Fireflies

As many of you already know, I went home in October. I spent two glorious weeks enjoying family and friends in Florida and then 3 days in New York City happily accepting the UN Leo Nevas Human Rights Youth Advocate Award.

Visiting America after 18 months of living abroad was difficult, strange, and exciting. The aspects of America that I was most in awe of were not, as one might expect, amenities such as running water and electricity or even relative luxuries such as Mexican food (okay, maybe a little bit). Mostly, I was experiencing first-hand the adage about travel transforming us in ways that aren’t always apparent until we return home. I remembered what it feels like to live in my own culture, to speak my own language, to completely understand social situations (although I was lacking some cultural references from the past year or so… gangnam style?). People who haven’t lived abroad don’t know how daunting simple tasks can be in a culture that isn’t your own. Everything seemed so easy, so efficient, so effortless. More importantly, I felt like I could truly be myself because I could express myself and people understood me. I felt at home in an Anglophone dream world of punctuality, friendliness, and rationality. 

Coming back to Africa after a trip like this is hard. If I wasn’t asking myself “what am I doing here?” beforehand, now I definitely was. I had to stop and seriously think about what I was getting out of my service- socially, personally, professionally. These are difficult, yet necessary, questions to ask.

In truth, I’ve gotten most of what I wanted to get out my service professionally. I’m experiencing development work from a grassroots level, learning new languages, etc.

I’ve experienced a lot of personal growth as well- in how I relate to other people, how I define success, how I respond to failure.

So, if I’ve already accomplished what I set out to accomplish, what do I do for the final 8 months of my service?...

I have absolutely no doubt that every Peace Corps volunteer feels this way at some point during their service. This is why we have countdowns and obsess over our futures after Peace Corps and our close-of-service trips. In a sense, we withdraw from the present as a way to avoid this terrifying question. We seek out our fellow volunteers who can give us advice, project ideas, inspiration. Yet, at the end of the day, we still feel that there is something missing from our service. The feeling that all the hassles and frustration are worth it, the feeling of self-worth and accomplishment, is no longer intact.

Getting over humps like these is something that I don’t think Peace Corps administration addresses enough. It’s almost taboo to talk about it, even though everyone experiences it. I think that understanding why the humps happen is the first step to getting over them. I think that the humps happen because we undergo the most personal growth during the beginning of service- going through training, becoming integrated in our communities, overcoming cultural and linguistic hurdles, witness our projects succeed and fail, making host country national friends, strengthening bonds with fellow volunteers, etc. All of these experiences contribute the greatest amount of challenge to a new volunteer, and therefore the greatest amount of the self-confidence which is the natural offspring of that challenge.

Although I’m still learning and growing 18 months into my service, the change is less radical than it was in the beginning. Everyday activities are not as much of a challenge. Chatting with people in village and attending events used to qualify as adventures, but now they are just day to day normal activities.

But just because the newness has worn off doesn’t mean that we can’t get any more out of the experience. There exists a certain Peace Corps ethos that demands a quest for one’s outer limits and accepts no excuse for not trying. With this philosophy in mind, it is true that, to a certain extent, you experience what you open yourself up to experience; the trick is to never stop looking for adventure, never convince yourself that you’ve learned all there is to learn, never stop challenging yourself.  

When I got back to village, the rainy season was coming to an end. Rainy season is my favorite because I love the solitude of reading in my house and listening to the storm make music on my tin roof. I liked feeling cut off from village life, even if only for a short time, to reflect on my own. I was upset that this season, my last full one in country, was over.

Then, sitting on my hammock one night, I saw what I thought was a flash of lightning out of the corner of my eye. It was a firefly. I had forgotten about these insects that light up my village once cold season starts. The fireflies weren’t the only harbingers of a new season: with no storm clouds to impede the view, I could see hundreds of stars in the sky. I was reminded that soon the nights would get cold and the market would be full of vegetables. The harmattan would bring a breeze during the day; the end of the harvest would free up my neighbors to drink tea in the afternoon under the giant mango tree; the marriage season would bring the sounds of the balafon to the village every night. But, before all of these wonderful things arrive, there is an uncomfortable “mini hot-season”.

I realized that volunteers, like seasons, sometimes go through these changes. We, too, have to push ourselves through the uncomfortable periods of doubt, of changing focus, before being revitalized again.

Since this epiphany, I’ve opened myself up to new challenges. I’ve started a girls’ life skills club at a primary school in a village 10km out in the brush. There, early marriage rates are high and they had never seen a foreigner until me. Once a week I cross this rickety bridge to get there. Sometimes, I feel that just crossing this bridge is enough adventure for my whole Peace Corps service.

 

I’m co-teaching a kindergarten class to help introduce non-violent classroom management techniques and positive reinforcement. I’m also helping to bring Camp G2LOW to my regional capital. I’m spending time with my extraordinary Peace Corps friends- amazing people who understand me as only another volunteer could.

I know that there will be plenty of time afterwards to reflect on my service in solitude, but I have a lot to see, feel, learn, accomplish, and DO before then. Until next rainy season, when I will head home for good, I’m finding inspiration in fireflies, stars, and balafons playing off in the distance.   

Polygamy and Domestic Abuse in the Burkinabe Culture

“Women aged 15-44 are more likely to be maimed or die from male violence than from cancer, malaria, traffic accidents, and war combined.” –Half the Sky

Cultural norms are one thing when observed and appreciated from afar for their anthropological novelty. From that perspective, it’s easy to say that everything is morally relative. It’s much harder, if not impossible, to accept culturally-related behavior that negatively affects you or the people you care about directly.

