My desert home is now also home to The J.Bs, George Clinton, Johnny "Guitar" Watson, and many many others thanks to some nifty Ipod speakers. I think that I am currently in the running for "most comfortable digs" among PCVs thanks to this addition. Though there are some (not naming names) with wi-fi, running water, and ceiling fans.
I returned from Ouaga last night. I was lucky enough to be accompanied by three other volunteers who are currently on their way further north to visit the dunes and do some camping. They asked me to go along but after being away I was glad to be home. Travel here takes a lot out of you, even if you are going with a major bus line. It is a little over four hours in between Ouaga and Dori and then another hour by bush taxi to get to Gorom-Gorom. Upon boarding a bus I find myself trying to figure out where the sun is going to be so I can choose which side to sit on. Then there is the debate of window (cool wind) or aisle (room for legs). Of course all of this consideration only offers marginal comfort, and doesn't matter if the bus fills up. In which case you are going to be crammed wherever there is room, hopefully not next to a baby.
Before Ouaga I spend a night in Bani. Bani is 55k south of Dori and known for it's mosques. While walking toward the mosques we came across several "guides" sitting in front of a tourists bureau. Guide is a four letter word for volunteers generally. We ignored their calls and walked around some hills until we found a trail leading up to the mosques. The view was really cool, but it was sad to see many of these beautiful buildings in disrepair. The minaret of the Grande Mosqueé fell down during the past rainy season, so the building is a lot less impressive now.
Ouaga was a great time as usual. I ate a lot of cheeseburgers, and hung out with some volunteers that are leaving in a few weeks. I stayed in one night while I was there and watched Casablanca and ate some care-package chocolate chip cookies (thanks Mom!).
It is certainly nice to be back though, and I am really looking forward to getting into all of the new books I've acquired. Also, a special thanks to Karen and Claudio for their care package; I'll be making some falafel and tzatziki with the dill you sent me tonight!
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Monday, October 26, 2009
Salaam Alaikum
And jam nyaali to all...
Alright I know what you are going to say: "Food again? That's all you talk about is food!"
So maybe it's true. I do talk about food often. It is on my mind a lot. However, I'm taking a different angle this time. Instead of fantasizing about ossobucca and risotto I'm going to get a little hippy dippy.
Each day I walk or bike to my marché. I buy vegetables, bread, and sometimes meat to prepare food for the day. The people, or the families of the people that grew, made, or raised and slaughtered the food are generally the ones that sell it. For these people, the connection between food and the earth is undeniable. Furthermore, things like grazing, rainfall, and wind can have an adverse effect on a family's ability to support itself. These are issues that the world faces on a day to day; and that we as Americans have become somewhat disconnected from. I can hear the groans from some people. "Oh man Evan goes off to Africa and all of a sudden he's some big hippy thats going to lay on guilt when I go to McDonalds". Not so, I would give a lot for a double cheeseburger at this point. I'm not asking anyone to change their day to day habits; simply pointing out a very obvious difference between America and developing nations.
In the U.S. we spend lots and lots of money shipping food across the country. We have all types of produce year-round. It is an extreme luxury that has become the norm. We also consume a ludicrious amount of meat. Not only is beef expensive to raise, but our eating habits bog down our health system with astounding numbers of people with heart disease. I suppose what I'm saying is that dinner isn't just dinner. There are thousands of factors at work that bring the various components of your meals to you, and global effects associated with eating trends. We remain mostly oblivious to this. Agriculture has had the single largest effect on our environment in this history of man, this is a fact.
I'm going to cut myself short and say that I've been doing a bit of research on urban farming lately. I like the idea a lot. It offers people the ability to reconnect with the food that they eat. These are people living in an urban setting that have most likely never set foot on a farm. It also builds pride in a community, and has the potential for generating money, and improving community health. Detroit seems like a prime candidate for programs like this. It occupies a huge footprint, and the population is dwindling, resulting in large vacant spaces. Much of this land is inexpensive, and there is an ample community minded student population in and outside the city. I don't believe that I need to mention the advantages of eating local food.
Soo in conclusion. Instead of going to the big supermarket this weekend, make a trip to a farmers market, and buy what is in season. Prepare what you can with what is available. Talk to the people that grow your food. It's really not that hard. Plant an herb garden, you can even do it inside. It will serve as a reminder that your meals are more than just meals, and that you are undeniably connected to the ground you walk on.
