to ask about almost everything- house, business, family, your morning/afternoon/night, and so on. I am actually astonished sometimes how long the greetings are.
If you are seeing someone for the first time in an area, you say “Yassi Yassi” (Bissa) or “Bonne Arrive” (French). Every person, every time. I have gotten so accustomed to it. So much so I actually got a little upset the other day when I came home from working and was just stared at. I demanded a “Yassi Yassi”. It was probably bad timing.
If you see someone working “Ziiba Ziiba Ziiba” (Bissa) – loosely translated to “keep up the good work”.
If someone comes back from wherever it’s “Kit a ka?” (Bissa)- “Where were you?”. Now I’m used to living a semi-private life and sharing only the information I want to, so this is always a difficult question for me to respond to… but I do because I am here and to integrate I must.
There is always an exchange of benedictions, which I don’t know yet. But people are always blessing my health, my life, my work, my day, my house. And since I don’t know them yet when people say them, I always respond “Barka” (Bissa/Moore)- “Thank you”. And then I get the correcting whisper “Amina”- “Amen”. And then I respond “Amin Amin Amin”- always three times and without the “a” on the end (this is the way everyone says it so I follow suit).
And everyday, my greetings are their own little adventure. I know how to respond, but I am never quite sure how to start off. There are at least four languages I have to know to live in my village and I am never quite sure how someone is going to respond:
Most people will speak to me in Bissa.
Some people I know are Moosi (major ethnic group here), so I talk to them in Moore.
For some reason men, especially teenage boys, will only speak French to me (maybe they are trying to display their education).
And then others always speak broken English to me, always. And they are always excited. And I always give them the same reaction- my face lights up in shock. I usually respond in French. They say “I speak English small small.” I nod. They ask “I want to learn English, teach me English?” I say “After I learn French and Bissa, I will teach you English.” “Okay, Merci.”
And finally there are my favorites- the preschoolers. We have a Danish NGO here that provides our village with many different amenities including a “Prescolaire”. My little buddies love to greet me. Whether I am riding past on a bike, sitting on my porch or walking through the community it’s the same thing each time. They fold their arms, take one step forward and say “Bonjour Madame, Bonjour Tante.” (Good day Ma’m, Good day Auntie.) I adore them.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Why Can’t Children Play with Fire?
In America, we always try to shield out children from harm. Maybe too much so. After being here a couple of months, I have begun to question what we keep our kids from. When I first saw my 3 year old host brother holding fire, I told him to stop (in my own sign language of course). But then after further observations I realized he was helping keep the fire going. He knew it was hot and dangerous and therefore acted appropriately. He also helps his 8 year old brother kill pigeons for dinner. Kids hold down animals when they are butchered. Five year olds make run to the store to buy condiments. They play among themselves all day while their parents work. Two and three years old. It is a different society. No kidnapping, most have more than enough. Not many crimes. It just makes me think about how fear conditions us to be scared of things that even a child can handle.
I always feel like somebody’s watching me…
And they are. Literally. All the time. Watching me. It’s apart of the culture here for everyone else’s business and since I am a Nasaro (foreigner) it’s even worse. Sometimes I like it because I want to be left alone. But it is something I have to get used to, at least until the novelty of me wears off.
After this experience, I am sure that I do not want to be a celebrity. I am literally always watched and talked about.
“What did you eat for dinner tonight… Oh the Nasaro ate spaghetti for dinner.”
“Karla, why did you throw away those tomatoes?”
They look through my windows. They hang out on my porch. They always know where I am.
It’s tough at times and I have my moments when I grind my teeth but it will get better. This is a lesson in patience, something I definitely have to learn.
After this experience, I am sure that I do not want to be a celebrity. I am literally always watched and talked about.
“What did you eat for dinner tonight… Oh the Nasaro ate spaghetti for dinner.”
“Karla, why did you throw away those tomatoes?”
They look through my windows. They hang out on my porch. They always know where I am.
It’s tough at times and I have my moments when I grind my teeth but it will get better. This is a lesson in patience, something I definitely have to learn.
Welcome Home
“My name is Karla, Bandaogo Karla.”
“Wait, you are American though right? How is your last name Bandaogo? Only people who live here have that last name.”
“Well I will be here for the next two years so that is my name now.”
Three weeks ago when I met the father of the chief he changed my last name to Bandaogo. I am now apart of the family and I love it.
***
I peddle as fast as I can following my friend Ali to his village. We swerve through dried up river beds and around wandering sheep. The air is cold as it has been every morning for the last month. I duck to avoid the branches of mango trees. I stare in amazement at the size of a Balboa trees. We are riding towards the mountain that surrounds the city of Garango. It is beautiful here. There is so much more vegetation than there was up north. I think I would be completely content if I spent an entire day observing my surroundings. I have seen the most beautiful sunsets and moonlit skies. I am at peace.
***
As I recap my experiences with some of my fellow volunteers, I realize that I really am in an entirely different world. For the past few weeks, I have asked myself “Where am I again?” My experience here does not at all resemble my training village of Sissamba. For one, people here have money and they do things out of luxury. I will recap a few experiences for you.
Convo #1:
“Karla, why are your pants dirty?”
“Well I just biked half a day during Harmattan. Its windy and there is a lot of dirt.”
“I will wash your clothes for you on Sunday. I have this special solution from Italy that makes clothes really pretty. Then we have to take them to be ironed. People will say ‘Oh Karla dresses so nice. Oh Karla is pretty.”
