Kumasi

Hilly, lush, vibrant, and colonialesque, Kumasi has the same look and feel as Nairobi, Kenya.  A strange clash of rich, western culture and a rich history of the Ashanti kingdom and traditional culture.  Our first stop was the National Cultural Center.  The complex houses the Prempeh II Jubilee Museum, which promises a good introduction into Ashanti history and culture.  The Museum was small, over priced, and the tour guide rushed us and was more concerned with selling us souvenirs at the end then giving us a good tour.  I would have enjoyed it better sans the free tour and just looking at the artifacts and reading about them on my own.  A huge disappointment.  The rest of the National Culture Center was interesting though; very beautiful and well groomed.  We actually saw men watering the flowers and cutting the grass- something that made us both stop and ask “are we still in Africa?”  The majority of the grounds house workshops for brass working, woodcarving, potters, weavers, and other artisans, very much like the Artisan Village we have in Ouaga.  We leisurely explored and I enjoyed getting a peak of the craftsmen at work, however Josh wouldn’t let me buy anything since he was convinced everything would be overpriced. 

  Nany, I took this picture for you since the pottery reminded me of you!

Still wanting to learn more about Ashanti history, the next stop was the Manhyia Palace Museum.  The Palace was built for the Ashanti King by the British and the current King still lives on the grounds, which also house other government-type buildings.  The museum is restored to it’s original 1925 condition and has several life-size wax figures for Ashanti royalty, which, to be honest, were creepy.  The tour was very informative and interesting, this guide being much better then the last, however the guide singled us out right away as the only 2 white people and asked if we were British, then went on to speak unfavorably about white colonialist.  We did the tour with a British/Jamaican family and the tour guide kept telling the women how they looked like the Ashanti queen-mothers and their family MUST have originated from the Ashanti kingdom before they were stolen into the slave trade.  It was a little uncomfortable. 

     Queen mother, yaa Asantewaa, who led a revolt against the British.    

The last stop of the day was to the Armed Forces Museum, Josh’s one request in Kumasi.  The museum is in Fort St George and, as a museum, was pretty good.  The tour guide was very knowledgeable and patient with us and the contents of the museum were very complete.  As for the subject matter, well guns and military history aren’t really of interest to me, but Josh loved it.   

The Road to Ghana

After changing the date of our honeymoon twice so that I could have a week of intensive French tutoring, our bags were packed and we were finally on our way to Ghana.  We had done our research and were assured that a bus leaves from our closest “city” to Kumasi once a week.  We had even seen this STC bus with our own eyes and Josh talked to the driver about leave times and all.  So we were very confused when we giddily biked into the bus station and found no bus.  We asked around- one man seemed confused as to the possibility of a car to Ghana at all, one man told us it didn’t come this week, and one said it would be here tomorrow.  Desperate and determined to get to Ghana today, we started asking every bush taxi we could find about where they were going and how we could get to Kumasi.  Luckily, the second car we asked was going to a nearby village where we could get a car to Ghana. Not exactly what I had spent hours planning, but as long as we got to the glorious land of English and beaches I was ok.  We deposed our bikes and almost immediately left, a rarity around here, to the nearby village where our closest neighbor volunteer lives. 

There we waited, and waited, for the car to fill up.  After an hour or so the driver turned on the car and we started driving- Finally!- only to stop just out side the market area and wait for almost another hour.  By this point I had hoped to be hours into Ghana, but, hey, what can you do.  When we finally left it all seemed like smooth sailing from there.  Josh and I were sharing the front seat and we were squished, but at least we only squished by each other.  There was no stopping at the border, we realized we had left Burkina and were in Ghana when I started noticing power lines running to mud-brick houses and street signs were in English.  Glorious English! After about a 20 or 30 minute drive we hit a paved road.  After 45 minutes to an hour we were in Bawku, where the bush taxi dropped us off and a man was waiting for us with tickets for a bus to Kumasi.  Apparently the taxi men work with the bus men and had called ahead for us and a few other people, reserving us spots.  We had just enough time to go to the bathroom and try to buy water and a snack, only to realize we only had big bills and could buy nothing, before the bus left.  The drive to Kumasi takes several hours and I was glad to get going.  Things were looking up.

