Epic Journey to Fada Christmas

So the volunteers in the Eastern region of Burkina Faso decided to get together in the bigger city for Christmas.  Patrick is my closest neighbor lives about 9 km away from me through the bush.  Patrick biked to my site Thursday evening and we fried up one of my chickens.  Recipe posted below.  Friday morning we attempted to catch one one my chickens because I needed a gift for the white elephant gift exchange.  If you have never caught a chicken before, let me tell you, its very difficult.  I think we spent about 40 minutes chasing the birds until I finally cornered one (yes, me! Get it Kentucky!).  I attached my backpack to my bike and the chicken to my handle bars and we started on a 35 km trek to Diapaga.  The trek took about 2.5 hours and along the road I saw a Zazu bird and Patrick saw a unicorn...they do exist.  Oh, and I decided to name the chicken Blitzen, the Chirstmas Chicken.  Another volunteer, Cindy, lives in Diapaga and we stayed with her for the rest of the day and evening.  Saturday we boarded the bush taxi bound for Fada sometime around 7am, chicken and all. About 6 km outside of Fada, the bus driver realized he did not have his papers so we would not be able to pass into the city.  They said it might be another hour until the next bus comes by to taxi us in.  With all the biking we had done the day before, we were all fired up and decided to bike the rest of the way.  Within a few minutes they had our bikes and bags down from the roof of the vehicle and we were on the road again, Blitzen included.  We happily arrived in Fada, ate good food, sang lots of carols, drank, danced, and sometimes got sick but all in all had a very Merry Christmas.  Side note:  Unfortunately, my gift was the one every was trying to get rid of at the end of the exchange.  Finally someone accepted it and passed it on to a neighbor.  Monday, we attempted to catch a bush taxi but found there was no room so I spent the rest of that day shopping!  Tuesday, we waited.  We waited from 10:30 until 3:00 for bush taxis.  There was 27 people crowded into this large van and we didn't arrive at our destination until about 8:30 due to a number of unforeseen circumstances such as flat tires, sacks along the route needing transportation, people along the route needing transportation, as well as people demanding to be dropped off.  When we attempted to leave the on Wednesday for the bike ride home, Pat fell victim to cold rice and we stayed in Diapaga for yet another night.  Tomorrow, we hope to make it home. 

Clarissa and Partick's Fried Chicken

·         Large chicken clucking about in the courtyard

·         Man named Ouali (Wall-e) to kill, de-plume, gut, and cut chicken into manageable pieces.

·         Drizzle oil onto chicken parts

·         Drop chicken parts into plastic bag with flour, mexican burrito seasoning, chili powder, salt and pepper.  Pat says they need to simmer in the batter for a bit.

·         Now drop the chicken parts into about an inch of oil and fry 'em up for about 4 minutes.

·         Serve with well seasoned rice and wine.

First Few Days in Village

I have moved into my new hut/home.  Its a two bedroom and living room mud structure with an outdoor latrine and shower.  Although, shower really means a short wall that is enclosed on three and a half sides where I take a bucket bath.  The latrine is brand new which is awesome because cockroaches have not yet invaded.  My hut also came with three pretty cool chairs made out of twigs.  I have a pretty big courtyard with a big tree but no gate so children come and go as they please.  That made me really uncomfortable at first but now I am glad because I want my village to feel comfortable approaching me.  For the first week I rode my bike around my community with my Major (Head nurse of my CSPS, or health clinic) and greeted all of the elders, pastors, and community leaders in and around my village.  Throughout these excursions, I accumulated ten chickens, 19 eggs (two of which one of my chickens laid), a sack of rice, some raw mystery meat, two beers, two calabashes (half gourds) of dolo (locally produced cider/beer/ale).  Again, feeling like a rock star.