One cultural norm that is practiced in my village by people of all religions, sects, and ethnicities, is polygamy. How many wives you have, like how many children you have, is a status symbol. I had never been offended by it. I happen to come from a place where the concept of love and romance are confounded to the point where one can hardly decipher between the two. Where I come from, love is about individuals and personal choice, so much so that if you decide you don’t love someone anymore you can divorce them. However, in Burkina, marriage is about uniting two families, producing children, and division of labor (for the vast, vast majority). I had always accepted this aspect of Burkinabe family life and observed with curiosity how the “sinomusos” (co-wives) dealt with each other and their husbands. I was always looking for subtle clues as to whether they were all treated equally and who had the most power. I found to my surprise that many women were enthusiastic about having a co-wife since it meant a lightening of their own heavy domestic burden.

I accepted polygamy until it happened in my adopted family. I had always thought of Moussa and Alimatou as an exception to the rule (many rules, really, but polygamy as well). As far as I could tell they were madly in love- they joked around with each other and always treated each other with kindness, if not as complete equals (I still live in Burkina Faso where men are the chiefs of their households and women are subservient). They’re also wonderful parents to three beautiful girls.

One day, I went over to their house as usual for midday tea to find him sitting with a woman I’d never seen before. I figured this was a relative from out of town. After he introduced her as his fiancée, I asked if he was serious. In hindsight, it was weird of me to say but African men are always joking about their new “wives”. He told me that he wasn’t kidding and that they might be getting married next year during wedding season “insha allah” (god willing).

I was in shock. I immediately thought of Alima- was this news to her, too? We finished our tea and I said I had somewhere to be. Really, I just needed to process this. At this moment I wasn’t upset or angry, just very surprised.

Later that night Moussa went out with his fiancée, Bintou, and Alima stayed home with the kids. When he came back he slept with his fiancée in the bedroom while Alima slept in the kitchen. She cooks for them and in the morning she has to bring them both water to bathe. Apparently, this is normal during the courting process.

I tried to picture any American woman I know being okay with this kind of situation: being relegated to sleep in the kitchen after living with your husband for ten years because he wants to sleep with a new woman and then bringing them both food and water when they’re done. Needless to say, I was infuriated. I needed to find out how Alima was feeling.

When Alima and I had our usual nightly chat, she showed a little animosity towards the girl (I use the word girl because she is maybe seventeen years old) but not much. She quickly talked about other things and was even laughing. I felt like an idiot. Everything was fine. The only person who felt awkward was me. As long as my friends are happy, then I’m happy for them. Things are just different here, I thought.

The next morning, after I finished my classes, I went to visit her. I knew that Moussa had probably gone out again with Bintou. For as long as she was visiting, it seemed like this is how things would be. Alima and I chatted a bit and she started complaining about being angry at Moussa for some reason (a reason so silly I can’t even remember it now). All of a sudden I noticed that she had tears in her eyes. My heart sank. People don’t cry in this culture… ever! This is a woman who gave birth on her own on her kitchen floor and didn’t cry. I kept thinking about how much pain she must be in. Even though she now had more power as the first wife, the new wife would be his favorite, at least for a little while. I didn’t know how to comfort her. My culture was telling me to give her a hug and ask her why she was really upset, so we could talk out her feelings. But somehow I thought that this would make her feel pitied and I don’t pity her. She is an extremely strong person and once the situation settles she will take it in stride and carry on, even though its clearly against her wishes. Women do this every day all over the world for the sake of their children. I was furious with Moussa, and any man the world over for that matter, who could completely disregard his wife’s feelings in this way. There is simply no justification- religious, cultural, or otherwise.

I’m not saying that polygamy can never work. I just think that everyone should consent to it first. You can’t ignore the wishes of the mother of your children just because you want to parade around with and sleep with some new woman.

But this isn’t the end of the story, it’s the beginning. Jump forward to a few months later when Bintou is now living in the courtyard full-time acting as a wife even though they are not actually married yet. Bintou is now working with Alima to do both household work and work in the fields. Alima shared her shea nuts with Bintou so that she could sell them for money during the rainy season which I saw as a nice gesture and a sign that things have improved. It turns out you can never truly know how a woman is feeling in a culture where she is consistently told that to be a good wife and mother she must subvert her own opinions and neglect her feelings in favor of her husband’s…

It started with a few misunderstandings and miscommunications and ended in violence. She didn’t bring him lunch in the fields one day, she took the toothbrush cup to go get coffee, she served him his food without water, etc. Result: he chased her out of the courtyard and whipped her neck with a stick. She wasn’t able to turn her head for almost a week. Bintou and Moussa’s uncle had shunned her to sit and be by herself all day. I invited her to have tea with me on my porch and sleep in my courtyard if she felt more comfortable, which she did.

Like all issues in Burkina, the problem was “third-partied” (having another relative or friend step in and ask for forgiveness/mediate on your behalf). The relatively rich uncle who was in town told them both to apologize and move on, while Moussa also asked me to third-party on his behalf for Alima. I politely told him that whatever marital problems they had were between him and Alima, but that I could not and would not be his friend anymore because to do so would be to tacitly condone violence against women. What can I say? I’m still an American woman with all of the connotations and beliefs that come with that and this is one aspect of the culture that I will never, never accept.

Some will contend that, when I mention violence, I’m no longer talking about a “cultural norm”. Some will say that violence is not inherently part of the Burkinabe culture in the same way that misogyny is not part of the Islamic religion. However, I would argue that violence, widespread in the school system, in the domestic realm, and in traditional practices such as female genital mutilation is in fact part of the Burkinabe culture. When you consider that violence is the Burkinabe parenting style, a form of pedagogy for teachers, and the means with which men continue to render their wives submissive, at what point can one say that violence is part of Burkinabe culture, even if it isn’t politically correct to do so? What else is culture if not the sea we swim in, so pervasive that it affects how we approach all aspects of our day to day lives? Burkinabe families and institutions are so entrenched with violence that they’re dripping with it.