After about an hour or so the bus stopped.  Most of the people got off, but not all, and there were food ladies and whatnot on the side of the road.  Not knowing what was going on I tried to see where the people were going- was this a check point or a food break?- and that’s when I spotted a boarder guard, and he spotted me.  He signed for us to get off the bus.  As we walked up to him he asked for our passports; that’s fine, we had gone through painstaking measures to get visas 2 weeks before.  He leafed through them and then took us to his boss who was resting in the shade under a tree.  He leafed through them and then asked us where our stamp was.  I pointed to the visa.  No, the stamp, the entry stamp, that you get at the border?  What entry stamp, you are the first Ghanaian officials we’ve seen, there was no border?  He seemed confused and told us we had to go back, to wherever we came from, and get a stamp.   Go back where, Bawku?  He told us we had to go back to the border to get our passports stamped, we couldn’t do it in Bawku.  I tried to stay calm and explain to him where we had crossed and that there was no checkpoint, no immigrations, no police station, nothing.  It is a small road that is used daily by villagers to cross between Ghana and Burkina.  We also told him we were Peace Corps volunteers and lived there, not tourists in Africa.  He took us into a practically empty, of anything, office building and another man brought out border papers while the boss man made a phone call about the situation.  He explained to the phone that he had 2 PCVs that had come into the country on a village road and did not have their passports stamped, could they stamp it there?  The phone said no, we had to get off the bus and turn around.  You have got to be kidding me!  This means we not only have to go back from which we came, but go all the way to Ouaga and back down to Ghana on a different road to the main border crossing to get this stamp, an 8 or more hour detour. I am almost in tears, I just want to get to the beach.  Josh asks the officer to help us get our money back for the expensive bus ticket and an officer escorts us back to the bus to talk to the driver.  As the officer announces to the entire bus, who is waiting solely on us, that “he is very sorry for the wait, but the white people don’t have their papers in order and have to get off the bus,” the other officer gets a phone call with the authorization to stamp us.  Thank God!  He leads us back to the office and we fill out a small pink paper that barley asks for anything but our signature and the man stamps the date into our passports.  All of that just for this?  Good grief!  The entire bus glares at us as we sheepishly take our seats, and we’re off.     

After a few hours, about halfway to Kumasi, the bus gurgles and stops.  A break down.  Everyone piles off the bus and finds shade along the side of the road; there is literally nothing around, we’re in the middle of nowhere.  I’m not too worried though, we’ve done this drill before when our bus was rear-ended or the time we got a flat tire- we’ll wait in the shade while they fix it and in a short time we’ll be on the road again- and I’ve got a book.  Worst case scenario another bus will come to get us.  We wait several hours and no one seems to know what’s going on.  People start sleeping along the side of the road.  Josh starts getting worried and goes in search of information.  I’m fine, I’ve got the Henry Miller book I’ve been saving just for this trip- I’m good.  Josh comes back with the news that they can’t fix the bus, and can’t decide whether to call in another bus or send for a mechanic from Kumasi- either of which is several hours away.  I keep on reading.  Finally, after an absurd amount of time and far longer then any person wants to be stuck on the side of the road in the middle of a foreign country, another bus rescues us.  It takes another 3 or 4 hours to get to Kumasi, but at least we made it there.                                 