Diarrhea

If you are planning to come visit me (and you should) you should not read the following post because this will not happen to you (hopefully).  Diarrhea is something that just happens.  Shit happens.  However, it happens at a much higher frequency here in Burkina Faso.  I believe the statistic is that Burkina Faso is number two for the highest incidence of diarrhea.  I know you are laughing right now but this is a serious issue in this country.  Unfortunately, there is a high rate of children who die under the age of 4 due to dehydration related to diarrhea.  Besides Ouagadougou, there is no running water.  Water is acquired from a well (which can be a little nasty but is many times the only option) or a pump (which is clean and clear and safe for Africans to drink but may contain some parasites).  That means dishes and food are washed in standing, overused water, hand washing is occasional and usually lacks soap, and the bathroom is a latrine but only if your family is wealthy enough to afford to build one.  We have a lot of fecal-oral transmission as well as cross contamination due to flies.  There is also the possibility of parasites in the water which why I have to filter and bleach all of my drinking water. 

So here is my story.  One night, around midnight, I awoke in a hot sweat (cold sweats don't really exist here), and I knew something was wrong.  I donned my tapettes (flip-flops), pagne, and head lamp, and dashed to the latrine.  It started then and continued for the next four hours.  Every ounce of liquid, of varying viscosity and color, ejected from both ends of my body.  About every 20 minutes I was running back to the dark corner (of hell) where the fire ants nipped at my toes, cockroaches scurried about, and at one point, even a rat came to check my me.  I was feverish and hysterical so I wrapped myself in a wet pagne and laid down on the floor of my hut weeping and exhausted.  I went through two whole rolls of toilet paper that night.  The next day I was transported to Ouagadougou and learned that there was an overwhelming amount of bacteria and giardia in my stool.  Good times.  

Swear In

December 15, 2011, the G25 stage (training group) took the same oath as the United States President takes during his inauguration.  Not going to lie, I still think that is so cool.  Not only did we all look like rock stars in out matching pagne (African fabric) outfits but this was a televised event at the Ambassador's house.  I was chosen to give a speech in Gourmatcema.  At first I wrote the speech in French and my language professor translated it to Gourmatcema. By the time in was in Gourmatcema I really didn't know what I was saying but I practiced it enough times with him that it sounded pretty cool.  Apparently some people were even able to understand me because I was greeted in Gourmatcema one time on the street by someone who had seen me on TV.  Again, pretty cool.

New Puppy

So my little host brother found another puppy.  We already have one which is probably a couple of months old but this one cannot be more than a month or 6 weeks.  We call the other one Milo but since I have taken a particular liking to this new one, they asked me to name it.  I held the puppy up against the stars, starring deep into his eyes, and I said, “We will call him Simba.”  Now we call him Simba and unfortunately I am the only one who gets the joke.  

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving this year was beautiful.  That is the only word I can think of to describe it.  Sitting down to dinner, an American to my left and a Burkinabé to my right, one of my fellow stagières (Peace Corps Trainee) recounted the Pilgrim and Native American Thanksgiving story.  A grand feast prepared in celebration of a successful harvest à grace de (because of but with a more positive connotation) the collaboration of two differing cultures.  Being new Pilgrims, I was amazed by the traditional meal we were able to pull off.

·         3 Turkeys:  2 prepared in a large double oven, the other in an oven we made.  The strapping young lads of the group dug a large hole, lined it with rocks, layered the bottom with coals, and place the marmite (cauldron?) containing turkey on top. 

·         Stuffing:  Apparently you cannot find sage in this country; however, with apples, bread, squash, and vegetable stock, we made it work.  It was amazing!

·         Green bean casserole:  So this was the dish of which I was in charge.  I found a very large can of green beans (because they are not in season right now) as well as a can of mushrooms.  I made some gravy from a packet and reduced it with the mushrooms.   I also fried some onions with an egg wash so it was pretty much legit French's green bean casserole. 

·         Fruit salad:  Ok, this part is not so traditional but we just couldn't pass up fresh pineapple, mangoes, and watermelon.

·         Mac-n-Cheese:  We spent way too much money on real cheese in Ouagadougou but it was totally worth it.  

·         Apple pie and Pumpkin pie:  everything from scratch...  real pumpkin and real apples...  I was so impressed. 

·         Sangria:  again, something that just happens in a tropical setting.

·         Cranberry sauce:  failed attempt... it wouldn't set in the heat but it’s the thought that counts. 

·         Mashed potatoes:  we even found real milk straight from the dairy.