Thats all for now thanks for reading, and shouts to Mike Fresh and growerr.com - I'm looking forward to it man.
Alright I know what you are going to say: "Food again? That's all you talk about is food!"
So maybe it's true. I do talk about food often. It is on my mind a lot. However, I'm taking a different angle this time. Instead of fantasizing about ossobucca and risotto I'm going to get a little hippy dippy.
Each day I walk or bike to my marché. I buy vegetables, bread, and sometimes meat to prepare food for the day. The people, or the families of the people that grew, made, or raised and slaughtered the food are generally the ones that sell it. For these people, the connection between food and the earth is undeniable. Furthermore, things like grazing, rainfall, and wind can have an adverse effect on a family's ability to support itself. These are issues that the world faces on a day to day; and that we as Americans have become somewhat disconnected from. I can hear the groans from some people. "Oh man Evan goes off to Africa and all of a sudden he's some big hippy thats going to lay on guilt when I go to McDonalds". Not so, I would give a lot for a double cheeseburger at this point. I'm not asking anyone to change their day to day habits; simply pointing out a very obvious difference between America and developing nations.
In the U.S. we spend lots and lots of money shipping food across the country. We have all types of produce year-round. It is an extreme luxury that has become the norm. We also consume a ludicrious amount of meat. Not only is beef expensive to raise, but our eating habits bog down our health system with astounding numbers of people with heart disease. I suppose what I'm saying is that dinner isn't just dinner. There are thousands of factors at work that bring the various components of your meals to you, and global effects associated with eating trends. We remain mostly oblivious to this. Agriculture has had the single largest effect on our environment in this history of man, this is a fact.
I'm going to cut myself short and say that I've been doing a bit of research on urban farming lately. I like the idea a lot. It offers people the ability to reconnect with the food that they eat. These are people living in an urban setting that have most likely never set foot on a farm. It also builds pride in a community, and has the potential for generating money, and improving community health. Detroit seems like a prime candidate for programs like this. It occupies a huge footprint, and the population is dwindling, resulting in large vacant spaces. Much of this land is inexpensive, and there is an ample community minded student population in and outside the city. I don't believe that I need to mention the advantages of eating local food.
Soo in conclusion. Instead of going to the big supermarket this weekend, make a trip to a farmers market, and buy what is in season. Prepare what you can with what is available. Talk to the people that grow your food. It's really not that hard. Plant an herb garden, you can even do it inside. It will serve as a reminder that your meals are more than just meals, and that you are undeniably connected to the ground you walk on.
Thats all for now thanks for reading, and shouts to Mike Fresh and growerr.com - I'm looking forward to it man.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Too Much Information
SOO heres a bit of an update whether you like it or not!
I recently experienced a particularly unpleasant rumbling of the tum-tum. I ignored it, drank some oral rehydration salts (yum!), and ate a banana. Several days later, the rumbling persisted and was accompanied by burps tasting of rotten eggs (yummier!). I won't go into further detail. I'll just say I've been giving my quads a work out lately.
I looked up these symptoms and all signs point to (drumroll): Giardia!!! I've been treating it and it seems to be subsiding sans anti-biotics; though if it comes back our medical officers will be getting a call. The biggest threat from it is dehydration, and I've been making sure to drink plenty of (filtered) water.
It's just one of those things you know you'll end up facing at one point or another when you sign up for Peace Corps. The reality is, I've had spectacular health thus far. I know volunteers who have gone through several bouts of Giardia (or the rumblin' runs as I affectionately call them), had amoebas, and Malaria. So I'm pretty grateful.
In other news...
I found a local night spot that plays American music. I was walking along when I heard the unmistakeable voice of Phil Collins. I'm not a Collins fan, never have been. I was raised better than that. But the music piqued my interest. I walked into the bar and started up a conversation with the DJ. I asked him what other American tunes he had and he pulled out a stack of CDs. Among them: STEVIE WONDER! SAM COOKE! BOB DYLAN! AND.......the scorpions. Well 3 out of 4 ain't bad. Don't get me wrong, I thought that The Scorpions did a great job with the Freejack soundtrack, but they aren't my first choice when I want to relax with a cold one.
Needless to say I'm pretty happy about this find. Usually if I want to go out I'm berated by extremely loud African dance music. People here tend to crank the volume on whatever it is they are listening to. You can't hear yourself think in most bars, which isn't all that different from the states. It's even harder for me because of the language barrier. I find shouting imperfect French over blaring dance music to be anything but relaxing.