Wish List Revisited

A new village means new (and more!) resources.  I was delighted to discover that the new village has over 5 boutiques, 2 or 3 of which are open most everyday.  The variety of things now possible to buy in village is now infinity greater, even though bigger items (oatmeal, powdered milk) still need to be bought in our closest city, which is 9 km away, and bigger yet items (cereal, olive oil, tuna) still can only be bought in Ouaga.  With that in mind, Josh and I made a new wish list of the care package items we get most excited about.  Josh insists that all we should EVER ask for is meat and cheese, just meat and cheese, in any form.  I’m not as specific, as any and every food item we receive helps me in cooking and planning our daily meals.  Here is what we finally agreed on:

-Tuna (we can buy Tuna in Ouaga, but it’s just not as good as American Tuna)

-Bacon (pre-cooked in a can or box, or even just bacon bits)

-Sun dried tomatoes (especially from May to September when we can’t buy tomatoes in country)

-Parmesan cheese

- Cheese ( harder cheeses keep the best)

-Mac ’n cheese

-Beef Jerky and the like

-Summer Sausage or other pre-cooked types

- Lentils, couscous, quinoa, or any other base besides white rice or pasta

-nuts (especially pistachios and almonds, NOT PEANUTS!)

-dried fruit

- Baking Mixes (It’s really nice to make brownies for special occasions, or real pancakes)       

 

We want to say a HUGE Thank You! to all our friends and family members who continually keep us well stocked and well fed.  We have been truly blessed. 

March 14th- The Move

It was 8:20 a.m. when we got a call from the PC driver- “Where are you?”  We were at the transit house and had been since 7:30, were we not suppose to meet here at 8?  He’d be right over.  I continued to franticly try to get everything ready for our departure- one last email to Nany, writing a Thank-you card to Roger in French, fill up our water bottles, gather the left over glass bottles from the wedding, and so on.  Since I was running around trying to squeeze in one last thing, Josh helped the driver pack up the car.  When I got out there it was a typical conversation- Did you remember my bike, talk to the diver about the bottles, go to the bathroom once last time?  Josh assured me everything was set and we hopped in the car.  The back of the big PC SUV was packed with our bags, so Josh and I both sat up front with the driver, it was a cozy ride.  First things first, we needed to return the bottles from the wedding (Soda and beer bottles are reused here and are worth money, so are very precious to restaurant owners).  Since Yassine, from the Bureau, had signed for them with a promise to return I felt very responsible to get them back for her sake.  The Driver said the Jardin was out of the way, but assured me he would drop off the bottles for me upon returning to Ouaga.  With that, we were off to my site. 

We talked, in French, almost the entire 2 hours to my village.  I was surprised that neither Josh or I dozed off for a cat nap, as cars makes us sleepy.  As bad as it may sound, I was also a little sad that we talked and I didn’t get a chance to read my book- I love long car rides because it usually means time to read.  And yet, for the life of me, I have no idea what we talked about.  Once we got close I directed the driver down the little dirt road that led to my village, and then threw the market area to my house.  The big white Peace Corps SUV didn’t attract the attention it did the first time it came, to drop me off, but as soon as we got the house unlocked and started carrying out boxes we caught the eye of all the neighbor children.  First we placed all the things I was moving out in front of the house, so the driver could see everything.  The kids helped carry what they could from my kitchen to the pile.  Then Josh and the driver loaded everything up as I did last minute work.  There were a few left over boxes and packing supplies I didn’t use, which as soon as the kids realized I was putting in my burn pit they fought over.  One little boy even ripped a box out of my hand as I was walking to the pit.  There were a few pieces of bubble wrap that 2 girls started to play with, quickly discovering that the bubbles popped and then popping them all as kids do, which made me smile.  Last in was my water filter which was full of water.  I offered “l’eau pour boire” to the children, since they came to my door daily asking for a drink, and they jumped at the opportunity to drink the magic Nasara water- clearly it had special powers of the white person.  Once we were all packed up and my old house was locked up I gave each kid a goodbye gift- a dumdum sucker- and a postcard to my little friend Angina with my contact information on it.  She couldn’t read it and I know it was probably a lost cause, but I’d like to think that I was her special friend too and one day I’ll hear from her.  Too bad just as soon as I gave it to her her older brother ripped it out of her hand, interested in the Statue of Liberty printed on the front.  The kids were too excited by the candy to be sad that I was leaving. 

