Day 160 in village

6: I awoke to a dull pain that ran from my ribs to my pelvis along my right abdomen.  An all too familiar pain these days.  Wonder what intestinal ailment lies in wait for my this time.  Refusing to get out of bed just yet I listen to the morning sounds.  A loud cry, wailing really, which only breaks for a deep chested cough.  My first instinct is that it’s a lost goat, their cries sound eerily like a baby’s, but the cough makes me wonder.  Do goats get chest colds? 

9: I go through my normal morning routine and am now forcing myself to go to the CSPS.  It’s been almost 3 weeks since I’ve been there and I MUST go say hello and show that I’m back from IST.  On my way out the door I wonder what is the point, what am I going to do there?  My Etude is over so I can no longer spend my time studying the CSPS documents or asking the staff questions for my report, so now what?  I suppose I now should be spending my time creating project plans and implementing them, but I only have 4 or so weeks left in this village and what can I really get done in that amount of time without a motivated counterpart?  Even if I had a really good idea I would need someone in the village to help me, especially with the language barriers.  That’s the Peace Corps philosophy anyways for sustainability, we train others so that they can continue on in our absence.  The CSPS staff can’t be bothered to attend a project design workshop with me, much less actually spending time on a project.  My time would be better spent studying French. 

On my bike ride to the CSPS I debate flat out asking the Major why I’m here.  Why the village requested a Peace Corps volunteer?  Did they not understand that PCVs work WITH the village, not FOR the village?  Every project we do is suppose to be with a counterpart to capacity build.  We don’t develop the village, we aid them in developing themselves, so to speak. And why a health volunteer?  Every time I’ve asked what the health issues are that they would like to address I get empty answers.  “Je ne sais pas”   When I asked what types of projects they would like to see happen I was told that I’d find out at my IST formation what to do, as if the Peace Corps dictates our projects.  Maybe they don’t understand, that’s not how this works.  They have to work with me to identify a priority health issue and we work together to combat it.   If the issue is not perceived, then behavior change will never occur.  It’s like addiction, the first step is admitting your are an addict.  The first step is admitting your child in malnourished, that malaria is a serious problem, that diarrhea can kill your baby.  To these people illnesses occur and are treated and that’s that.  Nothing seems to be of concern or of need of addressing. 

10: For the first time I was asked to help Madame Sylvie with baby weighing.  I’ve been trying for 6 months, 160 days, to help weigh babies.  My interest is in nutrition and my ideal project is with malnourished children.  Usually volunteers come away from baby weighing feeling accomplished- they actually did some hands on work- but Sylvie has a way to making me feel incompetent and useless.  She is impatient with me, with everyone really, and gets annoyed when I miss a beat.  Numbers in French, Burkinabe names, foreign paperwork, her speaking to the women in Moore- we’re not trained to do this.  No, I don’t know how to give a polio vaccine or take blood pressure.

I’m sitting next to her, writing numbers into each baby’s Carte de Sante as they are weighed and measured, trying to see the charts and scale since it’s easier for me if I see the numbers opposed to trying to hear her mumble them.  The growth chart says something like 100% is perfect, 85 and above is good, and the 80% bracket has been whitened out.  What should say something along the lines of caution your child is falling behind, bordering malnutrition, now has “normal” scribbled in.  75% and 70% fall into moderately malnourished, below that is severely malnourished.  80%, Sylvie tells me, 80%.  Baby after baby is 80%. “Normal”.  She doesn’t tell the women what percentile their children are in, nor does she explain how to feed their children healthy diets; she doesn’t say or explain anything at all.  Just moves on to the next child.  Finally there is a child that is clearly in the 75% bracket.  The child hasn’t been weighed in 4 months and from my reading of the scale has lost weight, but according to Sylvie has gained a little.  She looks at the growth chart, 75%.  I’m looking over her shoulder.  She hesitates and looks at the chart again, finds height then weight-still 75%.  She says something to the mother and feels the babies legs for swelling. The are speaking in Moore and from the mother’s body language I’d guess she is explaining why the child is under weight – money is sort, it’s not the harvest season, the child is having problems weaning?-  Who knows.  Maybe she pleads that the baby will be better next time.  Sylvie makes a clicking noise in the back of her throat and nods her head in agreement; an okay, I understand.  80% she tells me.  No malnourished children for village this week.               