I've been at site for a little over a month straight, and I've got the itch to head to Ouaga and get myself a cheeseburger. I just received news that there will be a Halloween party in Bobo. Bobo is on the clean opposite side of the country, and I'm not up for 10-12 hours of transport for a Halloween party. Maybe I'll just head to Ouaga for the 30th and make a weekend of it. I plan on visiting Bobo at some point in time. But I would only do it if I had a week to spend there. It's just not worth it to ride for hours and hours on a hot, dusty, bus for 2 days in another city.
Thats all for now!
Oh PS I can Skype now! If you email me at emjdj1@gmail.com we can set up a time for it. I'm 4 hours ahead. My skype profile is emjdj1 also, or you can just search Evan Johnson in Dori, Burkina Faso. I'm fairly sure I'm the only Evan Johnson in this city.
I recently experienced a particularly unpleasant rumbling of the tum-tum. I ignored it, drank some oral rehydration salts (yum!), and ate a banana. Several days later, the rumbling persisted and was accompanied by burps tasting of rotten eggs (yummier!). I won't go into further detail. I'll just say I've been giving my quads a work out lately.
I looked up these symptoms and all signs point to (drumroll): Giardia!!! I've been treating it and it seems to be subsiding sans anti-biotics; though if it comes back our medical officers will be getting a call. The biggest threat from it is dehydration, and I've been making sure to drink plenty of (filtered) water.
It's just one of those things you know you'll end up facing at one point or another when you sign up for Peace Corps. The reality is, I've had spectacular health thus far. I know volunteers who have gone through several bouts of Giardia (or the rumblin' runs as I affectionately call them), had amoebas, and Malaria. So I'm pretty grateful.
In other news...
I found a local night spot that plays American music. I was walking along when I heard the unmistakeable voice of Phil Collins. I'm not a Collins fan, never have been. I was raised better than that. But the music piqued my interest. I walked into the bar and started up a conversation with the DJ. I asked him what other American tunes he had and he pulled out a stack of CDs. Among them: STEVIE WONDER! SAM COOKE! BOB DYLAN! AND.......the scorpions. Well 3 out of 4 ain't bad. Don't get me wrong, I thought that The Scorpions did a great job with the Freejack soundtrack, but they aren't my first choice when I want to relax with a cold one.
Needless to say I'm pretty happy about this find. Usually if I want to go out I'm berated by extremely loud African dance music. People here tend to crank the volume on whatever it is they are listening to. You can't hear yourself think in most bars, which isn't all that different from the states. It's even harder for me because of the language barrier. I find shouting imperfect French over blaring dance music to be anything but relaxing.
I've been at site for a little over a month straight, and I've got the itch to head to Ouaga and get myself a cheeseburger. I just received news that there will be a Halloween party in Bobo. Bobo is on the clean opposite side of the country, and I'm not up for 10-12 hours of transport for a Halloween party. Maybe I'll just head to Ouaga for the 30th and make a weekend of it. I plan on visiting Bobo at some point in time. But I would only do it if I had a week to spend there. It's just not worth it to ride for hours and hours on a hot, dusty, bus for 2 days in another city.
Thats all for now!
Oh PS I can Skype now! If you email me at emjdj1@gmail.com we can set up a time for it. I'm 4 hours ahead. My skype profile is emjdj1 also, or you can just search Evan Johnson in Dori, Burkina Faso. I'm fairly sure I'm the only Evan Johnson in this city.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Acclimatisation
So we've entered the "mini-hot season". While folks in Michigan are strolling through apple orchards, eating donuts, watching the leaves change, and pulling out their favorite sweaters; us Saheliens are sweating in 110° heat. This season occurs after the rains have stopped but before the cool months of November and December. My friend Mohammad tells me "December is COLD!", as he hugs himself and pretends to shiver. I can't wait.
Despite the sometimes brutal heat, I feel that I have adjusted pretty well to the country itself. The water, food, and climate pose no real problem for me. Cultural adjustment, has been a bit more elusive. One example, sleep is NOT sacred here. In the U.S. if someone is napping generally those around him/her will make an effort to keep somewhat quiet. They certainly wouldn't call the persons name until they woke up simply to say hello and ask how things are going. That would just be rude.
