I was at Virginia's, baking cookies for my host family, while on her TV - a documentary on caves - glow worms and cockroaches were eating and defecating. And then I was at my host family's, watching "Home Alone," and I liked being reminded of childhood, home, but as soon as they leave him - before he can scream - I have to go, because it's time to be at Debora's, baking cookies for the church's evening service, while on her TV, Goku - hero - releases explosive amounts of energy, and then the Palestinian's face - his face - ... - and then I'm outside, amidst a world of people all eating and defecating, and after the boys passing out candles outside of a church, for three whole blocks there's no sign of the Christian holiday other than the decorations on the store where the rich people shop - and then I'm riding behind her on her motorcylce - and why do I want to embrace her? - and why not - and it's Christmas Eve, and I'm stressed, I'm stressed, I'm happily stressed, and I'm home again but not quite alone, and I do want to be part of this family - "Blake Djerma" - "Djerma, Blake" - and the TV is singing "
The...
little....
lord Jesus...
no crying...
he...
makes...
"But why not? WHY NOT?!? I want my baby Jesus to cry, to weep in Mary's arms, and I want to weep in my mother's arms, and I want a candle and a quiet to reflect, and now that I've eaten - there were cookies - it's time for me to defecate.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
", things you notice, and what you think about "
I notice the faces of old people. Old men, who I see walking along the shoulder of the road beneath cone-shaped hats. Hats similar to, but smaller than, the hats I picture atop Southeast Asians stooping in rice fields. Sometimes these old men carry small bundles, not unlike the stereotypical bag-on-a-stick-over-the-shoulder, and if there's no indication that they have just come from somewhere or are on their way to a particular destination, I like to imagine that they're constant travelers, wandering the roads of Burkina Faso - roads only recently paved in their memories - living off of ancient wisdom in the form of punch-line proverbs and the generosity of strangers.
Or the faces of elderly women working in the sun. Yesterday I passed a magnificently old woman who was pushing a wheelbarrow down the street. When I see scenes like that I always wonder: does she have a family that she is working to support? Has she spent 80% of her life working for the welfare of grandparents and then parents and then children and grandchildren and finally great-grandchildren? Or must she work because there is no family, no one left to support her? Perhaps the contents of the wheelbarrow might have offered a clue as to which is the case, but I didn't take note of what was in the wheelbarrow - my eyes couldn't leave her face. I only remember it as a wheelbarrow full of the color green. I think of colors as weightless. I hope for her sake that this was the case.
Virginia told me that she likes the faces of the elderly because of how much character they show. I think of literary theory and discussions of how meanings and characters (as understood by the reader) are created as much by the the reader as by the author, and I wonder whether, in reading faces, the character is placed there as much by the viewer as by the face being read. In seeing an old face, a face folded by years of smiles and sunlight and winces of pain, I know that I'm seeing a person who has lived through a lot. I think this allows one's imagination more room in which to work when recreating their lives, and telling the stories hidden deep in the wrinkles.
.... So anyway, I think I'm saying I might have a bias in favor of the elderly when it comes to making assumptions about a person's character. So if you're old, good news! I think you're great! Conversely, if I think you're great, good news! I probably I think you're old.
p.s.
Dear Mom and Dad,
I love you SO MUCH! You're the greatest.
Blake
Or the faces of elderly women working in the sun. Yesterday I passed a magnificently old woman who was pushing a wheelbarrow down the street. When I see scenes like that I always wonder: does she have a family that she is working to support? Has she spent 80% of her life working for the welfare of grandparents and then parents and then children and grandchildren and finally great-grandchildren? Or must she work because there is no family, no one left to support her? Perhaps the contents of the wheelbarrow might have offered a clue as to which is the case, but I didn't take note of what was in the wheelbarrow - my eyes couldn't leave her face. I only remember it as a wheelbarrow full of the color green. I think of colors as weightless. I hope for her sake that this was the case.
Virginia told me that she likes the faces of the elderly because of how much character they show. I think of literary theory and discussions of how meanings and characters (as understood by the reader) are created as much by the the reader as by the author, and I wonder whether, in reading faces, the character is placed there as much by the viewer as by the face being read. In seeing an old face, a face folded by years of smiles and sunlight and winces of pain, I know that I'm seeing a person who has lived through a lot. I think this allows one's imagination more room in which to work when recreating their lives, and telling the stories hidden deep in the wrinkles.
.... So anyway, I think I'm saying I might have a bias in favor of the elderly when it comes to making assumptions about a person's character. So if you're old, good news! I think you're great! Conversely, if I think you're great, good news! I probably I think you're old.
p.s.
Dear Mom and Dad,
I love you SO MUCH! You're the greatest.
Blake
Friday, December 11, 2009
Happy Independence Day!
Today is a national holiday. I don't have to work.
So I'm not going to work.
HA!
So I'm not going to work.
HA!
Saturday, December 5, 2009
I Miss You
My scrotum was the smallest it's been in months. Goosebumps were forming on my arms. The cool water had begun to feel warm. I was... was I? - YES! Shivering! I knew and didn't care that the current pleasantness of that sensation was entirely psychological. I was cold! There, showering, like usual, under the stars, I was cold. It was a welcome change.
The best way I can think of to give you an idea of the weather Burkina Faso is experiencing right now is to provide an excerpt from a breakfast conversation I had with my host mother the morning after the first night I decided not to use the fant that's in my room. Here's a rough translation:
Her: During the day it's not cold, but at night it's cold!