On the way out of village we stopped by the CSPS.  The Major was the only one there working.  He asked how the wedding was and I gave him my house keys.  Alright then, goodbye.  I don’t know what I was expecting, but more than that.  Next I went to the pharmacy to find Roger.  He was behind his desk, as usual, and his check was all bandaged up.  A bull had gotten him in the face.  I gave him my sympathies and wished him a quick recovery.  He asked about the wedding, then I told him that the table he had given me was still in the house and the Major had the keys so he could get it back.  I also gave him a postcard with my contact information on it and Thanked him for everything he had done for me.  He walked me to the car and said hello to Josh and the driver, and waved as we drove away.  Goodbye, little village! 

We were back on the road, back to Ouaga.  This time we talked mainly about the driver- where he was from, where his family lives, etc.  We stopped for lunch in a quant little restaurant in Ouaga 2000 that the driver knew of.  Then off to Josh’s village.  After the first hour and a half that road stops being paved.  Around this point I started to worry- I was going to a new village.  I wouldn’t know anyone.  I’d have to start the integration process all over again.  A completely new language, completely new market, completely new CSPS staff, new kids to annoy me.  What was I doing?  Before I had always been really excited; Josh had made it sound so much better then my old village, and he was already pretty well intergraded.  But now I couldn’t stop thinking about how the last 7 months had been a waste.  The driver stopped at a police checkpoint, and bought us each an orange while stopped.  I didn’t eat it, but the gesture made me feel better.  Soon enough we were in the new village.  I had been there before, for Christmas, and was filled with excitement as we drove up to the house.  My new house.  A handful of kids, my new everyday kids, came to the car to help unload and check out what was going on.  At least there wasn’t 30 of them this time.  We unloaded everything into the courtyard, thanked the driver, and he quickly departed to drive halfway back to Ouaga where he was going to stay the night. 

I looked around to survey the scene.  So this was now home.  It was already 5 and I wanted everything inside before it got dark.  Josh had promised he had cleaned up the house and prepared it for my arrival, but I’m not quite sure what his definition of cleaned-up was.  If it meant put everything in the middle of the floor, then yes, he had done it.  The house was a mess (to his credit, it had rained since he had left and rain always makes sand and dirt fall into the house).  First things first, everything had to be swept and dusted.  I was not bringing my things into a dirty house.  Next all the furniture had to be properly arranged.  At this point we were both tired.  Josh was blindsided- he had expected to come home and have a nice quite evening, our first night in our first home.  Upon my suggestion, we sat down outside and ate the oranges the driver had given us while watching the sky turn colors at dusk.  We both needed a break and to regroup.  I don’t know why, but for whatever reason that was the best tasting orange I’ve ever eaten.  Very sweet, yet tangy and delicious.  Unlike any other orange I’ve ever seen in Burkina.  Then back to moving in.  We got everything inside- my extra stuff (mattress, stove) in the outside room we call the shed, my clothes and such in the bedroom, my food and cooking supplies in the kitchen- and unpacked what needed to be unpacked that night.  The rest could wait until the morning.  I made a soup mix from a care package for dinner, something easy, and we ate it outside under the starts.  Took turns bucket bathing, then crashed into bed, exhausted.  

I was pretty much completely unpacked, everything re-organized and re-arranged in the entire house, by noon the next day.  Poor Josh- I came in and took over like a hurricane, he didn’t know what hit him.  We spent the next week adjusting to married life.  I met the chef and the CSPS staff.  He took me to all the nearby  markets; there was now a marche within biking distance everyday of the week.  We checked out all the little boutiques so I knew where to get things- I can now buy more the just spaghetti and tomato paste in village!  Much, much more!  Any day of the week!  He took me to some of the satellite villages and showed me around.  We even went to a general assembly meeting at the CSPS where I met the CoGes (CSPS board members), Community health agents, and village midwives- something I never did in the 7 months living in my old village.  We even set up a Bissa tutor and started lessons, and bought 2 pigeons, which were dinner after a couple of days.   All in all, it was a smooth transition.   

  Dinner!                              

