Friday, June 26, 2009
Ain't No Zoo
Lizards and vultures race across my tin roof, creating noises that I assume would be heard during an avalanche. Roosters crock at all hours and hens strut across every surface, leaving behind their discretions every 10 minutes. Sheeps enter our courtyards seeking food and creating havoc. Goats scream like “kids” as children chase them through the fields. Donkeys cry out in sorrow, releasing the frustration of being the hardest working creature in village. Cows cross major roads in single file lines, followed by herder boys. Turkeys gooble and guinea hens scare (they are really quite hideous). Ducks wait on land until the rains recreate their beloved lakes. Bats fly as night fall approaches both black and white ones. And I sit watching it all, wondering how I ended up on a desert farm, not at all the wildlife I once imagined. But there are zoos (reserves) for animals like that, even in Burkina Faso.
We pray for rain.
We pray for rain. For our crops. For our animals. For our livelihood. We are farmers. Without rain, we have nothing. So we pray.
We watch the skies. We see the clouds. The lightening start. But we wait. We still aren’t sure our prayers have been answered. Until the wind. Then we run. All activities cease. We run for shelter. If you move too slow, the sane will start blowing and your eyes begin to burn. So you run. And you wait. For the rain to stop banging on your tin roof and the dirt to stop twirling in the air through your windows. You wait until it is safe for you to emerge. But you are thankful your prays have come true.
************************************************************************************
One May morning, I rose with the intent to start the day’s program as planned. The downpour turned into a drizzle and I was 30 minutes late for our vaccination campaign. After washing and eating, I zipped up my raincoat and hopped on my boke. As I arrived at the market to retrieve my cell phone (charging overnight there), I was astonished to find one sole individual at the usually bustling “downtown.” Realizing I was not gonna get my phone, I continued to the health center where I waited two hours for the nurse. On my journey, I spotted a total of 5 people.
“Karla you came out in the rain?”
“Yes we were supposed to be here at 6am.”
“Yes but it was raining.”
That’s when I learned we don’t do anything when it rains. Nothing. And that the next four months will include a lot of downtime.
************************************************************************************
My desert village is now green. Grass and shrubbery cover the previously hills of this land. In a matter of hours of rain, rivers and lakes emerge, making some roads impassable by my bike. Toads croak all night creating what resembles radio static sounds. With the reappearance of the frogs, other creatures begin to exit hibernation. Bright red velvety insects speckle my path home. Flies don’t disappear in the evenings. And mosquitoes buzz with their Malaria laced bites.
This is the start of rainy season and it will last until the final days of September. We pray for it. But I’m not sure I like it.
We watch the skies. We see the clouds. The lightening start. But we wait. We still aren’t sure our prayers have been answered. Until the wind. Then we run. All activities cease. We run for shelter. If you move too slow, the sane will start blowing and your eyes begin to burn. So you run. And you wait. For the rain to stop banging on your tin roof and the dirt to stop twirling in the air through your windows. You wait until it is safe for you to emerge. But you are thankful your prays have come true.
************************************************************************************
One May morning, I rose with the intent to start the day’s program as planned. The downpour turned into a drizzle and I was 30 minutes late for our vaccination campaign. After washing and eating, I zipped up my raincoat and hopped on my boke. As I arrived at the market to retrieve my cell phone (charging overnight there), I was astonished to find one sole individual at the usually bustling “downtown.” Realizing I was not gonna get my phone, I continued to the health center where I waited two hours for the nurse. On my journey, I spotted a total of 5 people.
“Karla you came out in the rain?”
“Yes we were supposed to be here at 6am.”
“Yes but it was raining.”
That’s when I learned we don’t do anything when it rains. Nothing. And that the next four months will include a lot of downtime.
************************************************************************************
My desert village is now green. Grass and shrubbery cover the previously hills of this land. In a matter of hours of rain, rivers and lakes emerge, making some roads impassable by my bike. Toads croak all night creating what resembles radio static sounds. With the reappearance of the frogs, other creatures begin to exit hibernation. Bright red velvety insects speckle my path home. Flies don’t disappear in the evenings. And mosquitoes buzz with their Malaria laced bites.
This is the start of rainy season and it will last until the final days of September. We pray for it. But I’m not sure I like it.
Ça Me Nerve
These are the things that were originally culturally shocking that I now just find annoying (and that probably will not change). For a couple of these topics, I was actually going to write individual blogs but I realized that would probably make me look like I am unhappy and frustrated here… everyday. I’m not everyday but if these things would change it would be a lot easier.
A different understanding of politeness
“I heard if you call someone impolite here they will throw you out of village.”
“That can’t be true, as many impolite things they do.”
“I know but it’s true. Don’t ever say that word.”
And I haven’t. But I want to…daily.