. Alima says it doesn’t matter if he asked for forgiveness, she will never truly forgive him and things will never be the same. She says that the men here are not good- as soon as they get a second wife they don’t want you anymore. She says that if it wasn’t for the kids she’d leave (In Burkina, men almost always have the right to custody of their children in the case of a divorce). She was so angry that she didn’t eat for almost two days.  

Mostly, I don’t understand why an intelligent man who had always been so persuasive with his words and so loving towards his wife and children needed to resort to violence. I think it’s largely due to the social pressure to be a “good Muslim” or an “African man”. It’s the same reason why Moussa won’t fetch his own bath water, because he says the men in the village would find out and laugh at him for not being a real man. It’s the same reason why whenever I suggest to men to share domestic tasks with their wives they say “C’est l’Afrique, ce n’est pas comme ca ici.” Apparently, beating your wife makes you more of a man, too.

As long as Africans maintain this kind of abuse against women under the facade of tradition and the status quo, they will never develop economically or socially. Without uplifting their women, they have absolutely no chance of achieving the democratic institutions or material wealth that they tell me they desire on a daily basis.

One of the hardest parts of being a Peace Corps volunteer is trying to reconcile our innermost beliefs, what makes us “us”, with the beliefs present in our host country culture. This can sometimes cause a loss of identity since our beliefs are a huge part of who we are. A lot of the time, we are walking on eggshells to remain culturally sensitive. We are told that we will find the answers to problems within the culture. I think the existential crises arise when one realizes that it’s the culture itself which is creating a lot of the problems.

Hygiene and Sanitation Project

17.6% of children born in Burkina Faso do not live to reach the age of 5, according to the UNICEF statistics for 2010. Burkina has the 3rd highest under-5 mortality rate in the world. High infant mortality rates directly influence family planning, since it is part of the reason why so many Burkinabe women decide to give birth to more children than they expect to care for in the long-term. In short, it is assumed that at least one of their children will die young.

Many people know that malaria is one of the leading causes of death for small children in developing countries. However, many do not attribute infant mortality to diarrhea. Did you know that, worldwide, more children die of diarrhea than of malaria, AIDS, and the measles combined? Or that 1.5 million children in Africa die from diarrhea every year?

The statistics are scary, but also hopeful when you consider that diarrhea is largely preventable if food preparers take necessary precautions and children learn healthy habits at a young age, namely hand-washing.

In the Western world, diarrhea is inconvenient and even amusing at times, inspiring funny jingles like the Pepto-Bismol song. In developing countries, diarrhea can be serious and fatal if not properly treated, especially among children under the age of five.

During my feasibility study, I noticed that none of the small children in my village defecated in latrines, even if there was one available in the courtyard. When I asked people about it, they said that children just weren’t used to them. When small children have to use the bathroom, they just squat and go wherever they please. Also, although people washed their hands before every meal, they did it in a communal bowl and without soap. Most people in my village do not have a primary school education and therefore do not understand germs or disease transmission, ideas that are drilled into us from a very young age in the United States. If you don’t know what a germ is, it’s hard to make the connection between these kinds of behaviors and getting sick. Furthermore, proper hygiene is even more important here where modern means of dealing with human waste are non-existent and farm animals are always in close proximity.

Donc, I set out to try to instill some healthy habits and some simple infrastructure in my community to make it a healthier place for children and their families.

The first step was finding and motivating some counterparts, so I brought two masons from my village with me to a USAID training on latrine construction and hygiene. We learned how to build latrines from start to finish and how to educate others on healthy hygiene practices. I applied for a USAID grant to build private latrines in my community and, as a result of the training, Peace Corps also gave us some additional USAID funds to make hand-washing stations and a model latrine which is currently being constructed at the community health center. Afterwards, health center employees will be educated on the importance of latrine usage and hand washing as a means of disease prevention.

The infrastructure component of the project, which provided a latrine for each of six different courtyards in six different neighborhoods in my village, is now finished. The grant paid for cement, rebar, wire, the mason’s labor and transport of materials. My village contributed the gravel, the sand, the water, the labor to dig the pits, and hygiene presentations to each of the families receiving a latrine (conducted by the two masons).

The education aspect of the project specifically targeted the primary school students since younger children are more likely to adopt behavior change and also the most vulnerable to death as a result of dehydration from diarrhea. Fortunately, the primary school closest to my house recently had latrines built by an NGO, but many students still weren’t using them and definitely weren’t washing their hands afterwards. So I put together three hand-washing stations with recycled oil jugs donated by the parents’ association of the school. All that was required was a small tap, a washer, and a hot iron rod to get the job done. There are 6 classes, the equivalent of kindergarten through 5^th grade, with two classes sharing each hand-washing station. The students take turns filling the containers with water and making sure that there is soap (donated by the parents’ association). I went into each class and talked with the students about why it’s important to wash our hands after using the latrine. The kindergarten-aged students were very enthusiastic and really loved the hand-washing song in Jula, their local language. Since the very little ones don’t speak much French yet, I had my neighbor Yakouba with me to translate into Gouin and the director of the school translated into Jula. When I asked the kids what they do after they finish in the latrine, one kid yelled (in Jula) “I poop!” Everyone started cracking up and then I clarified and said “Yes, but after you poop?” He stood up and yelled again, “I leave!” It was funny and also very true. I asked them to raise their hand if they had ever had diarrhea or a stomach ache and everyone raised their hand. I asked them if they liked diarrhea and everyone shook their head no. Then we explained that if you wash your hands you won’t get diarrhea. We also told them to be responsible for one another and to remind others nicely if they forget to wash their hands. With the older kids, we incorporated a science lesson about germs, what they are and how they spread. This was really helpful because they understood the reason behind washing their hands, and also the importance of using soap and running water. Since we set up the hand-washing stations, I’ve been visiting the school during class hours to observe. If I see a kid properly wash his or her hands, I give them a little sticker. The teachers and director have been great at follow up as well so I’m confident in the sustainability of the project. Also, since the masons live in the village, they can meet the demand for new latrines.