March 12th, 2011- The Wedding

Woke up like any other day, just another unbearably hot morning in Ouaga.  Only it wasn’t a normal day at all.  This day was my wedding day.  I took a shower and shaved, threw on some clothes, and briskly walked to the message salon.  Josh had booked us both a 30 minute massage and a manicure and pedicure, which I insisted we both get since this country destroys your feet, at 9 am.  We got there at 5 till, no one was there.  That’s okay, we’re early.  5 minutes passes and no one shows up.  It’s only 9 am and people are already fleeing to shade from the unforgiving sun.  There is no awning in front of the salon so we seek refuge under a nearby tree.  10 minutes pass, 15, 20.  Finally at 9:30 Josh calls the number he used to make the reservation.  “Je arrive” the women tells him. 

Finally 10 minutes later a young women arrives and lets us into the little salon; one room with a curtain that divides the massage table from the sofa area, which acts as a waiting area.  She turns on the air and we’re just glad to be out of the heat.  She works alone; so much for getting our massages and all at the same time.  I go first.  The massage is good, relaxing, but really more of a full-body rub-down.  Next, Josh was up.  As someone who doesn’t have a wonderful masseuse for a sister, and had never gotten a massage before, he described it as “disappointing”.  At this point it was getting close to 11, but I was still really hoping for that manicure and pedicure- my hands and feet were in sad shape.  As the lady was cleaning up after Josh I asked if it was still possible to get the mani-pedi.  She seem a little confused, but it was possible, and she put water on the stove for the footbath.  I guess the reservation system didn’t quite work for this lady and her manicure, pedicure, and massage salon.  There wasn’t enough time for both of us to get one, but Josh wasn’t too disappointed.  Things started off well; she put both my hands and feet to soak.  Then she pumiced my feet and gave ‘em a good scrub- then she pumiced, and filed, them again about 5 times with 5 different stones and files- and slapped on a foot cream.  All done.  Alright, that was unlike any pedicure I’ve ever gotten, but at least my feet were really clean.  Then she did the same exact thing to my hands, literally pumicing and filing them over and over.  Maybe here their hands get excessively calloused?  She seemed very concerned by how pruney my hands got from soaking for so long and didn’t seem to understand what caused it, She apologized over and over.  Do African hands not prune in water?  I walked out close to noon with very clean hands and feet, and perplexed on how a manicure and pedicure can not include touching the nails at all. 

I rinsed off the oils and did a quick shave again, then gathered all my things and ran to the Rooney house.  While Dan, the SED APCD, was in the US, his wife had offered me her house to get dressed at.  Lauren, my witness, joined me.  After a quick, homemade Lunch we got to it.  A hot shower (where I shaved for the 3rd time that day) and then I got to use a real hair dryer!  (Oh, the luxuries of being a real expat!)  Lauren did an impressive job with my hair and helped me get ready and Mrs. Rooney was wonderful. 

         We ran a bit late and rushed off to the mayors office.  Thierry, the training manager, picked us up in his nice SUV, while Dr. Claude, the HE APCD, picked up Josh and Shannon, his witness, from the transit house.  Once at the Maire Central we briefly waited in a blue waiting room until everything was ready.  From there, everything is a blur.  Dr. Claude acted as Josh’s mom and walked him down the isle, then Thierry walked with me, and Josh and I took our seats at a long table on a platform in the front of the room, along with our 2 witnesses.  We awkwardly waited a few minutes, a ball of nerves, not knowing what was really going on.  Finally Simon Compaore, the mayor of Ouaga and the presidents little brother, came in and took his place in front of us.         First he read over all our personal information (name, place of resident, parents, etc) and asked if 1)we were present and 2) if the information was correct, witnesses included.  Then he read us the marriage laws for Burkina, which were all in French and I was to nervous to be attentive.  Next was the “I dos”, which was him asking us a question, in French, and us saying “Oui” into the microphone. (How do you normally say it in French?)  Then a kiss for the crowd.  As we sat back down he put his hand over his mic and asked, in English, if we had rings, which we had.  Usually you do that before the kiss; how were we to know?  So we put the rings on each other and kissed again. Then everyone signed the paperwork and he presented me with our copies and a “Livret de Famille”, family health book, with instructions to start having lots of babies. To wrap things up he gave us a short speech in English, where he thanked us for volunteering in his country and making it a better place, and told us we were the first American couple he has ever married, followed by giving us the Burkina Faso medal of honor! 