·         Mashed sweet potatoes:  with pineapple.  So good. 

·         Cookies:  our boss makes fantastic chocolate chip cookies with a few extra tropical ingredients like coconut.

After a couple weeks of village starvation, most of us had a hard time digesting all of that meal.  

Le Blanc

Yesterday I went to the tailor.  Actually, I went a few days ago but only the apprentice was there so I left her my drawing and pagne (African fabric) and she told me to return yesterday and the real tailor would take my measurements.  Before I left I asked for the price of the completed garment.  She replied 1,100 CFA, a decent price so I agreed and left.  I happened upon this tailor while exploring shops far behind the marché (with a male friend of course) and noticed that this particular tailor had beautiful garments hanging and was actually a woman.  Most of the other tailors are men.  I thought to myself, this poor woman has a terrible location, seems to make lovely complets (outfits), and she is a woman running a business!  Naturally, I wanted to give her my business.  When I returned, the tailor recorded my measurements and we discussed the picture I had drawn so that all of the aspects of this tunic shirt that I want her to make.  She asked me if I wanted the fabric doubled and I said yes because my pagne is of lower quality.  Again I asked for the price and was shocked when she replied 4000 CFA.  (Side note:  I paid 2,250 CFA for another tailor to make a dress.  Secondary side note:  this all went down en Français).   I replied, “No, no, the other lady said 1,100 CFA.  That is not a good price.”  She said, “But the fabric is doubled and that is a good price for le blanc.”  I knew what she was saying but since she pissed me off I decided to be a jerk.  I said, “Le blanc, le blanc, what is that?”  She smiled unsure of what to say or how to explain.  Finally, she said Nassara.  Nassara is the Mooré word for white person and I hear as at least 12 children scream out to me, “Nassara, Nassara, comment tu-t’appelle?” every time I ride my bike anywhere.  I politely informed her that I would not pay that price, I am a poor stagière who works for the Peace Corps, I no longer wanted it doubled, just the plain shirt, I will only pay 1,100 CFA and if she does a good job I might come back for a complet.  Boom.  We will see how this turns out tomorrow.

Gourmatcema

So I started my local language.  Let me paint you a picture of the state of my brain.   Most of my classes at training are conducted in some sort of Franglais melange.  I also have French language class and Gourmatcema class.  Have I mentioned that Gourmatcema is actually the language of Chubaca?  There are not actual words for yes and no, only grunts and clicky sounds.  I wish I could put some sound clips on here.  I speak broken French to my brothers and sisters at home as well as any person here who is not another Peace Corps trainee.  To my mother and father, I speak the few words that I know in Mooré.  Each night, my mother and brother attempt to teach me more Mooré.  All of this communication makes my head hurt.  

My New Site

When I am sent to my new site, I will land in the far East corner of Burkina.  My site lies directly in the middle of two large animal sanctuaries:  Parc W and Parc Arly.  Basically, I can go on safari every weekend if I so desire.  Thankfully, my site is located only 8 km away from another health volunteer.  I am also located close to a CREN, which is a severe malnutrition rehabilitation center.  I am excited to work with such a place; however, I am nervous that it will house far too many children next spring.  The harvest this year has been poor yet again and many people will starve.  It is actually normal for people here to eat fewer meals (one a day) in the months prior to harvest.   And to clarify, that meal is just tô (gelatinized millet paste), or tô mixed with extra water. 

Currently, we are in harvest season.  Everyone has food and money, however, they seem to be using it all for fêtes and dolo (millet beer served in a calabash from large canaries in the marché).  

Tabaski

 My host family is Muslim, so in the beginning of November we celebrated Tabaski.  When my brother first told me about it, he was unsure of the date.  At first he said it would fall on a Sunday, then a Monday, and then it moved back to a Sunday.  Apparently, the date of this Fête (celebration) is based on the moon.  It wasn’t until about 2 days before that I was sure it would y on Sunday.  Tabaski, if you are like me and have no clue what that is, it is a holiday to celebrate the time that Abraham was stopped when attempting to sacrifice his son by an angel of God and given a mouton (lamb) instead.  Hence, the Fête de Mouton, meaning we slaughter a lamb and feast and share with all of our friends and neighbors.  I am one of the few stagières (trainees) to be hosted by a Muslim family so my dad said everyone was invited to fête with us.  Since my family only raises goats, chickens, cattle, and donkeys, I was really concerned about when we would be getting this mouton.   The night before, my dad finally showed up with a ram. 