The evaluation of the project will involve interviews with each beneficiary family to figure out just how many men, women, and children are using the latrines. Also, six months from now we will look at the health center statistics to see if there has been a reduction in the number of patients who come in diagnosed with a serious case of diarrhea. Just one example of how small behavior change can lead to a huge difference in the lives of individuals and the well-being of a community!

Camp G2LOW

Hey all,

So right now we education volunteers are in what we call “les vacances” although most of us have been doing anything but relaxing. Camps and Peace Corps conferences have been non-stop and, as always, the time is flying by.

In July I participated in Camp G²LOW (Girls and Guys Leading Our World) in Dédougou, one of the four cities around the country where the camp was held this year. Camp GLOW (originally just Girls Leading Our World) was started by Peace Corps volunteers in Romania who wanted to promote gender equality and healthy lifestyles. This is the second year that the camp has been held in Burkina Faso and we were able to reach a total of 480 male and female students from all over the country to participate. The 3 goals of Camp G²LOW in Burkina Faso are the following:

1.       Healthy lifestyles (this includes health topics such as family planning, malaria and HIV/AIDS prevention, and sexual education among others)

2.       Empowering students (this includes goal-setting for the future and good decision-making skills)

3.       Promoting gender equality

All 120 campers with Burkinabe and American staff

Every session was co-planned and co-taught with the help of a Burkinabé counterpart in order to ensure sustainability for the camp. I even got to bring 3 girls and 3 boys from Diarabakoko with me!

The camp started out with a 3-day “training of trainers” in which Peace Corps volunteers working the camp led various sessions for the 15 Burkinabe counterparts- mostly teachers and those who work in the department of youth activities who were donating their time . For the training of trainers, I led sessions on active listening and how to create a comfortable and professional environment when discussing sexual education.

Once the 120 students arrived in Dédougou, we all really got down to business. Just the logistics of transport, lodging, and meals for around 160 people is a lot of work, let alone the lesson preparation and evaluation activities that needed to take place. I was a counselor working with my own group of 10 students who decided to call themselves the “gladiateurs,” or gladiators. In addition to leading sessions on gender equality, hygiene, and how to maintain good relationships, I was the financial director for the camp, responsible for a US$7,000 budget, so I was a very busy girl!

Students working in their manuals

The Gladiateurs



Two students acting a theater piece on the diagnosis of malaria

Of course, it was a camp so there were plenty of camp activities like sports and a campfire and songs. I will never forget walking into the cafeteria one night, completely exhausted after having logged receipts into an excel spreadsheet for hours, to find a room full of 120 boys and girls singing about Camp G²LOW in unison and led by one of our truly phenomenal Burkinabe counterparts, Theodora. It was one of the proudest moments of my service to date and it made all of the hard work up to that point more than worth the reward. Thanks to all of you who donated through the Peace Corps Partnership Program- you should be getting a newsletter with photos and a thank you letter from one of the participants in the mail!

Some of the girls after playing soccer

After all of the Camp G²LOW festivities were over, my stage had to head over to Ouaga for our Mid-Service Conference, or MSC. The conference consisted of medical check-ups, dental cleaning, and too many stool samples. Luckily, I’m actually in better health than when I arrived in Burkina a year ago- 25 pounds lighter and with a resting heartbeat of 62 (down from 90!). Excited to have reached the midway point of our service, we celebrated with a prom, a G24 tradition of sorts, at a local bar.

I headed back to village for a week or so but, alas, am back in Ouaga again to work with the new volunteers during their training again. I’m looking forward to being able to settle back into a routine in village in a few weeks, but until then I’m enjoying speaking English and eating good food. Besides, there was a little bit of a domestic disturbance with some of my closest friends in village which was a bit shocking to say the least, so I’m welcoming a little time away from village to process that situation. I may write a big long post about the whole story at some point, since it deals with one of the hardest things about being a Peace Corps volunteer, namely balancing your personal beliefs with the culture and convictions of those you work and live with in your host country. However, I think some reflection would definitely clarify my conclusions on the matter and probably make a more interesting story to read, too.

Peace,

Marlow

The sun setting on Camp G2LOW Dedougou.

Karifiguela Girls Camp and Nianssogoni

We recently had a camp for 34 5th grade female students in a village called Karifiguela near Banfora. The girls came in from 5 different villages and I was able to bring 8 girls from my own village. The girls had a lot of fun and learned a lot about hygiene, malaria, sex ed., family planning, and planning for their futures.

The girls also got their national exam results while we were at the camp together. Every single girl who came to the camp with me passed! Last year the overall passing rate at my primary school was 33% and this year it was over 60%- not taking all the credit but definitely excited for all of the students who are now able to continue on to secondary school!

 Me with the Diarabakoko girls

 On top of the bush taxi on the way to Karifiguela

 Riding on top of the bush taxi with McKenna

 McKenna teaching the girls how to make anti-mosquito cream

 Celenia demonstrating the period bracelet

John playing the menstruation song on guitar

After the camp, I went to Nianssogoni, right on the border with Mali and easily one of the most beautiful places in Burkina Faso. After arriving we biked 15 kilometers to the next village over and had a local student show us the path up the waterfalls to a pristine swimming hole. The next day some volunteers hiked up to see the summit but McKenna and I decided to bike 45 kilometers to her village so we could get back to work. We had such a good time that we're planning to take the new volunteers over there again in the coming months!

