“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.
Friday, January 30, 2009
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.
Friday, December 19, 2008
Wow, You're Expressive
I’ll blame it on my adjustment. I am in a different place with new people doing things I’ve never done before. This has got to be the reason I am acting as I have been, right? I mean I was pretty dramatic in the states but my goodness…
•It was a very special occasion, the day of our site announcements. We were all nervous and excited to find out where we would be living for the next two years. Each site description was read and then we would have to guess who was really going to reside there. When they read the description which included the phrase “flushing toilet” everyone went crazy. Then when they said my name I jumped up out of my seat and ran down the aisle flushing my imaginary toilet. “This is me flushing my toilet,” I stated. It was like I was on the “Price is Right” and just found out my prize was a car. People still talk about it to this day and it happened in mid-November.
•It is rare that you get anything cold here. When you live without electricity, it’s hard to put things in a fridge (there are ways though, many of the health centers use car batteries for power). A couple of weeks ago we visited the capital city Ouaga and it was really like being in a different world. We found many different delicious goodies including a frozen chocolate that called “Fan Choco” (think fudgisicle). Recently a staff member came from the capital and brought Fan Chocos with her. I literally jumped up out of my seat like 3 feet off the ground cheering. I feel like I was on TV.
•“Oh Karla cranky, never” was a sarcastic remark my good friend here made. So I have my days… and they seem to be occurring much more than they did in the states. My friends even asked me once “If we gave you some of the good cookies would that make you feel better.” I preceded to get an attitude that they were not already purchased. I really feel blessed to even have friends because it gets bad.
•We had a health lesson on how to cope with stress and we came up with about 50 different ways to handle it. So I have lots of potential solutions for dealing with the adjustment. So far, biking has been my best coping mechanism. I have to bike 10km anyway so I just let out my aggression riding. It works, sometimes.
The transition to BF has been challenging with lot of happy, sad and unnerving moments and I am sure I will have plenty more similar moments like this. I’m learning to deal with me!
•It was a very special occasion, the day of our site announcements. We were all nervous and excited to find out where we would be living for the next two years. Each site description was read and then we would have to guess who was really going to reside there. When they read the description which included the phrase “flushing toilet” everyone went crazy. Then when they said my name I jumped up out of my seat and ran down the aisle flushing my imaginary toilet. “This is me flushing my toilet,” I stated. It was like I was on the “Price is Right” and just found out my prize was a car. People still talk about it to this day and it happened in mid-November.
•It is rare that you get anything cold here. When you live without electricity, it’s hard to put things in a fridge (there are ways though, many of the health centers use car batteries for power). A couple of weeks ago we visited the capital city Ouaga and it was really like being in a different world. We found many different delicious goodies including a frozen chocolate that called “Fan Choco” (think fudgisicle). Recently a staff member came from the capital and brought Fan Chocos with her. I literally jumped up out of my seat like 3 feet off the ground cheering. I feel like I was on TV.
•“Oh Karla cranky, never” was a sarcastic remark my good friend here made. So I have my days… and they seem to be occurring much more than they did in the states. My friends even asked me once “If we gave you some of the good cookies would that make you feel better.” I preceded to get an attitude that they were not already purchased. I really feel blessed to even have friends because it gets bad.
•We had a health lesson on how to cope with stress and we came up with about 50 different ways to handle it. So I have lots of potential solutions for dealing with the adjustment. So far, biking has been my best coping mechanism. I have to bike 10km anyway so I just let out my aggression riding. It works, sometimes.
The transition to BF has been challenging with lot of happy, sad and unnerving moments and I am sure I will have plenty more similar moments like this. I’m learning to deal with me!
She can't help being a girl
She refuses to make eye contact with anyone. Though she has one of the highest ranking position in the room, she speaks while looking down. She remarks on how difficult it is for women in the workplace, how her opinion is overlooked… how she will never be considered an equal. But she made it to district manager level.
***
“Nafi… Nafioo” my host mom calls to my eight year old sister. She is always called away from the other kids to do house work. She is always called away from the other kids to do housework. She is the only girl still living at home and therefore the sole person to assist her mother with chores. Every morning she is up sweeping the courtyard while her brothers are still asleep. Every night she cooks, cleans, and watches her two year old brother. Her life is different from her six brothers and the expectations of her future are also- she is to marry, bare children and manage the home. Most women in the village do not know French because they stopped their studies to help at home. But Nafi is the only one of my host siblings who studies French every night.