My response: Mmmmm. No, at night it's not hot, but during the day it's hot!
Living here, I miss more than anything else the temperate climate that I'm used to. I missed seeing leaves orange, yellow, and red. I miss frost and snow and ice-covered mailboxes.
I also miss studying and going to classes. The printer in my office doesn't get used much for work. The most recent things it's printed: an article on game theory, and 6 pages from an online textbook concerning the differences between the classical doppler effect and its relativistic corrections.
A quick non-person list of things I miss (that I haven't just mentioned):
The best way I can think of to give you an idea of the weather Burkina Faso is experiencing right now is to provide an excerpt from a breakfast conversation I had with my host mother the morning after the first night I decided not to use the fant that's in my room. Here's a rough translation:
Her: During the day it's not cold, but at night it's cold!
My response: Mmmmm. No, at night it's not hot, but during the day it's hot!
Living here, I miss more than anything else the temperate climate that I'm used to. I missed seeing leaves orange, yellow, and red. I miss frost and snow and ice-covered mailboxes.
I also miss studying and going to classes. The printer in my office doesn't get used much for work. The most recent things it's printed: an article on game theory, and 6 pages from an online textbook concerning the differences between the classical doppler effect and its relativistic corrections.
A quick non-person list of things I miss (that I haven't just mentioned):
- grass
- being able to say almost exactly what I mean
- air conditioning
- Mario Kart Wii
- living somewhere with a computer lab and a library
- Markio Kart Double Dash
- cheese
- Mario Kart '64
This was unintentional, but the list is probably pretty much in that order. Using numbers instead of bullets wouldn't have been misleading.
*wonders if he'll ever have a chance to turn the phrase "numbers, not bullets!" into a chant.*
Next time I organize a Mathematicians Against War rally...
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Meme une tortue peut se fatiguer de manger de la tarte aux mouches...
Roughly half of the TV I watch here is music videos. There are three (sometimes four) working channels on my host family's TV, and at any given time it's a fairly safe bet that at least one is devoting itself to music. Given the repetitive nature of most of these videos (the same songs are played every day), other shows have priority. When one of Alima's soap operas is on, we watch that. Unless there's a documentary or movie on that I was caught showing interest in; then we watch that... unless there's a soccer game on. Soccer is the top of the chain.
When the higher-priority programming is unavailable, music videos are the alternative to turning the TV off for a little while.
As someone who knows less about music than the average person, the main differences I've noted between American and Burkinabe music videos are that
1. There is more dancing in Burkinabe music videos
2. Songs are more likely to have a social or political message. I'm not quite sure how to clarify what I mean by this. I suppose through examples: the first time I watched some of these videos, back when I didn't understand any French, I was informed that one song was about war (I had gathered this from the video). The next song, I was told, was about rampant inflation. The next song was about worries the songwriter had concerning today's youth. Then there were a million songs in a row about love, just like in the United States, but that doesn't support what I'm trying to say, so I almost left that fact out... almost.
It's interesting to note that these two general ways in which Burkinabe music videos differ from what I'm used to - the dancing and the message - are often mixed with each other in ways that one might not have expected. The song about the urgent need for a better school system, for instance, is likely to have several close-ups of women waving their butts at the camera. Why not?
Invariably, I've identified some songs as my favorites. Here's my most favoritest Burkinabe song ever ever: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SdPsJw5DVJA&feature=related . With the exception of dripping water, this song is pretty much the best thing ever. And the video has both. Suppose there were more than one dimension of time. Then this video would be the best thing in either ever. Or in ever times ever. Ever.
In case you didn't guess this, the purpose of my exaggerating about how much I like the song is to get you watch the video. Take a moment. Take, rather, 249 second-sized moments. Watch it.
The streets you see in the video are similar to the streets I live on and walk around on. So, thanks to this video, I'm no longer obligated to take and show you pictures.
The video isn't typical of what I see when I watch music videos here. This style of music doesn't really encourage the kind up-beat dancing that many Burkinabe music videos exhibit. But the singer, Victor Deme, is Burkinabe. I believe he's from Bobo (west of Ouagadougou). The song is in Jula, which is spoken by lots of people in western Burkina Faso, and also, it just so happens, my host family.
I don't understand the words either. In Jula, I can only understand and say the phrase for "I am drinking water." Incidentally, you might find it interesting, or perhaps simply obvious, to note that when learning a language by being forced to use it in order to communicate, basic necessities are the first things learned. Words like food, water, home, eat, drink, and sleep.
When the higher-priority programming is unavailable, music videos are the alternative to turning the TV off for a little while.
As someone who knows less about music than the average person, the main differences I've noted between American and Burkinabe music videos are that
1. There is more dancing in Burkinabe music videos
2. Songs are more likely to have a social or political message. I'm not quite sure how to clarify what I mean by this. I suppose through examples: the first time I watched some of these videos, back when I didn't understand any French, I was informed that one song was about war (I had gathered this from the video). The next song, I was told, was about rampant inflation. The next song was about worries the songwriter had concerning today's youth. Then there were a million songs in a row about love, just like in the United States, but that doesn't support what I'm trying to say, so I almost left that fact out... almost.
It's interesting to note that these two general ways in which Burkinabe music videos differ from what I'm used to - the dancing and the message - are often mixed with each other in ways that one might not have expected. The song about the urgent need for a better school system, for instance, is likely to have several close-ups of women waving their butts at the camera. Why not?