        We Thanked him and shook hands with all who was there.  As we walked out of the building the Bureau threw confetti for us and we took lots of pictures.  Dr. Claude surprised us with a decorated car to take us to the reception, which was at the Jardin de l’Amitie.  The Jardin was way more decorated then I had expected, and our small little reception turned into the normal wedding fair.  The food was delicious and came in many rounds.  Country Director Shannon surprised us with champagne and a beautiful wedding cake, as well as giving a wonderful speech.  After everyone was well feed and thirst quenched, the girls insisted I threw the bouquet, which our witness Shannon caught.  To end the festivities we were asked to first dance to an American song, which was a typical song from the 80’s which I’ve heard several times before but didn’t actually know, and then dance to a Burkina song, which we had no idea how to dance to.  Thankfully some bureau friends helped us and everyone joined in. 

The Party

A week earlier I had received a text from Katie, “Come to [our district capitol] on the 9th.  No questions.”  With no other details, a failed attempt to meet Katie on the road, and a dead phone battery I wasn’t sure when or where I was suppose to be, so I was very glad to run into Lauren as I was walking out of the Post.  As we attached our packages to our bikes she says, “So… how long has your phone been dead?”, with an intriguing smile.

“Since yesterday.  Why? Is there something I should know?” I asked wearily. 

“Well, we’re on standfast…”

Standfast is the Peace Corps’ first step in the emergency action plan; it means is that we’re not permitted to move/travel from wherever we are and we need to report our whereabouts to the office and be ready to act incase of an emergency.  For all elections or major planed protests and whatnot, we’re put on standfast; it’s more of a precautionary measure then anything, in most circumstances.    

Lauren and I biked to Emily’s house, where Emily and Katie are waiting for us.  Luckily Katie, Lauren, and I didn’t find out about the standfast until we were already in the district capitol, some of our other friends didn’t make it in.  We briefly talked about the standfast and why we were put on it, the recent protests had escalated some, but the gravity of the situation and what it meant for me didn’t hit me for sometime later.  We went on with the plan for the night and the party began. 

The girls gathered around me, “As I’m sure you’ve guessed, this is your bachelorette party” Emily said.  The party was to have 3 stages, the first was spa treatment.  We made a milk face mask, foot bath, and did hair masks.  Filed our nails and feet.  All the pampering our limited means could lend us.  The conversation was the typical conversations had by 4 girls who haven’t seen another English speaker for over a week, supplemented by the gossip from a People Magazine. 

Emily made us dinner-Mac ‘n Cheese made from a brick of Velveeta Katie had received- a special treat for all of us.  Just as we were finishing up dinner Josh called; it was at this point where I realized what the standfast meant for us- we could not take transport to Ouaga in the morning as planned.  This effected him more then me at this point, since his car left at 5 am and mine not until 7.  Still, neither of us could leave the villages we were currently in.  It took a little convincing to get Josh to agree NOT to take the 5 am car, since there were only 4 cars to Ouaga and 3 of them left before 8 a.m., but we made a back up plan- we’d call the Bureau starting at 7:30 a.m. and hopefully he could get on the 8 a.m. car and I’d take 10 and we’d both get there around noon.  Now that that was settled I went back to the party. 

Stage 2 was a board game Emily created, roll the dice and go so many spaces and answer the question.  Some questions were personal (what was your first kiss), some were trivia questions about Josh (what was his childhood security item? (answer: a stuffed rabbit named Bunny)) and some were just silly challenges.  The second spot to the end was “Eat some Cock,” and when I got here Emily pulled out a cake she had made in the shape of cock and balls.  It was made out of banana muffin mix and homemade frosting, and was surprisingly delicious.  Guess there has to be a little dirty humor at a bachelorette party.  Overall I was very impressed with the creativity.  The game took several hours to finish, but in the end I won. Not sure if it was rigged that way or not, but still fun.