Last week I was dozing in front of my fan, trying to beat the midday heat. I was very tired from a lot of housework, and hadn't slept well the night before due to some mild G.I issues. Enter my 12 year old neighbor boy. He comes right up to my screen door, sees that I am asleep, and calls my name. When I don't wake up (because I am ignoring the child) he just calls me louder. I finally turn to him and ask "Oui?".
"ça va bien?" he responds.
"Please leave me alone right now I'm relaxing, I am very tired", I say to him (in French of course). This works for about 20 minutes but finally he returns and asks to borrow my bike, to which I respond, "definitley no". He leaves again but sure enough returns, succeeding in waking me up 3 times in the course of an hour. Not to mention the fact that he does it everyday at 6AM. Every day I say to leave me alone, every next day he returns. I don't get it.
The problem is my fault as well. Kids here don't pick up verbal and non-verbal clues that way I wan't them to. They also don't think critically, which has to do with the system of education. If I don't want this boy at my front door at 6AM everyday. I'll have to say "Don't come here in the mornings until you see that I am awake and moving around, if I am asleep then do not bother me". Simply telling him to leave every morning won't get the point across. Another cultural difference.
Something else I've had to get used to is the complete lack of automated appliances and running water. If I want to cook or bake something, its going to be from scratch. There aren't many shortcuts. If the floor is dirty, and often is due to the wind and sand; I have to pull everything out of the house and sweep. What I wouldn't give for a shop vac. When its time to do dishes, I haul water from a pump and fill buckets to wash, rinse, and sterilize. The most difficult of all these things is laundry. Doing laundry by hand is time-consuming, difficult work. I suggest everyone try it at least once.
There is a generalized chart that tracks the contentedness of volunteers. It looks like a piece of spaghetti someone threw against the fridge. There is a markedly low point between 3-6 months in country. I'm at 4 right now. It is after training, and now we have to re-adjust to a new culture and place yet again; only this time we do it completely on our own. This isn't to say I'm not content. Though readjustment is certainly no easy task. Then again, I wouldn't have signed up for the job if I thought it were an easy one. Cheers.
P.S Go right through for MSU! Watch the points keep growing! Spartan teams are bound to win they're fighting with a vim! rah! rah! rah! See their team is WEEEEAAAK, we're going to win this game! Fight! Fight! Rah team fight! Victory for MSU!
MSU 26 UM 20. Boom.
Despite the sometimes brutal heat, I feel that I have adjusted pretty well to the country itself. The water, food, and climate pose no real problem for me. Cultural adjustment, has been a bit more elusive. One example, sleep is NOT sacred here. In the U.S. if someone is napping generally those around him/her will make an effort to keep somewhat quiet. They certainly wouldn't call the persons name until they woke up simply to say hello and ask how things are going. That would just be rude.
Last week I was dozing in front of my fan, trying to beat the midday heat. I was very tired from a lot of housework, and hadn't slept well the night before due to some mild G.I issues. Enter my 12 year old neighbor boy. He comes right up to my screen door, sees that I am asleep, and calls my name. When I don't wake up (because I am ignoring the child) he just calls me louder. I finally turn to him and ask "Oui?".
"ça va bien?" he responds.
"Please leave me alone right now I'm relaxing, I am very tired", I say to him (in French of course). This works for about 20 minutes but finally he returns and asks to borrow my bike, to which I respond, "definitley no". He leaves again but sure enough returns, succeeding in waking me up 3 times in the course of an hour. Not to mention the fact that he does it everyday at 6AM. Every day I say to leave me alone, every next day he returns. I don't get it.
The problem is my fault as well. Kids here don't pick up verbal and non-verbal clues that way I wan't them to. They also don't think critically, which has to do with the system of education. If I don't want this boy at my front door at 6AM everyday. I'll have to say "Don't come here in the mornings until you see that I am awake and moving around, if I am asleep then do not bother me". Simply telling him to leave every morning won't get the point across. Another cultural difference.
Something else I've had to get used to is the complete lack of automated appliances and running water. If I want to cook or bake something, its going to be from scratch. There aren't many shortcuts. If the floor is dirty, and often is due to the wind and sand; I have to pull everything out of the house and sweep. What I wouldn't give for a shop vac. When its time to do dishes, I haul water from a pump and fill buckets to wash, rinse, and sterilize. The most difficult of all these things is laundry. Doing laundry by hand is time-consuming, difficult work. I suggest everyone try it at least once.