Happy 4th of July!

Happy 4th of July from Burkina Faso!

In honor of independence day I want to write a little tribute to my country. I would have never described myself as patriotic before coming to Burkina, but I think that living abroad gives one a new appreciation for their homeland.

Of course, I probably romanticize it a bit (okay, a lot) and there are obviously things that irk me about my country, but living here I've realized that there are quite a few things that America just gets right. Here are a few, in no particular order...

lines
fixed prices
fast food
putting ice in already-cold drinks
debit cards
driving
cool weather
being anonymous
good beer
television
movie theaters
sandwiches
cheap delivery pizza
Dr. Pepper
ENGLISH
air conditioning
good pillows
grocery stores
ketchup always available
chicken pumped with hormones
Mexican food
soda fountains
2+ story buildings
privacy
being able to show my legs
feeling clean
hot showers
shopping malls
people saying what they really think
can-do attitude
not being treated like an idiot because I'm a female
non-forced marriages
real coffee
individualism
being on time
following road rules (most of the time)
umbrellas
educating girls and boys
seedless watermelon
sarcasm
jeans
actually having everything thats on the menu
babysitting/childcare

And now, a few things that Burkina has got going for it...

super cheap maternal health care

free child labor (need sugar or water or a box of matches? just tell that small child to go get it for you!)
palm wine and millet beer

bush taxis (for all the safety concerns, its still really cheap and convenient to throw all your stuff on top)

street vendors (want sesame cakes, cold water, or cashews? just give this woman your money through the window when you stop at customs... African drive-through)

water conservation (when you're pumping all of it yourself, you tend to use it sparingly)

village markets

pay as you go phone credit

sweetened condensed milk in coffee

pagne skirts (just wrap this $3 piece of fabric around your waist and voila- a skirt!


Have a great independence day everyone!

One Year

I have officially been living in Burkina Faso for a whole year as of June 11^th. It has been a year filled with making new friends (American and Burkinabe), learning how to thrive in a new culture both personally and professionally, and saying yes to every new experience. There have been ups and downs as with anything in life, but every moment has been vivid and intensely felt. It is a time for reflection as well as anticipation. I’m confident now that I can navigate in this culture and I think that I will be much more effective during my second year because of everything I’ve learned so far.

The fact that I was chosen as a Peace Corps Volunteer Facilitator (PCVF) for the new group of education volunteers that just arrived in country only highlights this landmark in my Peace Corps service. I’ve already helped out with one week of their technical and cross-cultural sessions and will be coming back in August for a week to visit them again. They truly are a great group and they all seem very excited to be here. 

I also have three camps coming up- one for 32 5^th grade girls from my region focusing on health and positive lifestyles taking place this week, one for 120 boys and girls in 6^th and 7^th grade which focuses on sexual education and goal-setting taking place in July (Camp G2LOW), and a 6^th-8^th grade science camp in September which will feature hands-on experiments that are very rarely done in science classes here due to a lack of resources. All of these camps will be in part led by Burkinabe teachers and health workers- the idea being that they will gain the skills necessary to continue these activities in the future. I will post a blog for each of these events once they happen!

There was some drama in my host family but it has settled down now. Moussa recently engaged a second woman who is now living in the courtyard full time. I was awkward and angry at first, but even his first wife, Alima, who is one of my best friends in village, has adjusted to the situation and everyone seems to be pretty happy. One of my good friends in village is 8 months pregnant so I’m excited to be there when the baby is born!

I made a list of some of the cool things I’ve done this year!...

Seen elephants and warthogs on safari

Watched ritual animal sacrifices at animist funerals

Worn a baby on my back

Harvested rice, corn and cotton

Danced to balafons

Pumped my own water

Seen a woman giving birth

Learned 3 local languages

Celebrated the Muslim holiday Tabaski

Prayed at mosque

Washed my clothes by hand

Made soap

Celebrated international women’s day

Tried (and failed) to carry water on my head

Been 50 feet away from a family of hippos while in a canoe

Swam in the waterfalls

Drank palm wine and millet beer

Thank you for all of your support so far- your letters, packages, and calls mean so much! I'll keep you updated!

Peace,

Marlow

Islam, Women, and the "Third Sex"

My village is mostly animist but my adopted family is Muslim. I started going to mosque with Moussa, like my big brother in village, to learn about the religion, but I kept going because I found that Muslim prayer had a soothing, peaceful quality that I really enjoyed, even as someone who isn't religious.

I made a lot of friends at mosque, mainly women because we're kept separate, but also with the imam (kind of like the priest for Muslims) and the Pakistani missionary for the region. The missionary loves volunteers and I've been to his house to eat delicious dinner with his family. He also took us to the waterfalls and he gives me books on Islam translated into English. Because of our friendship, he invites me some of the most important events in the region.

Most recently, he invited me to the opening of a mosque in a village about 10 kilometers away. I always debate going to these things since I don't want to offend and I'm not Muslim, but I always end up going to support my Muslim friends in village. So Friday, which is the Muslim holy day, I put on my best pagne wrap skirt and a shawl which covers my chest, neck, shoulders, and hair (Allah said a woman's beauty is in her hair). I biked with Moussa and Abu to the village and, when we arrived, quietly walked to the closed-off area in the back for women as my friends took their seats in the front with the men. The women don't have chairs, just mats which they share. I took off my shoes and greeted the women in Jula and Gouin. They were very surprised and happy to have me with them. We chatted for a few minutes and just when I was starting to make new friends the imam came to get me. He said I was a special guest and so I would be sitting right behind the podium with the mayor, the prefect, the missionaries, etc. This isn't the first time that something like this has happened but it's always a reminder that even before I'm a woman, I'm a foreigner. An American.