 

Stage 3 was a dance party.  A Lady Gaga dance party to be more specific.  There is no hiding that I LOVE Lady Gaga (her beats are catchy and perfect for dancing, there is no denying it).  We were all tried, as it was already around 1 a.m., several hours past our village bedtime, and none of us were as drunk as you would expect for a bachelorette party.  In fact, I don’t think any of us were drunk at all, despite the 4 bottles of Champaign.  But they insisted on a dance party, albeit short, and after a few songs we all crashed into bed. 

 

I woke at 7:15 to my phone ringing.  Josh and I immediately started to get ahold of someone at the Bureau who could tell us if we could come to Ouaga today.  2 days before the wedding and we still had a lot of errands to run beforehand.  Finally just after 8, Josh got ahold the the Safety and Security officer- he told us we had to get permission from the country director herself.  She was in a meeting and would call us as soon as she could, until then we had no choice but to sit tight.  So the party continued on into the morning after.  The 4 of us girls drank tea and coffee, ate omelet sandwiches, and perused the latest magazines we had got in the mail, all anxiously awaiting news from the bureau.  Finally, just after 11 a.m., Josh called.  He had talked to the Country Director- Josh and I, and our 2 witnesses, could come to Ouaga today, but we had to take the next possible car and leave right away.  The first possible car for Josh, and only other car leaving that day, was at 2 p.m., and his witness (and neighbor) wasn’t planning on leaving until tomorrow.  Josh frantically tried to call her, she has poor cell phone service, and prepared to bike to her village to get her.  Thankfully he caught her by phone and she was able to catch their car, 10 minutes before it left. 

As for me, luckily Lauren was my witness and she was already with me and ready to go.  Our bus also left at 2 from the village we were already in.  We waited with Emily and Katie; took naps, read magazines, and played with the tattoo mustaches someone had sent Katie. Finally we all went to the bus station and Katie and Emily saw us off.  Took my favorite bus, KGB, out of the Centre-Ouest for the last time.  

Wednesday, March 9th- My last day in Village

I woke up this morning and did my normal morning routine, only after each step I packed it up.  Brush my teeth, pack the tooth brush.  Wash my face, pack the face wash.  You get the idea.

  My morning wash station. 

After breakfast I walked to the CSPS and was greeted by a very joyful nurse.  She insisted I follow her around as she did her “work”.  I sat in as she did a few consultations and then she got up and declared she was going to the maternity to help the midwife with CPNs (Pre-natal consults) .  I was confused by this; it was Wednesday and we’d only ever done CPNs on Mondays.   Since I’m virtually useless during CPNs (I can only weigh the women, and even then I seem to mess it up) I thought I would go say hello to Roger at the pharmacy.  Once the nurse realized I wasn’t following her like a lap dog, she called me over and insisted I come to the maternity with her.

There were only a few women there and not much to do.  She asked me to take their tension and Sylvie, the midwife, right away piped in that I can’t do that, in her smite way, before taking the next women into the exam room.  “You don’t know how to take blood pressure?”  the nurse seemed shocked.  Nope, I’m not a doctor.  She told me how easy it was and said she would teach me.  She talked me through it as she did it on a women, but her explanation was lacking and I still didn’t understand how to do the counting bit.  Plus the final numbers they come up with are nothing like what I hear in the states (apparently they drop the first number?).  It was my last day in village and I didn’t feel like getting a lesson on how useless I was.  Thankfully there were only 3 women there and we were soon done with our work at the maternity. 