There is a generalized chart that tracks the contentedness of volunteers. It looks like a piece of spaghetti someone threw against the fridge. There is a markedly low point between 3-6 months in country. I'm at 4 right now. It is after training, and now we have to re-adjust to a new culture and place yet again; only this time we do it completely on our own. This isn't to say I'm not content. Though readjustment is certainly no easy task. Then again, I wouldn't have signed up for the job if I thought it were an easy one. Cheers.
P.S Go right through for MSU! Watch the points keep growing! Spartan teams are bound to win they're fighting with a vim! rah! rah! rah! See their team is WEEEEAAAK, we're going to win this game! Fight! Fight! Rah team fight! Victory for MSU!
MSU 26 UM 20. Boom.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Prophylaxis may result in hypnogogic vertigo.
It is required that all volunteers take anti-malarial medication. There are two types. One; Doxycycline is taken daily and can great slight stomach discomfort. The one I take, Mephaquin, is taken weekly, and has been known to induce lucid dreams bordering on waking hallucinations. But hey, at least I won't be getting Malaria any time soon.
Needless to say I've experienced these side effects somewhat, though they haven't been unpleasant or infringed on a good nights sleep.
I'm usually not one to talk or write about my dreams. I usually groan or roll my eyes when someone starts a story with 'So I had this dream last night...'. Its as if they are saying 'here is a complete fabrication of my unconscious, which may or may not expose embarassing foibles in my personality'. But enough with the disclaimers. So I had this dream last night; I was in Burger King ready to indulge in a Whopper, when the portly woman at the counter demanded that I pay. I reached into my pocket, and produced a wad of CFA (burkinabe currency). She looked at me like I was crazy for trying to pay with west african currency in this quinessentially American establishment. Needless to say I awoke frustrated and craving a big juicy burger.
Which leads me to my next thought. My goal for the next couple of months is to put on some weight. I've received emails from worried parties in the U.S., pointing out that I am looking very very skinny lately. I would like to acknowledge the fact that I worked at a "Greek" restaurant before I came here, and spent most of my time running around eating Gyros slathered in Tzatziki, with Saganaki, and Spinach Pie on the side. Where do these items fall on the food pyramid? For any health-conscious individual they should be floating around the top. But for me, for 9 months at least, they formed the solid, immovable base. Now that I eat rice all the time, and my daily activities are walking, sweating, biking, and sweating; its only natural that I've dropped a few pounds.
I'll post the recipies that I come up with here on the blog, so that you can join me on this culinary odessy. To start!! A favorite of mine taken from the "Where There Is No Microwave" volunteer cookbook. Foccacia Bread! YUM!
1 1/4 cup water
2 1/2 cups white flour
2tsp dry yeast
1tsp sugar (for proofing yeast)
1tsp salt
Olive oil for glaze, and greasing rising surface.
PROOF your yeast! MIX the yeast and sugar with 1/4 cup of warm (not hot) water. Let sit for about 10-15 minutes, when small bubbles begin to appear on the surface. Just a few bubbles is okay.
Put your flour and salt into a large mixing bowl and create a basin of sorts to pour the water into. Use your hands to mix it all together (its messy). Sift in flour as needed until the dough is a workable ball, and is no longer sticky. Flip this dough ball onto an oiled surface, and cover with a damp towel, put it in a warm place (in front of a window) and let rise for 1 hour, or until doubled in bulk.
Now the fun part. Sift flour onto a surface and coat your hands as well. flip the dough onto this floured surface and beat it sensless. The dough owes you money, and I heard it say your sister is easy. Fold the dough into itself several times and punch it with your closed fist four about 10 minutes. Cover again and let rise for 30-45 minutes. Score decoratively and then brush with Olive Oil (or sprinkle with seasonings, I like Zahtar). Put it in the oven at 375° for 40 minutes. (WARNING, this bake time is for using an improvised dutch oven, those with Viking convection ovens adjust time accordingly). Use spray bottle with cold water and spray the loaf every 5 minutes for the first 15 minutes of baking for a crispy crust. Remove from oven, let cool, and enjoy.
Needless to say I've experienced these side effects somewhat, though they haven't been unpleasant or infringed on a good nights sleep.