Invariably, I've identified some songs as my favorites. Here's my most favoritest Burkinabe song ever ever: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SdPsJw5DVJA&feature=related . With the exception of dripping water, this song is pretty much the best thing ever. And the video has both. Suppose there were more than one dimension of time. Then this video would be the best thing in either ever. Or in ever times ever. Ever.
In case you didn't guess this, the purpose of my exaggerating about how much I like the song is to get you watch the video. Take a moment. Take, rather, 249 second-sized moments. Watch it.
The streets you see in the video are similar to the streets I live on and walk around on. So, thanks to this video, I'm no longer obligated to take and show you pictures.
The video isn't typical of what I see when I watch music videos here. This style of music doesn't really encourage the kind up-beat dancing that many Burkinabe music videos exhibit. But the singer, Victor Deme, is Burkinabe. I believe he's from Bobo (west of Ouagadougou). The song is in Jula, which is spoken by lots of people in western Burkina Faso, and also, it just so happens, my host family.
I don't understand the words either. In Jula, I can only understand and say the phrase for "I am drinking water." Incidentally, you might find it interesting, or perhaps simply obvious, to note that when learning a language by being forced to use it in order to communicate, basic necessities are the first things learned. Words like food, water, home, eat, drink, and sleep.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Small World?
A motorcycle speeds along a deserted highway. In the village ahead, there are children playing soccer. A farmer loads his cart with sorghum. A woman stacks watermelons into pyramids on her road-side table.
"That's the road to Kaya," my host mother says, waving her hand toward the television. The comment surprises me, and I'm distracted from the commercial long enough miss what has happened to the cart of sorghum. One of the children kicks the ball in the direction of the table of watermelons. As the motorcyclist swerves around the cart that has rolled onto the road, the ball knocks one of the watermelons off the table, directly into the cyclist's path. The bike screeches to a halt inches from the stray melon. Disaster has been averted, thanks, presumably, to keen handling and highly effective breaks. The cyclist removes his helmet to reveal a broad smile. He is fearless. He is unfazed. He is driving a Kaiser.
This commercial hasn't stuck in my head because I'm trying to decide what motorcycle is right for me, or even because I've now seen the commercial dozens of times. It sticks with me because of my host mother's comment. It was the first of several TV-watching events that make me feel like Burkina Faso isn't terribly large.
Land Area:
Burkina Faso: 105,869 square miles
Colorado: 104,100 square miles
Kansas: 82,282 square miles
Population:
Burkina Faso: 15.3 million (about .23% of the world's population)
Florida (the 4th most populous state): 16mil
Kansas: 2.7 mil
Note: The pop. of Burkina listed here is a 2008 UN estimate. The populations of Kansas and Florida are taken from the 2000 census.
I'm uncertain of how current my statistics concerning land area are. I hope, for reasons of accuracy, that the size of Kansas, etc., has remained relatively stable in recent years. :)
For more fun stats on Burkina Faso and other countries, you can check out the United Nations Human Development index here: http://hdrstats.undp.org/en/countries/country_fact_sheets/cty_fs_PSE.html
This index uses educational factors (including literacy rates, rates of child enrolment in school), health factors (including infant mortality, life expectancy), gender equality factors (is the literacy rate of males 200% higher than that of women?), and economic factors (GDP per captia, etc.) to rank the "human development" of 182 countries.
Additional fun "human development" facts I've gleaned from the above site:
- Burkina Faso is ranked 177 out of the 182 countries in which data was collected.
- Of the five countries whose human development is ranked lower than Burkina's, 4 are also in West or Central Africa. The fifth is Afghanistan.
- Of the 24 countries listed as having "low human development," 22 are in Africa.
-There is a single country (Rwanda) in which women hold more than half (51%) of the seats in parliament.
- In the overall development listing, Israel is ranked 27th, while the Occupied Palestinian Terrorities are ranked 110th.
I'm not used to going back and editing/adding to my posts, but I noticed another fun bit of information I'd like to share.
- Of those nations ranked in the top 23 for overall human development, there are only three in which women hold fewer than 20% of the seats in "parliament:" Japan (12%), Ireland (15%), and the United States (17%). I checked other sources for exact numbers of women in congress. It's actually more like 17.2607879924953%). But I respect the UN's choice of significant figures.
- Incidentally, according to Wikipedia (sometimes I'm research-lazy), "The global average for female representation at the parliamentary level in 2007 was 17.0%." We're keepin' up with the pack!
"That's the road to Kaya," my host mother says, waving her hand toward the television. The comment surprises me, and I'm distracted from the commercial long enough miss what has happened to the cart of sorghum. One of the children kicks the ball in the direction of the table of watermelons. As the motorcyclist swerves around the cart that has rolled onto the road, the ball knocks one of the watermelons off the table, directly into the cyclist's path. The bike screeches to a halt inches from the stray melon. Disaster has been averted, thanks, presumably, to keen handling and highly effective breaks. The cyclist removes his helmet to reveal a broad smile. He is fearless. He is unfazed. He is driving a Kaiser.
This commercial hasn't stuck in my head because I'm trying to decide what motorcycle is right for me, or even because I've now seen the commercial dozens of times. It sticks with me because of my host mother's comment. It was the first of several TV-watching events that make me feel like Burkina Faso isn't terribly large.