Take the 16 year old that’s in my family here. Her daily routine is to walk across my porch and sing at the highest volume at 6am. While stomping. And it isn’t complete unless she also leaves her peanut shells on the porch. Do you think she realizes I am not up and out yet? Probably. Do you think she will offer to sweep up the shells seeing there is a broom right behind her? Absolutely not. Does she or anyone else in her family see this as impolite? Never. Her father will toss shells over his shoulder as he talks to me, not even thinking of it. Everyone sees my porch as a main route to the other homes, even people I’ve never seen before. What do I do? Breathe. I’m always given instructions on how to do things the right way. I wonder what would happen if I started doing the same.
Chickens
Cock-a-doodle-doo! “You have got to be kidding me, I’m trying to nap.” I open my eyes to see a rooster standing next to me on my porch. “Osh, osh, osh.” I say trying to shoo him off. He just moves to another corner and cocks again. Cock-a-doodle-doo! I jump up and chase him off my porch. Five minutes later a hen has appeared. Oh look and her “teenage” children are here too. I jump up and chase them off my porch. Ten minutes later they are all back. And this is how I spend my afternoon nap times. “Karla, it’s best if you just put dirt over their pooh.” Umm, actually I think it would be best if you would keep them off my porch. I asked for a gate to block the entrances to my porch but things don’t happen especially fast here. So I’m stuck chasing birds.
Donne-Moi… Donne-Moi
Give me your bottle. Give me your bike. Give me money. Buy me a motorcycle. Buy me a car. Buy some sheep and I’ll watch them for you until you leave… What? What am I going to do with sheep? And why on Earth would I buy you all these things if I don’t have them myself. Oh I forgot because I am the rich American, of course. So because you think I am buying things with dollars, I am eager to buy things for you all. I use the cfa just like you. No matter how many times I explain I’m a volunteer with Peace Corps, that I don’t make a lot of money, that I left my dollars in America, no no no I’m still rich. And how can I blame them for thinking this way. All of the health supply and food aid donations come from America. The clothes we donate in the States are cold for 20 cents. American pen pals send children clothes and toys. Is it bad? Should it be stopped? No not at all. “Oh people in my village just imagine I’m oozing with so much money I don’t know what to do with myself” said a fellow volunteer. I guess I just need to accept my wealth.
Marry Me?
“He said he wants you to marry him… she said no… why not? I’ll tell you why not. What do you do? She doesn’t want to marry a farmer.” I sigh and begin to walk away. I end up greeting another man from village I know (I visited his wife when she was sick). “He says he wants to marry you.” I say NO! jump on my bike and peddle home as fast as I can. Why is this common practice? I’ve never even seen that first guy before. I was once told after a proposal from my bus driver that women here do not refuse. After I explained that I’m not from here, the interest grew even more. Why do men here ask me to marry them? 1) They want me to sleep with them. 2) They want my money. I wish there were other reasons, but most of the time they don’t even know me. During training we were warned by female volunteers that it’s apart of life here and we would find a way to deal with it. I’ve found a way to respond but still can’t really deal. Ca me nerve.
My Playground
I remember after a month in village I wrote a nice blog about kids here being independent. Naive. Their independence also means they don’t have discipline. They push my door, turn and turn and turn in my swivel chairs, try to break my bike…. Ahh! Five year olds. One day I was so frustrated, I left and went whining to my friend who in turn took me on a walk and to the city the next day to cool down (I must have been really upset). Now they don’t visit as much, the children. But Idrissa, my 8 year old “brother”, he is wild. My “Allloooo!” and “Eye y ey “ don’t work on him like it does the other kids. I guess I should appreciate it because it means he like hanging out with me (before he would not come near me) but goodness.
Vous etes invites?
I may just be the rudest person in Burkina. Maybe even in all of Africa, but I learned early on the polite gesture of inviting others to join me in a meal doesn’t have the same response as when other Burkinabé do it. “Okay!” My eyes widen in horrors as 4 teenage boys made their way to my “Cup of Noodles” (this is food from the states). I quickly learned that my playground may turn into a restaurant. There would be at least 6 people asking for food. I could not do this. Because my empathy level was so high, I would always give and have little left for me. I don’t know how but now they know. I won’t invite, my one friend is the only one who is allowed meals daily (he has a complicated story that does not include food often.) Even with him I can’t feed him every meal. And now I will just eat, with people watching (they are not starving, they just want my meal to help supplement theirs.) When they ask for invitations I ask them where is mine?
Other than that never being considered black (my father has to be Caucasian), being told what to do and the way men treat women all get on my nerves. But I have to stop complaining.
A different understanding of politeness
“I heard if you call someone impolite here they will throw you out of village.”
“That can’t be true, as many impolite things they do.”