She had me follow her back to the clinic and into the consultation room, where there were no patients to see.  She sat down at the desk and wanted to chat.  She asked for all the details about the wedding, and then told me she couldn’t come.  She had been talking about coming to the wedding all week, so I was surprised to hear this.  She had just found out that the national meningitis campaign, where they go house to house, was that week and the Major would not give her the afternoon off to come to the wedding.  After our short conversation she leaned back in her chair and fell fast asleep.  I didn’t know what else to do and not wanting to wake her, for fear she’s want me to “assist” her for something else, so I sat there as she slept.  About 20 minutes later a young man came to the doorway and clapped (the Burkinabe knock).  She did not wake up.  He looked at me and I shrugged.  He clapped again louder.  This time she raised her head.  “When your work is finished, the Major wants you at the maternity”, there was to be a meeting with all the health agents to prep for the meningitis outings.  She said okay, then as soon as he left she put her head down on the desk and fell back asleep. 

10 minutes later one of the Community Health Agents came into the room, “we’re waiting on you for the meeting”.  “I’m working” the nurse replied.  The agent laughed and said something I didn’t understand.  “I’m coming” she said.  After she left the nurse again closed her eyes.  5 minutes later the same lady came up to the open window and said something I, again, didn’t understand, but I hope it was along the lines of “seriously, come for this meeting”.  The nurse took a few minutes to compose herself before walking over to the maternity.  I ducked into the pharmacy to talk to Roger before she could tell me to come with her.   

Conversation with Roger was pleasant.  I asked if he was coming to the wedding and he told me no, he was too villageois to come.  We proceeded to have a conversation about nothing in particular, where he informed me that the United States had 52 states.  When I said there were only 50 states he pulled out a Burkina news paper, which had printed in an article about immigration in Arizona that there were 51 US states.  Interesting.  Soon it got to be 11, then 11:30, and I started to anxiously watch the maternity for the meeting to end- I wanted to say goodbye to the Major. Despite being my counterpart, I had barely spoken 2 words to him in the last week since he was so absent.  Finally at noon Roger told me not to wait any longer, I had things to do and I should go home.  He’d tell the Major I wanted to talk to him and hopefully I could catch him on my way out of village that afternoon.  I lingered a bit, to show I gave it my best effort, then hurried home to finish packing. 

I made an easy lunch and then cleaned and packed up my kitchen.  Most of my house was already packed, just last minute stuff and cleaning.  One of the neighbor boys wandered over, one of the Chef’s sons, to see what I was up too.  Typical, he’s a usual, but he usually comes in a pack.  As I cleaned up I gave him a bag of plastic bags, which he seemed excited about.  He then preceded to fall asleep in the chair I had moved outside while I swept, still clutching his bag of bags. 

After a little while a little girl came by and saw Cadero asleep.  She checked to see how asleep he was, then grabbed his bag of bags and ran away.  A few minutes later Cadero’s bigger sister, Angina, came to claim him and take him home. 

After I was all packed up I piled all my belongings in the corner of the big room, ready to be packed into the Peace Corps car on the following Monday. 

  

This drew the attention of the neighbor kids.  They watched me for a moment and then sent Angina to me, knowing she is my favorite, coaching her on what to say, “Vous etes partir?” Not quite right, but I understood.  “Oui, Je pars”  Instead of being sad like one might expect (or hope) the kids seemed excited and ran around asking me for anything I still had out.  I gave away old magazines and all the boxes and bottles I had empty and they ran home with their “goodies”.  Just before 3 p.m. Roger stopped by to say goodbye and give me the 500CFA I had loaned him when he didn’t have change at the pharmacy.  He truly is a good guy.  He knew I needed to leave at 3.  He informed me that the Major had just left for one of the satellite villages, but he would tell him Goodbye for me. 

As I loaded up my bike and closed up my house I was bombarded by a few of the usual kids.  They asked for candy, and since I had it and was leaving I gave them some.  Then they wanted me to take photos. 

     

Finally at 3:20 I got on my bike and headed out of village.  I was already 5 minutes late for meeting Katie, my PCV neighbor, on the road and I still had to bike 4Km to meet her.  Just as I was passing the CSPS I ran into Roger.  He told me the Major had just returned, but if I was already late it was okay for me to just continue on, he said with a wink.  Sorry, I’m already late.  He gave me a warm goodbye and wished me a good marriage, and I continued on, biking out of village for the last time.