I'm usually not one to talk or write about my dreams. I usually groan or roll my eyes when someone starts a story with 'So I had this dream last night...'. Its as if they are saying 'here is a complete fabrication of my unconscious, which may or may not expose embarassing foibles in my personality'. But enough with the disclaimers. So I had this dream last night; I was in Burger King ready to indulge in a Whopper, when the portly woman at the counter demanded that I pay. I reached into my pocket, and produced a wad of CFA (burkinabe currency). She looked at me like I was crazy for trying to pay with west african currency in this quinessentially American establishment. Needless to say I awoke frustrated and craving a big juicy burger.
Which leads me to my next thought. My goal for the next couple of months is to put on some weight. I've received emails from worried parties in the U.S., pointing out that I am looking very very skinny lately. I would like to acknowledge the fact that I worked at a "Greek" restaurant before I came here, and spent most of my time running around eating Gyros slathered in Tzatziki, with Saganaki, and Spinach Pie on the side. Where do these items fall on the food pyramid? For any health-conscious individual they should be floating around the top. But for me, for 9 months at least, they formed the solid, immovable base. Now that I eat rice all the time, and my daily activities are walking, sweating, biking, and sweating; its only natural that I've dropped a few pounds.
I'll post the recipies that I come up with here on the blog, so that you can join me on this culinary odessy. To start!! A favorite of mine taken from the "Where There Is No Microwave" volunteer cookbook. Foccacia Bread! YUM!
1 1/4 cup water
2 1/2 cups white flour
2tsp dry yeast
1tsp sugar (for proofing yeast)
1tsp salt
Olive oil for glaze, and greasing rising surface.
PROOF your yeast! MIX the yeast and sugar with 1/4 cup of warm (not hot) water. Let sit for about 10-15 minutes, when small bubbles begin to appear on the surface. Just a few bubbles is okay.
Put your flour and salt into a large mixing bowl and create a basin of sorts to pour the water into. Use your hands to mix it all together (its messy). Sift in flour as needed until the dough is a workable ball, and is no longer sticky. Flip this dough ball onto an oiled surface, and cover with a damp towel, put it in a warm place (in front of a window) and let rise for 1 hour, or until doubled in bulk.
Now the fun part. Sift flour onto a surface and coat your hands as well. flip the dough onto this floured surface and beat it sensless. The dough owes you money, and I heard it say your sister is easy. Fold the dough into itself several times and punch it with your closed fist four about 10 minutes. Cover again and let rise for 30-45 minutes. Score decoratively and then brush with Olive Oil (or sprinkle with seasonings, I like Zahtar). Put it in the oven at 375° for 40 minutes. (WARNING, this bake time is for using an improvised dutch oven, those with Viking convection ovens adjust time accordingly). Use spray bottle with cold water and spray the loaf every 5 minutes for the first 15 minutes of baking for a crispy crust. Remove from oven, let cool, and enjoy.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Why I hate the bus station.
"KING BROTHER! AFRICA IS VERY NICE! ME AND YOU WE ARE LIKE THE SAME, WE ARE BROTHERS. YES! KING BROTHER! IT IS NICE LIKE THAT IN AFRICA! BARACK OBAMA!" And so on, he shouted at me as I approached the ticket window at the bus station. The man in the window seemed nonplussed when I stated my inquiry. It was a rather simple question.
"How often does the bus run between Dori and Kaya, at what times, and how much does it cost"? However my question was overpowered by the tall man yelling at me in broken, rehearsed, english. I had gotten the same verbal assault the first time I arrived in Dori. That time he was wearing tight fitting jeans, beige boots, and a 50 Cent tshirt. Now he was wearing traditional african garb, complete with a white prayer cap. He stood directly next to me as I tried to communicate with the man in the window. I began to wonder, "when is this idiot going to ask for money like a normal bus-station leech". I finally got my information and continued to ignore the screaming moron to my left. It is common courtesy in west africa to say hello to people when they greet you. But I figure social decorum doesn't matter when I'm not concerned with starting or maintaining even the most casual of relationships.
I walked across the street and sat down at my usual spot at a roadside rice stand. Oh no, here he comes, hes following me, hooray.
"KING BROTHER, YOU DON'T EVEN SAY HELLO? WE ARE LIKE BROTHERS OUR SKIN COLOR THAT DOES NOT MATTER". The man who runs the restaurant and I exchanged a knowing look as he served me my plate of rice. I ate quietly while the man from the bus station stood next to me and attempted conversation, to which I didn't respond.