***
Yes you are a woman but you are American and therefore you opinion matters. Welcome to the 3rd gender of Burkina. You are not quite as good as a man, especially not an American one but you are definitely treated better than a Burkinabe woman. You have to learn your role and place in this “archaic” world. But you are here and you make a difference, especially because you are female.
***
“Nafi… Nafioo” my host mom calls to my eight year old sister. She is always called away from the other kids to do house work. She is always called away from the other kids to do housework. She is the only girl still living at home and therefore the sole person to assist her mother with chores. Every morning she is up sweeping the courtyard while her brothers are still asleep. Every night she cooks, cleans, and watches her two year old brother. Her life is different from her six brothers and the expectations of her future are also- she is to marry, bare children and manage the home. Most women in the village do not know French because they stopped their studies to help at home. But Nafi is the only one of my host siblings who studies French every night.
***
Yes you are a woman but you are American and therefore you opinion matters. Welcome to the 3rd gender of Burkina. You are not quite as good as a man, especially not an American one but you are definitely treated better than a Burkinabe woman. You have to learn your role and place in this “archaic” world. But you are here and you make a difference, especially because you are female.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
La Fête Tabaski
Abraham had a son Isaac. He was a special gift from God because his wife Sarah had previously been barren. Isaac was the joy of Abraham’s life. One day, God came to Abraham and told him to go to the mount and sacrifice his son. In obedience, Abraham went to sacrifice his only son. As he raised his knife, an angel of the Lord appeared and told him that God was pleased with his obedience and that his son should be spared. The angel told him to offer a lamb instead.
***
We rise at 6am as usual and in the distance hear the call to prayer as we do every morning. Today is different though, it’s Tabaski, the celebration of Abraham’s obedience and God’s commitment. The men dress in their booboos, take their sons and go to pray while the women prepare a grand feast. My host grandfather who never goes anywhere even makes it to the field to pray… The men return and begin to sacrifice the lambs. The lamb is hung over the door frame of my host grandfather’s courtyard. I personally witnessed the sacrifice of 3 lambs… At noon, the food is done and we eat much more than usual. The women finally get dressed in their new outfits, their feet all are decorated with henna. Even the children wear new clothes. Everyone is happy and satisfied… I go with my host dad’s to meet with his students at 3pm. My host mother has prepared “Zacoom” (juice) for them. We all sip and talk and depart to continue in our families activities… My host mother rushes into the courtyard to get me because the women are dancing. They offer me a piece of their matching pagne (fabric) and I join in. We do traditional circle dances and they cannot stop giggling at me…On my way back to my house, my host grandfather calls me over and gives me 4 cuts of meat. I visited with him earlier in the day and drank Zacoom. I thank him with a big smile and give the meat to my host mother for preparation. My host uncle gives my host dad another “cadon” for me- a Fanta! To receive a soda in village is a big treat and I am super surprised. “Barka! Barka!” I yell thanking him in Moorè… At nightfall after dinner, the women and kids of my neighborhood all go out to dance and play. I am too tired to go even after several pleads from my host family. My host dad and I fall asleep in our courtyard listening to the radio… My first Tabaski!
***
We rise at 6am as usual and in the distance hear the call to prayer as we do every morning. Today is different though, it’s Tabaski, the celebration of Abraham’s obedience and God’s commitment. The men dress in their booboos, take their sons and go to pray while the women prepare a grand feast. My host grandfather who never goes anywhere even makes it to the field to pray… The men return and begin to sacrifice the lambs. The lamb is hung over the door frame of my host grandfather’s courtyard. I personally witnessed the sacrifice of 3 lambs… At noon, the food is done and we eat much more than usual. The women finally get dressed in their new outfits, their feet all are decorated with henna. Even the children wear new clothes. Everyone is happy and satisfied… I go with my host dad’s to meet with his students at 3pm. My host mother has prepared “Zacoom” (juice) for them. We all sip and talk and depart to continue in our families activities… My host mother rushes into the courtyard to get me because the women are dancing. They offer me a piece of their matching pagne (fabric) and I join in. We do traditional circle dances and they cannot stop giggling at me…On my way back to my house, my host grandfather calls me over and gives me 4 cuts of meat. I visited with him earlier in the day and drank Zacoom. I thank him with a big smile and give the meat to my host mother for preparation. My host uncle gives my host dad another “cadon” for me- a Fanta! To receive a soda in village is a big treat and I am super surprised. “Barka! Barka!” I yell thanking him in Moorè… At nightfall after dinner, the women and kids of my neighborhood all go out to dance and play. I am too tired to go even after several pleads from my host family. My host dad and I fall asleep in our courtyard listening to the radio… My first Tabaski!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