Times like this are the most poignant example of how I occupy the role of the "third sex" here in Burkina Faso. That is to say, I'm not respected as if I were a man (I've visited enough male volunteers in their villages to witness the differences), but I'm also not treated like an African woman, expected to cook and pump my own water and always subvert my own opinion in favor of my husbands. Most women here don't graduate primary school, let alone university. I occupy some weird space in the middle which has been referred to by one Burkinabe man as "femme-garcon" - woman boy. Honestly, I think a lot of women feel sorry for me because I don't have a husband or any children and this is what determines your social status in the village. They're always pinching my boobs saying I'm ready!

Anyway, back to the story. I sat up on the makeshift stage as they recited in Arabic from the Koran. Me, a young, single, white American female looking out at 100 older, married, African men. I could tell that some weren't pleased that I was contaminating the men's area with my lack of a Y-chromosome. But what was I to do? I was instructed to sit here. During the first prayer, I was relegated back to the role of woman. We couldn't enter the mosque so we just sat on mats outside. I've pretty much memorized how to do Muslim prayer by now so that wasn't a problem. At least I felt more comfortable over with the women who were much friendlier to me. Men would come up after prayer and shake hands with the men to my left and right but not even make eye contact with me. This is very awkward and something I don't think I'll ever be able to interpret as anything other than extremely rude and sexist (from the perspective of my own culture, of course). They've explained to me the reasons why, but it still makes me feel like I'm just not worthy of consideration.

However, being a member of the third sex has its advantages, too. The women in village would never allow me to seriously pump my own water, maybe for a minute just for a laugh, but that's it. Also, if I'm ever caught doing housework (which weirdly enough I enjoy), they run over to help and tell me to reposer- relax. Most women have to give up their chair if a man enters, but not me. In fact, men will most often give up their chair to me. When I visit someone's house they become very concerned that I sit immediately in the best chair that they have. Merci!

Tea

One of my favorite West African rituals is drinking tea. It’s become part of my daily routine, like brushing my teeth or getting dressed. Every night, after I’ve finished eating dinner, I head over to Moussa’s. Moussa brings out the teapots, the sugar, and of course the tea. Chinese green tea with funny names like Arawane and Bonmama. While Moussa is preparing the tea, we chat about our day. They boil it for way longer than is necessary and add a LOT of sugar, like ½ cup per 8 ounces of tea. People have different preferences. I like mine foamy and super hot with mint.

One of the most entertaining parts of making tea is exchanging the tea from one teapot to the next to mix in the sugar and make it foamy. This part is really elaborate, with the tea chief holding one teapot more than a foot above the other to create a tea waterfall.

The whole process, each  box makes about 3 pots of tea, can take around an hour. This means lots of time to “causer” (chat) or just sit in silence and enjoy eachother’s company and the night sky. When a pot is ready, Moussa will pour out the tea into shot glasses, one per person per round. There’s a bit of a hierarchy concerning who gets the first shots, but since I’m the toubabmuso I almost always get first dibs (unless there’s a lot of men around).

I’ve learned that it’s not really about the tea, but about bringing people together. It’s nice having an hour each night to reflect under the starry night sky and what Moussa calls village electricity- the moon.

A mango a day... or ten

It’s mango season! And lucky me, my village is overflowing with them. In my courtyard, surrounding my courtyard, in the market, everywhere there are mango trees. The mangoes have been on the trees for about 3 months now but they only just started getting ripe a couple of weeks ago. The kids in my village spend most of their waking hours not in school on a mango mission, namely to get those mangoes off of those trees.

All kids have different techniques and much depends on skill level. Very small children can’t do much but wait for a big wind to come blow some down to the ground or beg their older brothers and sisters for one. My smallest neighbor, two-year-old Sharif, insulted his mom the other day because she wouldn’t give him a mango. The athletic ones can run and jump onto a branch and climb to the ripest ones at the very top. The stupid, unathletic kids throw rocks. But it’s the clever kids who interest me most. They devise new contraptions, mango technology if you will.  The bigger and riper and juicier the mangoes get, the more elaborate the contraptions that the smart kids make to get them down.

Here, you don’t give your teacher an apple. You give her a mango. I get at least 10 a day offered to me from my students and small children in my neighborhood. And living in a mango area you learn that not all mangoes are created equal. There are at least five different mangoes that I know of, and probably a lot more. My favorite is timi timi, the juiciest type of mango which I’ve learned to spot by its curved tip. The three mango trees in my courtyard are called “mangues en retard,” or late mangoes. Apparently, they get nice and ripe once all of the other mangoes are carted off to the rest of the mango-less world. Bon appétit!

Elephants, warthogs, and hippos, oh my!

Who knew that African life could become normal? Hence why I haven’t written in a few months. I’m not shocked/amused/interested/disgusted by the same things I used to be- goats in the courtyard, greeting every single person I pass, eating tô with my hands (okay, still a little off-putting). And so I’m not able to relate to you all a lot of the goings on. Life here has developed a rhythm, and as unexciting as that might sound, it’s a peaceful reassurance to realize how adaptable we are to new ways of life.  

Having an American visit you during your service, like I did this month, can re-open your eyes to all of the strange things around you. Seeing his reaction to the transportation, the heat, the languages, etc. made me remember how I felt when I first arrived in this country and, in doing so, make me realize that I’ve come a long way!

We were able to see a lot of the country, too. We went on safari at Nazinga where we saw elephants, warthogs, antelope, and water buffalo, and we sat in a canoe a mere 50 feet away from a family of hippos at Lake Tengrela. We also visited the painted village at Tibili!