Finally, realizing that he was getting nowhere, he asked me.
"My friend I am hungry give me 300cfa". I felt some sense of relief at this as I now had a good excuse to tell him to bother someone else, that I wasn't a tourist, and that I don't give money away to people. I exchanged looks with the restaurant owner (a friend of mine) again, and he asked the man to leave politely in Mooré.
The bus station is rife with hangers on like this. There are the occasional tourists that make it out to Dori and these "guides" offer to take them on camel rides, to see the dunes, etc. There is even a man on the bus who telephones ahead if there is a "nasarra" bound for Dori. However tourism isnt an enormous industry in Dori so many of these "guides" find it hard to get work, and end up guilting people in to giving them money. Im a target because I'm white, and it is assumed that I have money. The result is that even when I pass by the station, or go to make a simple inquiriy, I'm harassed by these men. I've gotten pretty good at deflecting them though. If I feel particularly tired and have to go by the station I'll ask one of my Burkinabé friends to walk with me, which they are usually more than happy to do.
Well there ya go thats why I hate the bus station.
"How often does the bus run between Dori and Kaya, at what times, and how much does it cost"? However my question was overpowered by the tall man yelling at me in broken, rehearsed, english. I had gotten the same verbal assault the first time I arrived in Dori. That time he was wearing tight fitting jeans, beige boots, and a 50 Cent tshirt. Now he was wearing traditional african garb, complete with a white prayer cap. He stood directly next to me as I tried to communicate with the man in the window. I began to wonder, "when is this idiot going to ask for money like a normal bus-station leech". I finally got my information and continued to ignore the screaming moron to my left. It is common courtesy in west africa to say hello to people when they greet you. But I figure social decorum doesn't matter when I'm not concerned with starting or maintaining even the most casual of relationships.
I walked across the street and sat down at my usual spot at a roadside rice stand. Oh no, here he comes, hes following me, hooray.
"KING BROTHER, YOU DON'T EVEN SAY HELLO? WE ARE LIKE BROTHERS OUR SKIN COLOR THAT DOES NOT MATTER". The man who runs the restaurant and I exchanged a knowing look as he served me my plate of rice. I ate quietly while the man from the bus station stood next to me and attempted conversation, to which I didn't respond.
Finally, realizing that he was getting nowhere, he asked me.
"My friend I am hungry give me 300cfa". I felt some sense of relief at this as I now had a good excuse to tell him to bother someone else, that I wasn't a tourist, and that I don't give money away to people. I exchanged looks with the restaurant owner (a friend of mine) again, and he asked the man to leave politely in Mooré.
The bus station is rife with hangers on like this. There are the occasional tourists that make it out to Dori and these "guides" offer to take them on camel rides, to see the dunes, etc. There is even a man on the bus who telephones ahead if there is a "nasarra" bound for Dori. However tourism isnt an enormous industry in Dori so many of these "guides" find it hard to get work, and end up guilting people in to giving them money. Im a target because I'm white, and it is assumed that I have money. The result is that even when I pass by the station, or go to make a simple inquiriy, I'm harassed by these men. I've gotten pretty good at deflecting them though. If I feel particularly tired and have to go by the station I'll ask one of my Burkinabé friends to walk with me, which they are usually more than happy to do.
Well there ya go thats why I hate the bus station.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Back in Dori
I just returned from Ouaga on a rather unpleasant bus ride. I wasn't all that well educated on the bus times from Ouaga to Dori, So I showed up at the station before noon. I found out that the bus wouldn't leave until 3 o'clock. I'm not a huge fan of bus stations; I don't know anyone who is. Save Brandon Bennage; who spends his time there with a guitar for the purpose of entertaining the homeless. He's got a great heart that Bennage, I don't know anyone else who would spend an entire night in a greyhound station strictly for the entertainment of others, out of the goodness of his pure and altruistic heart.
