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I got to learn how to make pottery! My friend knows a lady who makes clay jars, so I went over to her house one morning and she taught me how to do it. It makes a lot of sense when you see it. There are these rounded basins in the ground, in all different sizes, and you put the clay in a basin and pound it with a smooth rock until it's thin and pottery-like. Then you sort of stand it on end and add more clay in the basin, and pound that out. So eventually you get a jar shape, and you can cut holes in the sides if it's going to be a water dish for chickens or you can add a neck if it's going to be for holding drinking water, then you let it dry before baking it. I made two: one for chickens/my cat, and one for cooling my water.












Because these pots are the most beautiful invention ever, and I'll tell you why. I even taught this in physics, that's how cool it is. The walls of a cannari (I have no idea how to spell it, or even what language it is- it means clay pot) are very porous, so the water that you put inside can evaporate through the walls. And since that process requires energy, it takes the necessary energy in form of heat from the water inside the jar, making the water that remains significantly cooler. So, on a hot afternoon, when all the water in my house is at room temperature (invariably higher than my body temperature) I can drink beautifully cool water from my cannari. And you can call me a nerd for loving this concept, but only after you drink hot water all day every day for a month or two.

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I'm alive! I'm pretty sure a dead person wouldn't sweat this much. Sorry about the lack of blogging- since my Taiwanese friends left I haven't had much access to internet. So... exciting life events:

Water faucet news: They put in eight of them in a row next to the school, for all the students who came for the conference, then the day after the conference they took ALL of them out. Which just seems spiteful to me- I mean, the work was already done. It was more work for them to take them out again. Fortunately the principal managed to get them to put one back in, so I now have a water faucet I can see from my house! I walk my bike over to it with my bidons (water jugs) and then put them on my bike one at a time to walk back to my house. SO much easier. And yes, there has been a marked improvement in my garden's health as well as in my hygiene level .

NEW!! PHOTO: The view from my house- the faucet is by the woman in the burqa


Also: I met the president. My closest neighbor Dylan came down to Bagre in the hopes of seeing Blaise, and what a success! We were at the fish farm Sunday morning just to hang out, since Eddie (from Taiwan) invited us, when Blaise made a surprise visit. So we were in grungy clothes (Dylan was even wearing shorts- shocking!) and I hadn't showered in two days, so I think we made a pretty good impression. Maybe it was true to the spirit of Peace Corps? Minus the cultural appropriateness part. But it was kind of cool (for my true feelings on the political situation in Burkina, give me a call) in a historical sense at least and we got to shake Blaise's hand. Here's a picture of the visit!



Basically, that was the weirdest day ever, topped off by Eddie giving us squid to use for dinner (he was leaving the next day, so he was cleaning out his freezer.) So for dinner that night I thawed and cooked up some Szechuan squid, learning how Not to cut up a squid in the process. Getting inked by a squid in a village in Burkina Faso the day I met the president was just one of those moments, you know?

thanks, Blaise!!

I'm in Ouaga (again), for another meeting/training session, and there's not a lot to tell about my life this month. But something noteworthy is happening in Bagre: the president of Burkina, Blaise Compaore, is coming to my village! There's a youth conference there this week, with something like fifteen thousand "jeunes" coming to check out the eco-tourism center, the fish farm, the rice irrigation system, etc, and have sessions on agro-business. They'll be staying at every single public facility in the region, including my school, so no classes this week.

And Bagre has gone Insane. A helicopter flew over my house the other day. (This is in an area where there aren't even jet trails in the sky, because there are no airplanes.) There have been trucks constantly driving by, dozens every day. They've repaired the road, shipped in dirt to fill the potholes, electrified the final building at the lycee, installed power fixtures and run wires at my school (they're using a generator for this week, then maybe next year we'll get permanent electricity), and. The most exciting thing of all. This isn't completely certain- as I'm not there, I don't know. But I think I'm getting... a water faucet outside my courtyard.