- I've now seen my host brother Arsene (who isn't famous or anything) on TV.
- Twice.
- The weekend after watching a movie in a local theater for the first time, I met one of the actors.
- Some of the footage of last month's flooding was taken on roads that I have now been on myself.
- The motorcycle commercial isn't the only example of my host mother being unexpectedly familiar with the setting of a television broadcast. Several weeks ago, after watching a documentary special on traditional housing, Madam Ba (I call her maman) told me about one of her friends who lives in the village in which the documentary was filmed.
Land Area:
Burkina Faso: 105,869 square miles
Colorado: 104,100 square miles
Kansas: 82,282 square miles
Population:
Burkina Faso: 15.3 million (about .23% of the world's population)
Florida (the 4th most populous state): 16mil
Kansas: 2.7 mil
Note: The pop. of Burkina listed here is a 2008 UN estimate. The populations of Kansas and Florida are taken from the 2000 census.
I'm uncertain of how current my statistics concerning land area are. I hope, for reasons of accuracy, that the size of Kansas, etc., has remained relatively stable in recent years. :)
For more fun stats on Burkina Faso and other countries, you can check out the United Nations Human Development index here: http://hdrstats.undp.org/en/countries/country_fact_sheets/cty_fs_PSE.html
This index uses educational factors (including literacy rates, rates of child enrolment in school), health factors (including infant mortality, life expectancy), gender equality factors (is the literacy rate of males 200% higher than that of women?), and economic factors (GDP per captia, etc.) to rank the "human development" of 182 countries.
Additional fun "human development" facts I've gleaned from the above site:
- Burkina Faso is ranked 177 out of the 182 countries in which data was collected.
- Of the five countries whose human development is ranked lower than Burkina's, 4 are also in West or Central Africa. The fifth is Afghanistan.
- Of the 24 countries listed as having "low human development," 22 are in Africa.
-There is a single country (Rwanda) in which women hold more than half (51%) of the seats in parliament.
- In the overall development listing, Israel is ranked 27th, while the Occupied Palestinian Terrorities are ranked 110th.
I'm not used to going back and editing/adding to my posts, but I noticed another fun bit of information I'd like to share.
- Of those nations ranked in the top 23 for overall human development, there are only three in which women hold fewer than 20% of the seats in "parliament:" Japan (12%), Ireland (15%), and the United States (17%). I checked other sources for exact numbers of women in congress. It's actually more like 17.2607879924953%). But I respect the UN's choice of significant figures.
- Incidentally, according to Wikipedia (sometimes I'm research-lazy), "The global average for female representation at the parliamentary level in 2007 was 17.0%." We're keepin' up with the pack!
Saturday, September 19, 2009
500 Word Survival Guide
How to communicate and make yourself understood with a very limited vocabular:
1. Know negations.
Learn them early. Knowing how to negate a statement can virtually double your descriptive prowess. You don't know the word for solid, or hard? Call it "not squishy," or "unsoft." And why fret over discovering the correct word for freezing when you can refer to a snowman as "very, very, very not hot."
ex: He is not happy because a not-old person threw an unsquishy rock that failed to miss his head.
2. Be creative.
Don't confine yourself to a single habitual way of saying things. You don't know how to say "the meal was delicious"? So what. Say that "The food tasted great." Or say that "The eatables made my tongue very happy." Or maybe you know how to explain that "those things which are now in my stomach were pleasing to me, my mouth in particular."
3. Use body language.
Make use of what you have. Facial expressions. Hand signals. Foot signals. Sock puppets.
ex. Thought long and hard about how to complement food in your new language and are still at a loss for words? No matter. Take a big bite. Then smile and chew elaborately. Nod your head, even. Be natural, of course.
4. Noun <----> Verb
Find out early whether, in your new language, it is common to turn nouns into verbs and verbs into nouns. If this is commonplace, consider it a treasure trove of "words." Though many things you say using this technique may include things not in any dictionary, if your pronunciation is good you will almost always be understood. Always remember that your goal is not to sound intelligent. It is to be a communicator in another language.
5. Talk with people.
Studying is good, but speaking with people (talking as well as listening) is better for learning than, say, couching in the not-outside of your place of fooding and sleeping, thumbing through a read, like a never-goes-outsider.
p.s. What kind of outsider do you want to be?
1. Know negations.
Learn them early. Knowing how to negate a statement can virtually double your descriptive prowess. You don't know the word for solid, or hard? Call it "not squishy," or "unsoft." And why fret over discovering the correct word for freezing when you can refer to a snowman as "very, very, very not hot."
ex: He is not happy because a not-old person threw an unsquishy rock that failed to miss his head.
2. Be creative.
Don't confine yourself to a single habitual way of saying things. You don't know how to say "the meal was delicious"? So what. Say that "The food tasted great." Or say that "The eatables made my tongue very happy." Or maybe you know how to explain that "those things which are now in my stomach were pleasing to me, my mouth in particular."
3. Use body language.
Make use of what you have. Facial expressions. Hand signals. Foot signals. Sock puppets.
ex. Thought long and hard about how to complement food in your new language and are still at a loss for words? No matter. Take a big bite. Then smile and chew elaborately. Nod your head, even. Be natural, of course.