I am pretty sure the women were up before 5 preparing the bissap (Burkinabé punch) and popcorn with crevettes and gâteau to hand out a party favors.  When I finally immerged, 6ish, I sat by the popcorn and gâteau, pretending to help.  While the men went off to pray at the Mosque, my sister broke out a children’s Bible and began sharing all of the Old Testament as well as the New.  I love that our religions connect us here; it does not divide us.  When the men returned, my father discarded his prayer complet (outfit), rounded up my brothers and other men to hold down the ram while he…well you understand.  He also rounded up two chickens and held them out to me.  In his broken Français/Mooré he told me that these chickens were for me and my friends.  Within seconds their throats were slit and my brothers already depluming them. 

The rest of the day I spent playing with children and babies, practicing Mooré, drinking bissap, shaking about a million hands and going through the eight step Mooré greeting process which I still don’t really understand, and finally napping under a calabash tree with my friends after feasting on fried chicken, in their entirety (beak to talon), with riz sauce arachide (my favorite Burkinabé dish, rice with vegetable peanut sauce).  This fête continued until the wee hours of the morning, after I had gone to bed.  

First Sunday in Sapone

This was my first Sunday with my family.  Thank goodness my family is Muslim and does not attend too many church or mosque services.  Apparently, Catholic mass took about 2 hours and the Protestant church lasted over 5 hours.  At first I thought it would be a neat experience to attend a church service in a foreign country but I am perfectly content to forego the 5 hour Pentecostal rant in Moore.  I think that my family prays in the morning before I wake up.  I slept in pretty late today… My sister was worried and came to wake me because it was 7 am.  When I finally emerged, bathed, lathered on the sunscreen, I sat under one of the trees with my mother, sisters, and a bunch of children.  There was a long line of people waiting on my father outside of the courtyard.  I think the reason they don’t attend the mosque is because Sunday is a busy work day for him.  Sunday is also laundry day for the women.  They always laugh at me when I attempt to do my laundry.  Thankfully one of my brothers started to help me because apparently I didn’t have enough suds in the bucket.  While I was studying French, I notice one of the goats freaking out next to the courtyard wall.  Within a few seconds of study, I noticed the placenta hanging out of her ass.  Yes, today I watched a goat give birth.  I feel like crazy things happen here every day but they are completely normal occurrences for my family.   My sister gave me a “yeah, duh,” laugh when I pointed and said, “nouveau chevre!”   

New Family

Okay, so I made it.  I have gotten over the latrine thing as well as the roach thing.  The hardest part now is the food.  At restaurants there are only three options:  riz sauce arachide (rice with peanut sauce), spaghetti, or benga (beans).  I have completely exhausted all three of those options.  At home with the host family, I usually get spaghetti with way too much oil and tomato flavoring and a Fanta.  I was finally able to identify a spice that I cannot stand and they know I am not a big fan of the to.  To is a gelatin substance made out of flour and water and a ton of stirring.  It doesn’t have much flavor so it all depends on the sauce.  My family’s favorite sauce happens to be snot sauce or they call it sauce gumbo.   It is not gumbo; it is green slime with leaves.  Hungry yet? 

My host family is wonderful.  I know I complain a lot but they really are wonderful and happy people.  My father is a traditional medicine man and I have 5 siblings:  Assanatou (F 19), Abdoulye (M 15), Mazou (M 12), Nehmata (F 12), and Ahmed (M 4).  Everyday there is a line of people outside the courtyard waiting to meet with my father.  I wish I could observe some of these meetings but I am afraid to ask.  I also don’t know how to ask because of this whole language barrier thing.  My siblings in school speak some French as a second language.  My family really speaks Moore.  Every evening I come home, fumble through some French but mostly just make grunting sounds to convey a yes or no answer to a question I didn’t really understand and then my brother Mazou teaches me more Moore.  Just to clarify, I study French everyday at Peace Corps school, I greet my family in Moore and practice that language with them, and in two weeks I will start learning Gourmatchuma, which is the language I will be speaking when I go to site in the Southeast.  Rumor has it, lots of elephants in the Southeast so I am super excited.  