I was fairly tired, and the heat wasn't helping, so I tried resting against a wall to read. I was asleep in about 30 seconds. 45 minutes had passed when I awoke, and some kid was trying to sell me a bag full of eggs. This all seemed normal. I realize that I'm becoming comfortably desensitized to the absurd. This is probably to my benefit. I don't think that this kind of work is for those who have strong convictions about that way things ought to be. If you spend all your time here lucidly aware of the cultural differences, and the day to day difficulties; you run the risk of losing it. It's necessary to procede with your work, knowing that it will matter in the long run, but at the same time accept the world around you as is. You have to go with the flow of things. Going against the grain is a surefire way to wear yourself out. Im not advocating apathy by any means; but this kind of work I believe requires collaboration and cultural understanding. Coming in to Burkina as an American is difficult, and it is necessary to make slight mental changes.
Ouaga was very refreshing; I attended a closing of service party for the volunteers who arrived here 2 years ago. There was lots of food and drink, and even a dance number by the departing volunteers. Ouaga is the closest thing to America that one can find in Burkina Faso. There are many restaurants, bars, and night clubs that cater to tourists, and ex-pats. I managed to have a breakfast of bacon, eggs, hashbrowns, and something resembling coffee at the International School of Ouagadougou. The only thing missing was some aging waitress who calls me 'hon' and refills my coffee faster than I can drink it. I miss her a whole lot. My coffee arrived warm halfway through my meal, and when I asked for a refill I was charged for another cup and it took 15 minutes. Despite the coffee situation, the meal was one of the best Ive had in months and I left ISO with a smile on my face.
Despite its nicities, there is a madness to Ouaga, an energy and bustle that can become very overwhelming. The throngs of motos spewing fumes, the animal smell, and calls of vendors combined with the fact that Americans stick out like a sore thumb holding a $100 bill. Its like no city I've ever experienced. It was a good couple of days, with plenty of cold drinks and good food. But I am very happy to be back in familiar Dori, with my books, and my familar market. My neighbors were very glad to see me returned, and I ate and drank tea with them. When I returned to my house last night I found that I have electricity; which filled me with unexpressable joy. I immediately found the fan I had stored away, stripped down, and sat in front of it reading in my underwear with a smile on my face.
The Japanese volunteers are going to return to Dori in several days and we are going to start work on the exposition for Dori NGOs. I am really looking forward to getting some real work done.
I was fairly tired, and the heat wasn't helping, so I tried resting against a wall to read. I was asleep in about 30 seconds. 45 minutes had passed when I awoke, and some kid was trying to sell me a bag full of eggs. This all seemed normal. I realize that I'm becoming comfortably desensitized to the absurd. This is probably to my benefit. I don't think that this kind of work is for those who have strong convictions about that way things ought to be. If you spend all your time here lucidly aware of the cultural differences, and the day to day difficulties; you run the risk of losing it. It's necessary to procede with your work, knowing that it will matter in the long run, but at the same time accept the world around you as is. You have to go with the flow of things. Going against the grain is a surefire way to wear yourself out. Im not advocating apathy by any means; but this kind of work I believe requires collaboration and cultural understanding. Coming in to Burkina as an American is difficult, and it is necessary to make slight mental changes.
Ouaga was very refreshing; I attended a closing of service party for the volunteers who arrived here 2 years ago. There was lots of food and drink, and even a dance number by the departing volunteers. Ouaga is the closest thing to America that one can find in Burkina Faso. There are many restaurants, bars, and night clubs that cater to tourists, and ex-pats. I managed to have a breakfast of bacon, eggs, hashbrowns, and something resembling coffee at the International School of Ouagadougou. The only thing missing was some aging waitress who calls me 'hon' and refills my coffee faster than I can drink it. I miss her a whole lot. My coffee arrived warm halfway through my meal, and when I asked for a refill I was charged for another cup and it took 15 minutes. Despite the coffee situation, the meal was one of the best Ive had in months and I left ISO with a smile on my face.
Despite its nicities, there is a madness to Ouaga, an energy and bustle that can become very overwhelming. The throngs of motos spewing fumes, the animal smell, and calls of vendors combined with the fact that Americans stick out like a sore thumb holding a $100 bill. Its like no city I've ever experienced. It was a good couple of days, with plenty of cold drinks and good food. But I am very happy to be back in familiar Dori, with my books, and my familar market. My neighbors were very glad to see me returned, and I ate and drank tea with them. When I returned to my house last night I found that I have electricity; which filled me with unexpressable joy. I immediately found the fan I had stored away, stripped down, and sat in front of it reading in my underwear with a smile on my face.
The Japanese volunteers are going to return to Dori in several days and we are going to start work on the exposition for Dori NGOs. I am really looking forward to getting some real work done.
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