4. Noun <----> Verb
Find out early whether, in your new language, it is common to turn nouns into verbs and verbs into nouns. If this is commonplace, consider it a treasure trove of "words." Though many things you say using this technique may include things not in any dictionary, if your pronunciation is good you will almost always be understood. Always remember that your goal is not to sound intelligent. It is to be a communicator in another language.
5. Talk with people.
Studying is good, but speaking with people (talking as well as listening) is better for learning than, say, couching in the not-outside of your place of fooding and sleeping, thumbing through a read, like a never-goes-outsider.
p.s. What kind of outsider do you want to be?
Friday, September 18, 2009
Quatre personnes sur la meme moto!
In hindsight it's ironic, given my situation, that I considered it worthy of comment. "Four people on one moped!" Nobody else seemed to notice, or care. Their focus was not on the road, but on the evening ahead. Some, I could tell, were nervous. I was riding with my little sister and my brother's band on the way to the second round of the competition, inside of a vehicle that's somewhere between a van and a perfectly rectangular car. Even without the instruments packed in, we would have been pressed space; I am certain that the number of people exceeded the number of seatbelts. The band has, if I recall correctly, eleven members.
The event lasted for about six hours. Less than half of this was taken by the actual performance of the four competing bands. Each of these musical groups represented a different church congregation. Each group sang three songs, two that were given to them, and a third song that was arranged by the group. For this last song, they were told to use a psalm (I forget which one) as lyrics, and to pair these words with a local melody. In the first round of the competition, this third song was in French. In preparing for the second round, the four remaining groups were asked to translate this psalm into a local language, of which there are many (my 6-year old sister speaks 4 languages). Some band members wound up singing in a language they do not speak.
My brother's band, or, rather, my church's band, won. They deserved it. They were the best.
In December, the group will represent Burkina Faso at the international level of the competition in Cote D'Ivoire (Ivory Coast). There are, I believe, six participating countries. Due to MCC regulations concerning travel to nations without MCC programs, I don't think I'll be able to tag along.
---->
This week, MCC West Africa received approval from Akron for $20,000 of flood relief money we requested at the end of last week.
I've finally come accross some figures concerning the damage caused by the flooding on Sept. 1. My first-hand experience has only been watching my brothers repair their shower room in their courtyard (my French lessons took place in said courtyard). Following is an excerpt from an email I recieved from Eva Mazharenko, SALT Coordinator:
"I have just received an update regarding recent flooding in Burkina Faso, where the rainy season stunned everyone with a twelve hour heavy downpour on September 1, causing reservoir in the capital city to overflow and destroying estimated 24 thousand homes that left about 150,000 people homeless."
Though this an issue apart from the flooding, these numbers indicate about six people per household. And the homes that were destroyed were typically not grand mansions with firm foundations. They were the houses occupied by those without the ability to pay for better housing; they were small homes. Vehicles are not the only thing in Ouagadougou that are often crowded.
The event lasted for about six hours. Less than half of this was taken by the actual performance of the four competing bands. Each of these musical groups represented a different church congregation. Each group sang three songs, two that were given to them, and a third song that was arranged by the group. For this last song, they were told to use a psalm (I forget which one) as lyrics, and to pair these words with a local melody. In the first round of the competition, this third song was in French. In preparing for the second round, the four remaining groups were asked to translate this psalm into a local language, of which there are many (my 6-year old sister speaks 4 languages). Some band members wound up singing in a language they do not speak.
My brother's band, or, rather, my church's band, won. They deserved it. They were the best.
In December, the group will represent Burkina Faso at the international level of the competition in Cote D'Ivoire (Ivory Coast). There are, I believe, six participating countries. Due to MCC regulations concerning travel to nations without MCC programs, I don't think I'll be able to tag along.
---->
This week, MCC West Africa received approval from Akron for $20,000 of flood relief money we requested at the end of last week.
I've finally come accross some figures concerning the damage caused by the flooding on Sept. 1. My first-hand experience has only been watching my brothers repair their shower room in their courtyard (my French lessons took place in said courtyard). Following is an excerpt from an email I recieved from Eva Mazharenko, SALT Coordinator:
"I have just received an update regarding recent flooding in Burkina Faso, where the rainy season stunned everyone with a twelve hour heavy downpour on September 1, causing reservoir in the capital city to overflow and destroying estimated 24 thousand homes that left about 150,000 people homeless."
Though this an issue apart from the flooding, these numbers indicate about six people per household. And the homes that were destroyed were typically not grand mansions with firm foundations. They were the houses occupied by those without the ability to pay for better housing; they were small homes. Vehicles are not the only thing in Ouagadougou that are often crowded.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Goutes le arc-en-ciel
Patiently, we wait in line outside the bakery. It's just after dark, and Levy and Leontine, who I'm now working with at the MCC bureau in Ouagadougou, have been kind enough enough to give me a ride home. We aren't the only members of the daily mass return home who have taken the time to stop on the way to buy bread for the evening meal. This is when many people do some of their shopping.
It might be because the refrigerator count per person in Burkina Faso is significantly lower than that in the United States. It may be the relative lack of big personal vehicles in which to haul large loads of food. It might be simple cultural preferance. Whatever the reasons, shopping for food is done more frequently in urban Burkina Faso than in the U.S.
My diet has revolved around rice, macaroni, cuscus, sweet potatoes, and a thick corn-based paste called to. Most of my meals have had as a main dish one of these foods with a well-seasoned sauce made from spinnach, or onions, or beef with broth, or fish, or mutton. Some meals have included a salad (cucumbers, tomatoes, onions, lettuce, eggs) or a fruit for desert (pineapple, mango, banana, watermelon...). Breakfast has been tea with sugar, and a scrambled-egg sandwich.