It’s hot season. Not like Florida hot. Like Africa hot. Like sleep outside in my bughut hot. Like take 3 bucket baths a day hot. To give you an idea of just how hot it is, the Jula name for March is funtenikalo. Funteni means heat and kalo means month. However, March is nothing compared to April, for which the Jula name is funtenibakalo (ba at the end of any word means big). So April is big heat month.

There is occasionally some respite from the heat with what villagers call the “mango rains”. Another upside to this heat is that its mango season and they are everywhere. When children aren’t at school, they’re throwing rocks or devising new contraptions to get down the ripest, sweetest mangoes at the tops of the trees (I don’t know why the ones on top are always the ripest… just to tease maybe?)

I’ve been in Burkina over 10 months now so I’ve experienced almost every season and I have to say that this is definitely my least favorite so far. Next time around, I will really savor rainy season, with its fireflies and breezy afternoon showers, and the “cold” months, where I get to sleep with sheets AND a blanket. Until then, I’ll be sleeping outside!

I’ve put on two programs for my 6^th grade class in the past couple of months, a career fair and a 3-day sexual education/family planning workshop. Both were successes, although nothing went as planned, which I’ve come to expect.

The career fair panelists were a primary school director, a history professor at the college, the secretary of an NGO in Banfora who grew up in the village, a couple of cultivators in the parent-teachers association, and a coffee vendor/photographer. Several of the panelists stressed that being a “functionaire” (i.e. government employee) shouldn’t be thought of as the only career option. The cultivators stressed that you can make a decent living and stay in the village, whether through running a shop, learning a trade (becoming a mason, tailor, mechanic, etc.) or raising animals and cultivating crops.

I thought this was a great message for the students, since there exists such an inferior status for “villageois,” or those who stay in the village. It leads to a broader inferiority complex where people believe that everything good comes from outside the village, outside the country, outside of Africa. The kids who play in my courtyard insult each other in one of two ways: 1) Insulting someone’s mother (turns out yo mama jokes are universal) or 2) Calling someone “villageois”. Once, I asked one of the girls what that meant and she said it means you can’t read. I told her that I was villageoise, since technically I lived in the village, but that I could still read and could even teach people how to read. Then a couple of the other little girls started parading around telling everyone that they were villageoise, too. Needless to say, I think that calling myself villageoise reduced the stigma to some extent. But the reality is that there aren’t enough government jobs to sustain all of the 6e students around the country who want to become teachers and nurses. At the end of the day, at least they’re thinking about their futures, a concept that is completely unheard of in this culture.

Broaching the topic of sexual education is a huge taboo in this country and therefore goes largely ignored. Neither parents nor teachers will address the topic until 3e, when most students have already reached 16 years of age. However, my director informed me that unexpected pregnancy is a huge problem in our village. So I decided to do a 3-day workshop during spring break to talk candidly with girls AND boys in my 6e class (6^th grade) about puberty, the sexual reproductive systems of men and women, pregnancy, contraception, family planning, and decision making. There was an “anonymous box” at the front of the room during the workshop where students could pose questions without having to raise their hands and risk being laughed at. I compiled a 15 page manual for each student with diagrams of the male and female sexual anatomies and tons of information and images. We did condom demonstrations and a condom hot potato game where the students had to pop the blown up condom and answer the question inside. Although silly, the kids got comfortable touching condoms (and realized how difficult they are to break, too). I gave a pre and post-test to actually monitor what the students learned in the process. Here are some of the results:

·         27/52 can now define family planning and give 2 advantages

·         41/52 can explain how to avoid early pregnancy, citing condom usage, abstinence, or both

·         14/52 could fully name 3 contraceptive methods and their respective prices

·         52/52 answered correctly multiple choice questions asking at what age a girl could become pregnant and at what age a girl should reach to avoid dangerous complications during pregnancy (On the pre-test, many thought a girl could get pregnant once she developed breasts and that if she had her period, she could deliver a baby without any complications)

Other than work and vacation, I’ve started to really appreciate the pace of life here. I have a lot of down time when I’m not teaching or tutoring or educating a group of people on some health topic, even though my blog may make you think otherwise. I’ve made and jarred my own mango jam, made sun-dried tomatoes, and planted trees and flowers in my garden. I’ve read around 50 books in the 9 months that I’ve been in this country- mostly classics, philosophical works, and history books. I have little rituals, like drinking tea with my neighbor and talking with the village men at the coffee kiosk. I draw, paint, and write more than I ever have. I’ve taught myself some German. I’m content just sitting on my porch and watching kids throw rocks at mangoes. All of this alone time was scary at first, but I think you reach a beautiful, pivotal moment when you realize that you’ve made a life for yourself and that getting to know yourself and being okay with who you are is important.

Peace,

Marlow

7 months

Hello world!

I hope all is going well where you are. The past month has been a bit of an emotional whirlwind for me, to say the least. First I packed up and left site for a week and a half of In-Service Training (IST) in Ouaga. Seeing friends from stage and relating to their own stories from their villages was amazing. I realized how close I feel to these people who I’ve only known for 7 months but who I share so many incredible memories with. My counterpart came from village and we designed our first project at site together and I was more excited than ever to get to work. On top of all this, I had an upcoming holiday trip to England.

Then I spent an amazing week in England with my family- parents, sister, uncles, aunts, and cousins. We saw Wizard of Oz in London, went thrift store shopping, and just enjoyed each other’s company. But I found that the world I thought would be so familiar to me, the world I left behind, turned out to make me more than a little uncomfortable at times. I realized that there are so many things I dislike about the world that I come from- superficiality, materialism, obsession with technology, and waste, just to name a few. That world sucked me back in in an instant but some deep part of me kept silently disapproving of everything I saw around me. I guess that being back in an environment like this made me realize just how much I’ve grown up in the past 7 months (yeah, I can’t believe it’s been that long, either)- I’ve learned not to let little problems get to me, to appreciate people and not objects, to live life at a slower pace and to truly appreciate every moment.