Latrine

The first few days at my host family’s house was quite a shock.  I thought I was mentally prepared for culture shock but apparently I wasn’t.  I could handle the bucket bath, different food, and even the lack of electricity.  It was the latrine that got me.  I had a vague understanding that a latrine was basically a whole in the ground.   However this is quite an understatement.  It was dark by the time I needed to use it which only heightened my anxiety.  I stumbled up the walkway to a roofless door frame and tin door.  To my horror, the door frame was flickering in the glare of my head lamp.  It wasn’t one or two cockroaches but at least twenty that dashed and darted about the walls of the cubicle.  I staggered backwards confused and frightened.  I tried to consider my options because obviously this was not going to work.  I glanced around meeting only the sad eyes of the starving chicken and realized this was my only option.   My bladder on the verge of explosion urged me forward.  I started stomping my feet, not with the intention of squishing any roaches but to announce my arrival.  I ducked my head really low for fear they would find my hair a soft place to nestle be anywhere near my face.  I slammed the door close and latched the door creating more of a flutter.  Just so you are aware, this practically took all of the courage I could muster.  I looked directly down at the hole which inadvertently illuminated the abyss.  I think there are a million down there.  As I squatted to relieve myself I could discern the antennae protruding from the hole waving like hair in the wind.  I considered standing but had little faith, and rightly so, in the precision of my aim.  

Ouaga

The first day of training was easy and laid back.  I had an interview with my new boss, Dr. Claude.  Dr.  Claude is a pediatrician and seems and sounds fantastic.  I also had a language interview as well as a health review.   Language is going to be difficult.  I could talk about my family and foods I like but when I was given the potential scenario, I was lost.  My teacher, JZ, asked me to pretend that he is the mayor of my community and I needed to present to him my project and plans.   “Eh, euh, uuuuhhh…Je veux aider les enfant avec laver les mains?” That means I want to help children to wash their hands, I nailed it, right? 

Right now, all of the Burkina Faso volunteers are staying at this sort of compound.  I live in a dorm with a mosquito net and a bathroom.  The toilet, however, is outside, but it does flush and toilet paper is available.  I would not, however, recommend sitting.  The water in the shower is mildly warm but I think that I wish they were colder.  It is hard stop sweating at anytime of the day although nights and mornings are cooler.  Yes, that does mean there is running water at this location; however we are not allowed to drink it.  I accidentally started brushing my teeth with it last night and managed not to become violently ill, at least not yet.  I am told, however, to expect explosive diarrhea sooner or later. 

Today, I was also sized for a bicycle, exchanged my money, got a “walk around allowance”, and even got a cell phone.  Go ahead and contact my mom if you would like my number.  For security purposes I am not going to post the number directly on this public website.  It is free for me to receive text messages and phone calls from you.  Just be aware that it can get pretty expensive on your side.  I think that land lines are cheaper and so are calling cards just in case you are interested.  Also +226 is the country code so you would dial that followed by my eight digit phone number.  For a text message you must dial 011 to get out of America and then 226 for my country and then my eight digit phone number.  The phones here are pretty funny.  They are all pay as you go and everyone and their mother (literally) is selling minutes on the streets.  Many current volunteers had their smart phones sent from home and switched out the sim card.  You can buy a data plan month to month which is also pretty cheap (1000 CFA).  Just to give you an idea of the exchange rate, I received 68 USD for my allowance and that was 29,000 CFA.  For me, the value of money is extremely hard to grasp.

Tomorrow the more intense training starts and on Friday we move in and are adopted by our host families.   I am hopeful that I will get some alone time in the evening to digest it all and get out my electronics; otherwise, it is going to be a long 2 months.  Jet lag was not a big issue.  Those crazy long overnight flights mess you up so much anyway that I had no trouble sleeping.  Getting up to pee in the middle of the night is a little creepy.  Geckos are everywhere and that’s fine.  It’s the giant ones the size of my face the hide near the toilet and run faster than the speed of light. 