My main drink has been water, the drinking of which, given the heat, has become quite a hobby of mine. Another new-found favorite is called degue. Milk, sugar, and bits of millet are stirred together to create a rather ugly mixture that one sips and then chews/swallows. Burkinabe tend to make their sugary drinks violently sweet. The last time I drank degue, I discovered a large undisolved chunk of sugar at the bottom of my glass. I ate it.
Other food stuff:
- Corn (on the cob) is often cooked over coals, and eaten slightly burnt. The taste reminds me of popcorn
- I ate a catepillar a few days ago. They're cooked with onions, or tomatoes, or whatever else. There's a reason I had only one.
- a treat I've had several times is sugar-coated peanuts. Yum.
- My little host sister, Nema, likes the catepillars. She dislikes watermelon. Works out well for us, I guess.
The MCC bureau wasn't untouched by the flooding. A few inches of water covered the floor last Tuesday after the rain. Cleanup included paging through bottom-shelve books and notebooks to help them dry, and dismantling a water-logged computer so that the individual parts could dry. Reassembled, it somehow worked fine.
There is a concert (today, I think) to raise money for the people affected by the flood. As is most often the case, it was the poor who were hit the hardest. Those with mud brick homes for instance, were the most likely to be among the people now living on the floor of local schools. I won't make it to the fund-raising concert. This afternoon, I'm going to another concert to see my big brother Arsene perform with his band. They made it through the last round of the competition. They're good. I'm excited.
It might be because the refrigerator count per person in Burkina Faso is significantly lower than that in the United States. It may be the relative lack of big personal vehicles in which to haul large loads of food. It might be simple cultural preferance. Whatever the reasons, shopping for food is done more frequently in urban Burkina Faso than in the U.S.
My diet has revolved around rice, macaroni, cuscus, sweet potatoes, and a thick corn-based paste called to. Most of my meals have had as a main dish one of these foods with a well-seasoned sauce made from spinnach, or onions, or beef with broth, or fish, or mutton. Some meals have included a salad (cucumbers, tomatoes, onions, lettuce, eggs) or a fruit for desert (pineapple, mango, banana, watermelon...). Breakfast has been tea with sugar, and a scrambled-egg sandwich.
My main drink has been water, the drinking of which, given the heat, has become quite a hobby of mine. Another new-found favorite is called degue. Milk, sugar, and bits of millet are stirred together to create a rather ugly mixture that one sips and then chews/swallows. Burkinabe tend to make their sugary drinks violently sweet. The last time I drank degue, I discovered a large undisolved chunk of sugar at the bottom of my glass. I ate it.
Other food stuff:
- Corn (on the cob) is often cooked over coals, and eaten slightly burnt. The taste reminds me of popcorn
- I ate a catepillar a few days ago. They're cooked with onions, or tomatoes, or whatever else. There's a reason I had only one.
- a treat I've had several times is sugar-coated peanuts. Yum.
- My little host sister, Nema, likes the catepillars. She dislikes watermelon. Works out well for us, I guess.
The MCC bureau wasn't untouched by the flooding. A few inches of water covered the floor last Tuesday after the rain. Cleanup included paging through bottom-shelve books and notebooks to help them dry, and dismantling a water-logged computer so that the individual parts could dry. Reassembled, it somehow worked fine.
There is a concert (today, I think) to raise money for the people affected by the flood. As is most often the case, it was the poor who were hit the hardest. Those with mud brick homes for instance, were the most likely to be among the people now living on the floor of local schools. I won't make it to the fund-raising concert. This afternoon, I'm going to another concert to see my big brother Arsene perform with his band. They made it through the last round of the competition. They're good. I'm excited.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
il pleut (it rains)
The first time I awoke Monday night - early Tuesday morning - It was to the sound of rain pounding the sheet metal roof. I opened my eyes to discover another person in the room with me. Alima, my host family's servant, was searching my room for leaks. She placed a large bucket in the necessarry place, and then exited, closing the door quietly so as not to wake me.
The second time I woke up, the power was out. The fan beide my bed was quiet and still. There was a steady drip from the ceiling into the bucket.
The third time I woke up, I felt a small splash of water on my face. There was a drip above my bed now. Every 90 seconds a large drop would fall, splashing into pieces as it passed through the mosquito net above me, spraying a small area of the sheets with water. I got up, fetched another pail for water, crawled back underneath the net, curled up beside the bucket, went back to sleep.
It was still raining when I ate breakfast. I didn't need the text message from professor Jackie to know that I wouldn't be having French lessons that day. The city shuts down when it's raining. Many venders do their selling outside, but even if most people spent the working day indoors, transportation would be an issue. Only a small fraction of the population owns cars. Everyone else gets around by foot, bicycle, or moped. Judging from the looks I've seen on the faces of people here when it was only sprinkling, biking in the rain can be unpleasant. The only occasion I had to venture outdoors that morning was to go to the bathroom. On the way to the pit toilet, which I found to be nearly full with rain water, I peeked over the courtyard gate. The street was a stream.