“Okay… fine”
Where am I again? In Sissamba, you just wore whatever you had which was not much. You did not worry about if it was a little worn or had a little dirt on it. Here it is a totally different world. I feel like I am back in the states. Image is important. If my shoes get dirty, I should wash them (I cannot figure out why because they are going to get dirty the very next moment). I was told I need to go to the city to get my hair done because they do not do it well in the village. This journey I am on is about integration and learning a new culture so I will have to do as they say.
Convo #2:
“Karla what are you doing on Thursday? Let’s go to the city. We will drink and eat and…”
“Okay…”
Mariam wore a new outfit as she does every time we go to the city. At noon, I followed her to her nephew’s house. He cooked for us, a man here cooked. He has French satellite TV, DVD and CD players, surround sound, and a flat screen TV. Where am I again? I was in a small city, not a regional capital. The fact she dressed up to go to the city reminds me of my grandmother (Hi Nanny!). When we used to go to Ouhiagouya, the 4th largest city in the nation, homes I went to did not have equipment like that. And you definitely did not get dressed up.
Convo #3:
“What did you eat for dinner? Just tou, you have to get a salad. Let’s go, I am going to buy you a salad.”
Where am I? Tou is a staple here and a part of the daily cuisine. But apparently in my village, tou is not enough. I have gotten lectures about how tou is not enough and that I should be eating more. I know that eating a millet blob is not nutritious but that was all you ate in Sissamba. And people here area always buying me food, to the point I feel sick. They grill chicken and won’t let me leave until I eat it. They practice this tradition called “Langa”, where you eat a lot because it’s a gift to have this much food. In Sissamba, there was no extra money to buy food for other people.
Where am I?
I am in a village with the haves. Some men in my community work in Italy for half the year on the tomato crops there. They send money and Italian goods back home. (My friend Mariam has “Chanel” shoes she wears everyday. The kids where Dolce and Gabana and Prada T-shirts.) There is a Danish NGO in my village that has provided us with a Preschool, trade schools (tailoring, welding, plastic-making, and capentry) and library. We also have a tourist resort where European tourist visit 4 times a year. There is money here. There is pride here. People are much better off than they are in other villages or cities even. And this is my home, kinda like my real home.
“Wait, you are American though right? How is your last name Bandaogo? Only people who live here have that last name.”
“Well I will be here for the next two years so that is my name now.”
Three weeks ago when I met the father of the chief he changed my last name to Bandaogo. I am now apart of the family and I love it.
***
I peddle as fast as I can following my friend Ali to his village. We swerve through dried up river beds and around wandering sheep. The air is cold as it has been every morning for the last month. I duck to avoid the branches of mango trees. I stare in amazement at the size of a Balboa trees. We are riding towards the mountain that surrounds the city of Garango. It is beautiful here. There is so much more vegetation than there was up north. I think I would be completely content if I spent an entire day observing my surroundings. I have seen the most beautiful sunsets and moonlit skies. I am at peace.
***
As I recap my experiences with some of my fellow volunteers, I realize that I really am in an entirely different world. For the past few weeks, I have asked myself “Where am I again?” My experience here does not at all resemble my training village of Sissamba. For one, people here have money and they do things out of luxury. I will recap a few experiences for you.
Convo #1:
“Karla, why are your pants dirty?”
“Well I just biked half a day during Harmattan. Its windy and there is a lot of dirt.”
“I will wash your clothes for you on Sunday. I have this special solution from Italy that makes clothes really pretty. Then we have to take them to be ironed. People will say ‘Oh Karla dresses so nice. Oh Karla is pretty.”
“Okay… fine”
Where am I again? In Sissamba, you just wore whatever you had which was not much. You did not worry about if it was a little worn or had a little dirt on it. Here it is a totally different world. I feel like I am back in the states. Image is important. If my shoes get dirty, I should wash them (I cannot figure out why because they are going to get dirty the very next moment). I was told I need to go to the city to get my hair done because they do not do it well in the village. This journey I am on is about integration and learning a new culture so I will have to do as they say.
Convo #2:
“Karla what are you doing on Thursday? Let’s go to the city. We will drink and eat and…”
“Okay…”
Mariam wore a new outfit as she does every time we go to the city. At noon, I followed her to her nephew’s house. He cooked for us, a man here cooked. He has French satellite TV, DVD and CD players, surround sound, and a flat screen TV. Where am I again? I was in a small city, not a regional capital. The fact she dressed up to go to the city reminds me of my grandmother (Hi Nanny!). When we used to go to Ouhiagouya, the 4th largest city in the nation, homes I went to did not have equipment like that. And you definitely did not get dressed up.
Convo #3:
“What did you eat for dinner? Just tou, you have to get a salad. Let’s go, I am going to buy you a salad.”
Where am I? Tou is a staple here and a part of the daily cuisine. But apparently in my village, tou is not enough. I have gotten lectures about how tou is not enough and that I should be eating more. I know that eating a millet blob is not nutritious but that was all you ate in Sissamba. And people here area always buying me food, to the point I feel sick. They grill chicken and won’t let me leave until I eat it. They practice this tradition called “Langa”, where you eat a lot because it’s a gift to have this much food. In Sissamba, there was no extra money to buy food for other people.
Where am I?
I am in a village with the haves. Some men in my community work in Italy for half the year on the tomato crops there. They send money and Italian goods back home. (My friend Mariam has “Chanel” shoes she wears everyday. The kids where Dolce and Gabana and Prada T-shirts.) There is a Danish NGO in my village that has provided us with a Preschool, trade schools (tailoring, welding, plastic-making, and capentry) and library. We also have a tourist resort where European tourist visit 4 times a year. There is money here. There is pride here. People are much better off than they are in other villages or cities even. And this is my home, kinda like my real home.
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