The food here so far has been pretty amazing except for the occasional bone or piece of plastic.  Lots of carbs and sauces.  Meat is good here in the city but I am told not to eat it once in your village.  Lack of refrigeration makes meat and dairy questionable.   Apparently I could have continued my vegetarianism if I had wished.   The employees here were shocked many of the trainees were told to start eating meat.  However, the chickens and goats run free here and I feel like I need the protein.  

Address Information

My new address is:
Clarissa Pape PCT
S/C Corps de la Paix
01 B.P. 6031
Ouagadougou 01, Burkina Faso
Postage for a letter is $00.98
Sending a package may be another story, Mom is looking into that.
Planes arrive only every 4 days in Ouagadougou. Look forward to hearing from you all.

Into the Abyss

Well the first day of training in Philly is complete and we take off for Brussels this evening.  We begin travel by bus to JFK this morning and will not land in Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso until Tuesday evening.  I am so excited to have finally met the other 25 volunteers.  We all  went out for dinner together last night and I can already tell we are going to have a blast in Burkina Faso together.  We were told to expect to live without our luggage for a few days.  If our luggage does not make the connecting flight, it will not make it to Burkina Faso for at least 4 more day because people do not fly to this little African country all too often.  I was also told to expect that we would not have access to internet or a telephone for the next 3 weeks at least.  I told my family to keep in mind the no news is good news and that I will contact them as soon as I can whenever I can.
I really wanted to say thank you for everyone's support and well wishes lately.  It has been extraordinary to witness the prayers and kindness directed towards my family and me (and especially my brother) over the past couple of weeks.  Our friends and family are truly a gift and a blessing.

Packing for this trip was really a pain.  My bag has plenty of room in it but I am really having trouble with the weight requirements.  We are allowed 2 checked bags, no more than 80 pounds total and no single bag weighing more than 50 pounds.  I think I am exactly at 50 and 33...oops.  I am hoping my dazzling smile and pleading excuse, "But I am leaving for Africa with the Peace Corps and will be there for two whole years," might render TSA lenient.  And a shout out to Courtney for documenting the horrific disaster of my bedroom last Saturday.

Preparing for Take Off

Preparing to leave your home country is more difficult than I realized.  Not only do you have to bring an extra toothbrush or ten but also an extended battery life computer, a solar charger, and a hand crank flashlight.  I have saved all the receipts from the items I have purchased for this adventure and I am considering whether or not I really want to learn the total.  Anytime a Peace Corps Volunteer (PCV) is eligible to receive a discount on merchandise, it is clearly an indispensable piece of equipment, clothing, or shoes for traversing the African wilderness.  Next there is the endless meandering up and down aisles of stores like Dicks or Target thinking, "maybe I should take a double burner gas camp stove, I will be there for 2 years and that would be awfully convenient to boil rice while sauteing eggplant... and a snake bite kit, wow, it comes with two suction thingies to place over the bites, even multiple bites.  I've heard stories about those green mamba snakes, this might be a good gadget to have on hand..."  I am to the point that I am buying things just to check and see if it will fit in my luggage, might as well.  I have a feeling Darlene will be making some returns next Monday after I depart for my first stop in Philadelphia early Sunday morning.

My mother, expert seamstress, sewed for me some African dresses.  Now I definitely will not be singled out or made fun of on my first day of work.  Most people have assumed that I will wear shorts and a tank top most of the time (100 degree weather is the norm) but that just will not do.  My knees are never allowed to show unless I am competing in some sort of sporting event (unlikely) or in the privacy of my hut, sweet hut.  Also, I am a professional and as such my shoulders and cleavage must also be covered.  As many of you know, my 16 year old brother has been in the hospital with a football injury.  He suffered two lacerations to his kidney which are severe enough to require a laparoscopic surgery and an extended hospital stay.  In order to finish my second dress she is actually going to bring her sewing machine to the hospital and sew right in Aaron's room.  Hopefully he will be home be Thursday and will be able to participate in Saturday night's Last Supper.