It was still raining heavily when I ate lunch. By the time the rain stopped mid-afternoon, it had been pouring nonstop for about twelve hours. The power has cut out in spurts several times in the two weeks I've been here, but never for as long as it was out Tuesday. It wasn't until the power came back on in the evenig that I realized what the rain had meant for other parts of Ouagadougou.
-->
The news showed videos of flash-flooding. A truck windshield-deep in red-brown water. In one video, a man carrying his bicycle through knee-deep water falls, tries to get up, stubles again, and then manages to stand. He continues on empty-handed, leaving his bike behind in the water. There were shots of homes collapsing. And a man driving a hole into the side of his house to let the water drain out. Most striking was a segment about Ouagadougou's main hospital, which also went without power for most of the day. The hospital had to move patients when one of the outside walls collapsed and water began covering the floors. The news showed a shot of a nurse rolling a cart full of equiptment down a hallway, through a couple inches of dirty water. Patients were carried into vehicles and shipped to smaller hospitals.
The rainy season in Burkina lasts frm May through September. This was the first rain of this magnitude my host father, now in his fourties, has ever seen. There is talk of government plans for a runoff thing/canal to prevent this kind of catastrophe in the future.
p.s. sorry to anyone who has been emailing me. Internet problems abound. I'm lucky to somehow have access to this page. Also, I've decided to start including arrows like this: --> before sections of blogs I think you should read. If you don't want to read a bunch of junk, just look for those. They'll point to the imortant stuff. Many of my blogs won't get any arrows. Feel free to skip.
The second time I woke up, the power was out. The fan beide my bed was quiet and still. There was a steady drip from the ceiling into the bucket.
The third time I woke up, I felt a small splash of water on my face. There was a drip above my bed now. Every 90 seconds a large drop would fall, splashing into pieces as it passed through the mosquito net above me, spraying a small area of the sheets with water. I got up, fetched another pail for water, crawled back underneath the net, curled up beside the bucket, went back to sleep.
It was still raining when I ate breakfast. I didn't need the text message from professor Jackie to know that I wouldn't be having French lessons that day. The city shuts down when it's raining. Many venders do their selling outside, but even if most people spent the working day indoors, transportation would be an issue. Only a small fraction of the population owns cars. Everyone else gets around by foot, bicycle, or moped. Judging from the looks I've seen on the faces of people here when it was only sprinkling, biking in the rain can be unpleasant. The only occasion I had to venture outdoors that morning was to go to the bathroom. On the way to the pit toilet, which I found to be nearly full with rain water, I peeked over the courtyard gate. The street was a stream.
It was still raining heavily when I ate lunch. By the time the rain stopped mid-afternoon, it had been pouring nonstop for about twelve hours. The power has cut out in spurts several times in the two weeks I've been here, but never for as long as it was out Tuesday. It wasn't until the power came back on in the evenig that I realized what the rain had meant for other parts of Ouagadougou.
-->
The news showed videos of flash-flooding. A truck windshield-deep in red-brown water. In one video, a man carrying his bicycle through knee-deep water falls, tries to get up, stubles again, and then manages to stand. He continues on empty-handed, leaving his bike behind in the water. There were shots of homes collapsing. And a man driving a hole into the side of his house to let the water drain out. Most striking was a segment about Ouagadougou's main hospital, which also went without power for most of the day. The hospital had to move patients when one of the outside walls collapsed and water began covering the floors. The news showed a shot of a nurse rolling a cart full of equiptment down a hallway, through a couple inches of dirty water. Patients were carried into vehicles and shipped to smaller hospitals.
The rainy season in Burkina lasts frm May through September. This was the first rain of this magnitude my host father, now in his fourties, has ever seen. There is talk of government plans for a runoff thing/canal to prevent this kind of catastrophe in the future.
p.s. sorry to anyone who has been emailing me. Internet problems abound. I'm lucky to somehow have access to this page. Also, I've decided to start including arrows like this: --> before sections of blogs I think you should read. If you don't want to read a bunch of junk, just look for those. They'll point to the imortant stuff. Many of my blogs won't get any arrows. Feel free to skip.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
They call it the welcome to Africa.
Remember the time I held the bucket for you? Green jack-o-lantern face with a plastic handle. It was a halloween pail. Was it autumn?
Now I am the one sick, and my comforters stand and watch. Dirt, no bucket. Hands and knees, no couch. Puking and thinking of you.
That was almost week ago. I am well, have been since Tuesday. My host family knows what to feed me. The beans that upset my stomach were not offered to me; I insisted on trying them. I waned to eat all the same things as my family. I wanted no special treatment. Clearly, this was somewhat of a mistake. I'm more special here than I thought.
My host family is amazing. My host mother sells peanuts, but much of the time she is busy in the courtyard outside our home (a yard we share with several other conjoined housed) where she washes dishes, washes clothes, and prepares food. My host father is a librarian. Their oldest son, Arsene, 25, speaks fairly good English, and has acted as my guide in the neighborhood. He is pursuing a degree in journalism, and is also a bit of a carpenter. He made the table in his home, the door to his parent's home (where I'm staying), and he also helped make the benches used in the church we attend. Arsene also plays guitar for a band from church. This afternoon I get to hear them perform in a competition.
The two younger brothers, David and Peter (or maybe Pierre?) are also fairly close in age to myself. David doesn't speak much English and often isn't around, so I don't yet know him as well as I know Arsene. Peter has been out of town since the day I arrived here. I know nothing about him.