First, I couldn’t help but notice that despite all of the amenities and organization, English people just looked a whole lot sadder than my Burkinabe friends. (Click here for an interesting article about the relationship between material standards and happiness, and how unhappiness might be a necessary evil in order to keep a capitalist system going strong. Thanks, Greg!) People are easily stressed by car problems and waiting in lines, but my own standards regarding these matters have gotten so dismally low living in Burkina that everything in England seemed to move relatively fast.

I spent New Year’s Eve on my uncle’s balcony with my arms around my grandma watching the fireworks and drinking prosecco and then, on New Year’s Day, I had to leave. This was difficult but at the same time I was excited to get back to my life in Burkina- my neighbors, my friends, and even my dog. I was surprised when my first day back in Burkina, walking around with another volunteer looking for breakfast, I realized I had actually missed this life while I was gone- a lot. People smiled and greeted me as I walked past. And this was just in Ouaga. The first night I got back to site, my neighbor Moussa had dressed up for the occasion and Yakouba met me as I was getting off the bush taxi to help with my suitcase. The village was still celebrating the new year, so Alimatou and I went to dance to the balafons. 

On a sadder note, one of my best friends in village, Moussa, has left to work in Cote d’Ivoire during the agricultural off-season. It’s only for a couple of months and I still have plenty of people to hang out with including his wife, my friends at the CSPS, random tanties in the market, the president of the women’s association, the swarm of children always at my house, and Abu who we drink tea with on market days. I guess that this is the norm here- men leave because they need to make money and they have to leave their families and friends behind.

I’ve been really busy with work- starting up a girls club for my older girls in 6eme and CEP study courses for the CM2 students of both primary schools and securing funding to build latrines to name just a few activities. I'm also planning a career fair for my 6eme students and starting soap making with the women's association since my grant for the soap mold was approved! And, on top of all this, I'm still teaching English 3 days a week. But I’ve also been visiting other volunteers’ sites and the beautiful tourist attractions like the waterfalls in Banfora. I had time to help another volunteer label the giant world map that she painted on the side of her primary school and will be painting my own map at one of the primary schools in my village soon!

Evan finishes up the map before we start labeling the countries

I also attended an animist dance party at night in my village which was interesting and also a little terrifying. It was out in the brush at the house of the gri gri man, who only has one leg but jumps really high and does somersaults. There was lots of fire and shrieking and topless women who were dancing like they were possessed, sometimes falling over people or rolling on the floor. They were chanting in Jula and Gouin, apparently asking the spirits to give them a good harvest and protect their fields. One man started yelling that he wanted “jii suma.” I asked Alima why he kept asking for cold water and she said what he really meant was he wanted fire. I was confused and thought I had made a language translation error until he actually started grabbing the hot coals and making like he was going to eat them. I couldn’t get a good look, but I don’t think any of the men actually ate the coals. The funny thing is that everyone in my village believes that these men can do anything, even the educated people who work at the health center. They tell me that you can shoot at them and the bullet will just bounce off (I sometimes wonder if an attempt to prove he was capable of achieving some “miracle” like this is how the gri gri man lost one of his legs in the first place). They told me to take a video next time and show people in America because they don’t believe. Although, apparently first I have to ask the gri gri man if I can take a video otherwise it just won’t show up on the camera. Hm. I just told them that in America there are no genies or spirits.   

I’m starting to realize that Diaraba is my home and I get worried about the time passing too quickly. My tutor, Odile, just had a baby boy who shares the same birthday as me so we will celebrate my 23^rd and his 1^st birthday together in 2012. And Kaitiessi just found out that she is pregnant and I couldn’t have been more excited when I realized that I’ll be here to celebrate when the baby is born (she is hoping for a boy since she already has several girls). I guess what I’m starting to feel is that hanging out with people in village isn’t just part of my job as a volunteer. The people I hang out with are not host country nationals, they’re not Africans, they’re just my friends now. I love hanging out with Alimatou, whose wicked sense of humor sometimes leads her to play practical jokes on her husband like hiding his shoes so we can have a good laugh at his expense. Or coming home to find toddler Barikisa napping on my porch, whose eyes light up when I hand her a spoonful of “tige dige,” peanut butter. Alimatou gets upset when her nephew won’t eat the meals she prepares and can tend to dwell on it, just like any American woman might. At that moment, it’s as if I can teleport Alima in my mind to any American kitchen, her wood fire replaced by a stove and the mud walls turned to tile, and she is suddenly just like any other woman I know. She wants the same things- a little extra money to buy groceries and an outfit for the next big party or holiday. She gets upset when her husband is late for dinner. She savors those few solitary moments she gets each day to relax. It’s scary to think that 7 months have already passed and that eventually I will have to leave here. It just makes me want to work that much harder to get to know the people here and learn from them as much as I can teach them.

And last, but definitely not least, thank you to all of you for your support so far. It means a lot to have people cheering me on over there and sending me little American goodies. If you are also willing to support my projects here financially, one of the country-wide projects I'm working on, Camp GLOW, could use your help. Visit the website (http://pcburkina.org/camp-glow) to read all about the camp, which seeks to empower both girls and boys towards mutual respect and good decision-making, and click the image for "Boromo" on the left hand side to donate. We are very proud that the community of Boromo is donating 42% of the total budget to ensure sustainablity for the project AND we have already raised US $775 towards our goal of US $6,391. Thank you!

Peace,
Marlow

P.S. A quick hello to the French class from Southern Lee High School in North Carolina who I have been corresponding with! Thank you for your letters- another one from me is already on the way :)