“I know but it’s true. Don’t ever say that word.”
And I haven’t. But I want to…daily.
Take the 16 year old that’s in my family here. Her daily routine is to walk across my porch and sing at the highest volume at 6am. While stomping. And it isn’t complete unless she also leaves her peanut shells on the porch. Do you think she realizes I am not up and out yet? Probably. Do you think she will offer to sweep up the shells seeing there is a broom right behind her? Absolutely not. Does she or anyone else in her family see this as impolite? Never. Her father will toss shells over his shoulder as he talks to me, not even thinking of it. Everyone sees my porch as a main route to the other homes, even people I’ve never seen before. What do I do? Breathe. I’m always given instructions on how to do things the right way. I wonder what would happen if I started doing the same.
Chickens
Cock-a-doodle-doo! “You have got to be kidding me, I’m trying to nap.” I open my eyes to see a rooster standing next to me on my porch. “Osh, osh, osh.” I say trying to shoo him off. He just moves to another corner and cocks again. Cock-a-doodle-doo! I jump up and chase him off my porch. Five minutes later a hen has appeared. Oh look and her “teenage” children are here too. I jump up and chase them off my porch. Ten minutes later they are all back. And this is how I spend my afternoon nap times. “Karla, it’s best if you just put dirt over their pooh.” Umm, actually I think it would be best if you would keep them off my porch. I asked for a gate to block the entrances to my porch but things don’t happen especially fast here. So I’m stuck chasing birds.
Donne-Moi… Donne-Moi
Give me your bottle. Give me your bike. Give me money. Buy me a motorcycle. Buy me a car. Buy some sheep and I’ll watch them for you until you leave… What? What am I going to do with sheep? And why on Earth would I buy you all these things if I don’t have them myself. Oh I forgot because I am the rich American, of course. So because you think I am buying things with dollars, I am eager to buy things for you all. I use the cfa just like you. No matter how many times I explain I’m a volunteer with Peace Corps, that I don’t make a lot of money, that I left my dollars in America, no no no I’m still rich. And how can I blame them for thinking this way. All of the health supply and food aid donations come from America. The clothes we donate in the States are cold for 20 cents. American pen pals send children clothes and toys. Is it bad? Should it be stopped? No not at all. “Oh people in my village just imagine I’m oozing with so much money I don’t know what to do with myself” said a fellow volunteer. I guess I just need to accept my wealth.
Marry Me?
“He said he wants you to marry him… she said no… why not? I’ll tell you why not. What do you do? She doesn’t want to marry a farmer.” I sigh and begin to walk away. I end up greeting another man from village I know (I visited his wife when she was sick). “He says he wants to marry you.” I say NO! jump on my bike and peddle home as fast as I can. Why is this common practice? I’ve never even seen that first guy before. I was once told after a proposal from my bus driver that women here do not refuse. After I explained that I’m not from here, the interest grew even more. Why do men here ask me to marry them? 1) They want me to sleep with them. 2) They want my money. I wish there were other reasons, but most of the time they don’t even know me. During training we were warned by female volunteers that it’s apart of life here and we would find a way to deal with it. I’ve found a way to respond but still can’t really deal. Ca me nerve.
My Playground
I remember after a month in village I wrote a nice blog about kids here being independent. Naive. Their independence also means they don’t have discipline. They push my door, turn and turn and turn in my swivel chairs, try to break my bike…. Ahh! Five year olds. One day I was so frustrated, I left and went whining to my friend who in turn took me on a walk and to the city the next day to cool down (I must have been really upset). Now they don’t visit as much, the children. But Idrissa, my 8 year old “brother”, he is wild. My “Allloooo!” and “Eye y ey “ don’t work on him like it does the other kids. I guess I should appreciate it because it means he like hanging out with me (before he would not come near me) but goodness.
Vous etes invites?
I may just be the rudest person in Burkina. Maybe even in all of Africa, but I learned early on the polite gesture of inviting others to join me in a meal doesn’t have the same response as when other Burkinabé do it. “Okay!” My eyes widen in horrors as 4 teenage boys made their way to my “Cup of Noodles” (this is food from the states). I quickly learned that my playground may turn into a restaurant. There would be at least 6 people asking for food. I could not do this. Because my empathy level was so high, I would always give and have little left for me. I don’t know how but now they know. I won’t invite, my one friend is the only one who is allowed meals daily (he has a complicated story that does not include food often.) Even with him I can’t feed him every meal. And now I will just eat, with people watching (they are not starving, they just want my meal to help supplement theirs.) When they ask for invitations I ask them where is mine?
Other than that never being considered black (my father has to be Caucasian), being told what to do and the way men treat women all get on my nerves. But I have to stop complaining.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Futbol (Soccer)
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.
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.
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.
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