13: A flock of guinea fowl scurry along the path as I bike home.  A group of young boys play with a bouncy ball in my kitchen as I make lunch.  Not my usual lunch-time visitors, but still children I know from next door.  I think they like my kitchen because of the cement floor and walls, good for the bouncing.  Sometimes they take to just sprawling out on the floor.  I think the cement feels cool to them, different from their mud floors.      

14: I retreat to my room and shut the door.  Shut out the children for a little while.  The harmattan winds are blowing strong today and I apparently have allergies.  I’m sure it’s from all the dust.  Upon returning home yesterday there was a layer of dust over my entire house, over everything.  Like in a movie where someone goes into an old abandoned house where white sheets cover the furniture, pick up a book, blow, and a puff of dirt clouds into the air.  Only I didn’t have the foresight to cover my belongings in white sheets.  I was only gone for 17 days.  The majority of yesterday was spent uncovering my life, beating the dirt out of my bed sheets and whatnot.  The children have left foot prints on my kitchen floor. 

16:  After a repose I am ready to face the world again.  Plus I am not sure if my tutor is coming today and he always thinks I’m not home if my door is closed.  No sir, sometimes I just need some peace and quite.  Within minutes a few small children are at my door.  “Je demand un bon bon” they say over and over again.  In the last 6 months I have never just given away candy, it has to be earned.  If you give things out freely then your not viewed as a real person, but as a vending machine.  After a few responses of “no, I don’t have candy.  I don’t give candy,” I take to just ignoring them.  After about 5 minutes they find something more interesting and go away.    

18:30:  It has been overcast all day and now it too cloudy to see the sun set.  No golden hour today, the last strands of sunlight slowly dimming, a warning time to wrap up what you were doing before the darkness comes.  Today just grey and instantly dark.  I’d say it was going to storm, but the rains won’t come again until after May.  The wind is cold and without the sun taking a bucket bath outside would be miserable.  Even if I heated up the bath water.  My stove will not light and I suspect my gas tank is empty.  A lunch time discovery.  Shall be an interesting problem to fix as I cannot get a new tank in village.  Will tackle that one tomorrow.   For now just worry about dinner.  In a world where there is no place to buy pre-made food, or fruits or vegetables or bread, what can you eat without a stove?                

Banfora

After New Years Eve Josh and I decided to make a little vacation out of our trip to the South West.  It’s a long journey to get down there so we thought we should explore the area a little bit while we’re there.  I read over my Lonely Planet, which pointed us in the direction of Banfora.  Getting to Banfora from Gaoua was an adventure in its’ own.  The Lonely Planet didn’t say much, so in the morning we headed to the gare hoping for the best.  Asked around the bus station and was told a bush taxi would be leaving at noon, so we bought a ticket, dropped our bags, and went to find some breakfast.  At noon there was still no taxi bus.  Josh was getting a little anxious and went to ask the man who seemed to work the gare.  First he was told that the bus was coming at 2, then he was told that we should just take a regular taxi for 40,000 CFA.  We didn’t have 40 mille.  We were short on cash as it was since we didn’t take into account that the New Years fete meant the post/bank would be closed for 5 days.  Worried that this meant no bush taxi was coming and that we just lost 10 mille on the tickets, he fetched me and we went to talk to the man together.  This time we were told it was coming at 12:30.  At one Josh got more nervous and decided to go for a walk.  “Don’t worry, it’ll come.  This is Burkina…” I said as I continued to read my book.  At 2:15 the man came to get us and gather up our stuff.  He had us sit on a wooden bench near the loading cars in wait, ready to go, and at 2:30 took us across the street to a bush taxi.  Finally, we’re on our way and the taxi loads quickly and departs by 3pm.  The taxi van is packed full, but thankfully over half of the people get off at a city an hour into the journey and we get an entire bench row to ourselves for the rest of the 5 hour journey.  We get into Banfora a little after 8, hot and completely covered in red dirt from the open windows, and are glad to find the Peace Corps recommended hotel and call it a day. 