I also have a 6-year old little sister, Nema. Nema loves to dance, enjoys abusing the cat, and is still fascinated with my hair. We practice the French alphabet together.
My French, which I'd never studied before coming to Bukina Faso, is progressing, slowly. My teacher has told me to focus on verbs. I've compiled/been given huges lists of verbs, 217 in all. I know most of their meanings now. I'm working on learning their conjugations, and on being able to recognize them when I hear them in every day conversation. It's tricky. Right now I comprehend far more from reading French than when I listen to people speak. My speech is slow and unnatural. There are only a few phrases I can now say fluently, phases I've had occasion to use again and again.
-Je ne comprend pas. Je ne sais pas. Je suis Americain. Je m'appelle Blake.
-I don't understand. I don't know. I am an American. My name is Blake.
Now I am the one sick, and my comforters stand and watch. Dirt, no bucket. Hands and knees, no couch. Puking and thinking of you.
That was almost week ago. I am well, have been since Tuesday. My host family knows what to feed me. The beans that upset my stomach were not offered to me; I insisted on trying them. I waned to eat all the same things as my family. I wanted no special treatment. Clearly, this was somewhat of a mistake. I'm more special here than I thought.
My host family is amazing. My host mother sells peanuts, but much of the time she is busy in the courtyard outside our home (a yard we share with several other conjoined housed) where she washes dishes, washes clothes, and prepares food. My host father is a librarian. Their oldest son, Arsene, 25, speaks fairly good English, and has acted as my guide in the neighborhood. He is pursuing a degree in journalism, and is also a bit of a carpenter. He made the table in his home, the door to his parent's home (where I'm staying), and he also helped make the benches used in the church we attend. Arsene also plays guitar for a band from church. This afternoon I get to hear them perform in a competition.
The two younger brothers, David and Peter (or maybe Pierre?) are also fairly close in age to myself. David doesn't speak much English and often isn't around, so I don't yet know him as well as I know Arsene. Peter has been out of town since the day I arrived here. I know nothing about him.
I also have a 6-year old little sister, Nema. Nema loves to dance, enjoys abusing the cat, and is still fascinated with my hair. We practice the French alphabet together.
My French, which I'd never studied before coming to Bukina Faso, is progressing, slowly. My teacher has told me to focus on verbs. I've compiled/been given huges lists of verbs, 217 in all. I know most of their meanings now. I'm working on learning their conjugations, and on being able to recognize them when I hear them in every day conversation. It's tricky. Right now I comprehend far more from reading French than when I listen to people speak. My speech is slow and unnatural. There are only a few phrases I can now say fluently, phases I've had occasion to use again and again.
-Je ne comprend pas. Je ne sais pas. Je suis Americain. Je m'appelle Blake.
-I don't understand. I don't know. I am an American. My name is Blake.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Help
I've never had a blog before. Any ideas people have would be appreciated.
The main thing I need to know is what to post. I would guess that anyone reading this blog (Mom) is doing so because they're interested in me (nobody else would know about it), but I would like the blog to be more about Burkina Faso, Ouagadougou, and MCC, than about me. So what do you want to hear about? What are you most curious about? If I don't know the answer, I'll take the question as an opportunity for myself to learn more about the spectacular place I now live in.
Feedback, please. Thanks!
The main thing I need to know is what to post. I would guess that anyone reading this blog (Mom) is doing so because they're interested in me (nobody else would know about it), but I would like the blog to be more about Burkina Faso, Ouagadougou, and MCC, than about me. So what do you want to hear about? What are you most curious about? If I don't know the answer, I'll take the question as an opportunity for myself to learn more about the spectacular place I now live in.
Feedback, please. Thanks!
The... he... if...
Television. An interviewee is speaking in what is, to my ears, extremely rapid French. I wait for the occasional word I am able to recognize. I wait some more.
There!
"... je-dee..."
I grasp onto these familiar syllables, nearly lost amid the flow of ideas and idioms. Aha! THIS I understand! A hint as to what is being communicated.
It means "...I say..."
Or it means "...Thursday..."
... depending on the context.
I arrived in Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso, a week ago, armed with a handful of words and two or three phrases in what has proven to be, to my relief, the dominant language in my host family's neighborhood. Ouagadougou, the capital of Burkina Faso, is a relatively westernized city, but native languages, especially Mooré, are widely used. In the secteur of Burkina Faso that Tara, another SALTer working for MCC, lives in, Mooré is the premier language. The children don't learn French until they attend school.
I'm grateful for having a host family who speaks French in the house. If my new little sister, Nima, who has six years, did not speak French fluently, I'd be missing out on a bright and supremely patient tutor.
There!
"... je-dee..."
I grasp onto these familiar syllables, nearly lost amid the flow of ideas and idioms. Aha! THIS I understand! A hint as to what is being communicated.
It means "...I say..."
Or it means "...Thursday..."
... depending on the context.
I arrived in Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso, a week ago, armed with a handful of words and two or three phrases in what has proven to be, to my relief, the dominant language in my host family's neighborhood. Ouagadougou, the capital of Burkina Faso, is a relatively westernized city, but native languages, especially Mooré, are widely used. In the secteur of Burkina Faso that Tara, another SALTer working for MCC, lives in, Mooré is the premier language. The children don't learn French until they attend school.
I'm grateful for having a host family who speaks French in the house. If my new little sister, Nima, who has six years, did not speak French fluently, I'd be missing out on a bright and supremely patient tutor.
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