Banfora is a lovely little city with lots of good eats.  It is one of the more touristy areas in Burkina, but didn’t really feel that way.  People there aren’t push or attack you for being a tourist as they did in places like Aursha, Tanzania, or even in Ouaga.  We only had a couple of days so only got in 3 of the sights in the area.  The best by far was the Domes of Fabedougou, about an 11K bike ride out of Banfora.  We took a wrong turn on the way and got lost in a maze of sugar cane fields, but when we finally found them it was well worth it.  Huge rock formations unlike anything I’d ever seen before.  We spent the morning walking through the park and climbing the domes. 

      

Next stop was the Cascades of Karfiguela, only a couple kilometers from the Domes.  The waterfalls were pretty, with 4 different levels of falls, but a waterfall is a waterfall and after seeing so many they all kind of look the same.  These reminded of the falls in Appalachian mountains meets the waterfalls in Western Australia.  But it was hot and we were ready for a swim.  We took the advise of fellow volunteers and found a “secret” waterfall that’s behind the second level.  It wasn’t completely private, another man found it before us and was taking a nap at the top of the falls.  He has the sweet life.  Still, it was the perfect setting and we cooled off in the water before having a late picnic lunch. 

   

The next morning we went to Tengrela Lake to see hippos, however the most excitement we got was from crossing a bridge on the way there.  The bridge was being repaired and we had been warned by other volunteers that there were men who would try to make us pay a fee “for the reparation of the bridge”.  Conveniently, Hippo Lake is just beyond the bridge and several tourists a day cross the bridge.  When we came to the bridge we followed school children down the left side to the water where there were a couple foot paths across.  We didn’t get very far before a couple of men noticed the 2 white people and stopped us, saying there was a fee to cross.  I told them “non, c’est pas vrai”!  They were instant, pulled out coins from their pockets to show us as if we didn’t understand, even held on to the back of our bikes so we couldn’t walk away.  I lost it a little bit and blew up at them like I had seen Kate do last summer in East Africa when people tried to rip us off, something I swore I would never do.  I guess 7 months of people trying to take advantage of you because your white wears on you a little bit.  We threw everything at them that we could think of, “we’re not tourist, we live here. we know there is not a fee” “how come your not charging any of the Burkinabe, just the Nasaras?” “if there’s a toll where is the toll station? The toll sign?” “call the police if we have to pay, or should we call the police because you’re falsely charging us?”  Nothing was working.  Finally we got across the stream and Josh told the men to leave me alone and deal with him, since I had retreated to screaming at them in English.  In most cases, people will leave the angry white woman alone, but in this case they weren’t easing up.  After about 10 minutes we got on our bikes and were slowly inching ourselves away, and they realized we weren’t getting any closer to giving them money.  The ring leader reluctantly let go of Josh’s bike, saying “fine, you can pay on your way back”. 

A few minutes later we were at the peage for the Lake, but unlike the Domes or the Cascades there wasn’t a sign with the park fees.  Again, the attendant saw 2 white people and tried to over charge us.  Once we pulled out our carte professionnelles and told him that we live in Burkina and know the cost he changed his tune.  By the time we got out on the lake it was almost 8 a.m. and our boat guy told us the 40 or so hippos that live in the lake had left and gone into the woods.  Now I don’t know a lot about hippos, but I know a little, and I know that Hippos normally go up on land to eat at night.  I’ve experienced this first hand near Hell’s Gate National Park in Kenya.  I also know that during the day, when it is very hot, Hippos prefer to be in water.  If he would have told us that we couldn’t really see the Hippos because they are only ears and noses in the water, I’d believe it, but I’m not buying that in 90 degree whether when it’s only going to get hotter they are chilling in the woods.  I suspect he just didn’t want to go searching through the lake for nostrils sticking out, but maybe at this point I had just lost faith in the good nature of the Burkinabe.  We still got a lovely 45 minute pirogue trip on the lake and it was interesting to see the fishermen. 

                    

We got lucky on the way home- we wasted no time at the bridge and went to the far, far left path.  The poll trolls were busy with another group of white people and we got across and on our way without any problems.  Despite all the hassles, I’d still recommend Banfora to anyone visiting Burkina Faso.  We didn’t see everything and it’s one of the only places I’ve visited that I’d gladly return to.