This does not seem like an exciting thing. I'm aware of that. And it's not in my house, or even in my courtyard. But what I usually have to do is bike half a kilometer to the nearest pump, fill a bidon (water jug) with water, then attach it to my bike and bring it back to my house. Which isn't the most inconvenient thing in the world, but since it's the only way to get all of the water I use it makes me hate to do laundry, or water my garden, or wash my dishes. So if I get a robinet (water faucet) just outside my courtyard, I'm going to be just about the happiest kid in the world. Or, I guess, the kids in my neighborhood who have to get all the water for their families every day will be the happiest kids in the world. But I will be happy. It looked like they had started digging the trench for the pipes before I left, so I'm hopeful. I vow that if I have easier access to water I will wash my dishes at least once a week.

travelrama!

So, Christmas! Was wonderful. If I couldn't be home for christmas, this was the absolute next best thing. I went to my lovely, dear friend Leah's house (with a number of other volunteers and some of her village friends) for the holiday, in Orodara, which is really far southwest in the country. We had a traditional... Ukranian? Christmas eve meal, which was really meaningful and it was nice to celebrate with her family traditions. And we went caroling around her neighborhood (some of us very reluctantly, but it turned out to be really cute and fun,)and did stockings, and a white elephant gift exchange (Yankee swap!) Then, in a Christmas miracle, we had pizza and salad for our Christmas day lunch.



After Christmas, seven of us went on a bike tour of the area as our winter break vacation. We biked to Banfora, where there are waterfalls and "the domes," which are very cool natural rock formations. Okay. Honestly, Burkina's not the most beautiful country. It's not lush, it's not mountainous, it's not along the water. Like, it's the Sahel. It's kind of scrubby and dusty. But the southwest region of the country is more tropical than the rest, and the difference between the Orodara-Banfora area and my site was pretty remarkable. There were trees everywhere, tall trees, that made it feel forested. There were also rice fields (okay, I have those) and sugar cane fields and tons of fruit trees. It was a seriously beautiful bike trip. I'm really glad I got to experience a much different Burkina than I'm used to. Except for the fact that we camped out a lot, and I about froze to death. Not used to that.



And the last super-exciting and potentially life-threatening activity of our trip was the visit to the hippo lake! I believe I mentioned this. Well, we (seven of us and two guides) went out in a charming, small, slightly leaky wooden canoe onto a lake (Tangrila, like Shangri-la) in which there were a number of alleged hippos. As we approached the area where they were supposed to be, one of the guides started knocking the side of the boat with the wooden paddle, making a lovely resonant thudding noise, to scare the hippos out of the water.
I wish typing could convey the tone of my voice right now. I'm trying to express some intense horror and "this is a terrible, terrible idea"-ness regarding this idea. Let's try again. They were hitting the side of the boat, to scare. the hippos. really dangerous hippos. out of the water. so they would come up and look at us. When there were five hippos (including a mother and baby) with their heads out of the water, STARING AT US, I got slightly nervous. One of those moments where you joke to everybody about what a bad idea it is, and how cool it would be to be killed by hippos, but also kind of thinking that it could potentially really happen and that you're in the middle of a really stupid life choice. But it turned out perfectly fine, and very cool, and we saw hippos and got waterlily crowns and had a lovely time overall. I took pictures, but the hippos are mostly underwater.

and... hippo!

bonne fete!

Happy Christmas and holidays and New Years! I just got back from travelling around the southwest of Burkina, where a few other volunteers and I biked from Orodara to Banfora, then biked to the waterfalls and the domes and the lake with HIPPOS (we almost died. Not really, but we were, like, extremely close to these hippos. In a half-flooded wooden canoe. It was pretty excellent.) And now I'm in Ouaga for New Years, then I'll be coming back up here for in-service training next week, so I'll probably be overloading on the internet. So this is just an "I'm alive, and happy holidays" post for now!

happy anniversary

(the Chief of Koupela being carried back to his courtyard after the horse race)

Saturday marked my stage's six-month anniversary of being in Burkina, and I got to spend it feeling very culturally adventurous at the annual festival for the chief of Koupela. My Prefet invited me, since he's from a village just next to Koupela. He also had a wedding to go to, so he left me in the care of the chief's brother and sister to get a tour of the compound and festivities.


The festival is held every December, on whatever Saturday coincides with the big market of Koupela, and lasts for about three days. There's traditional dancing, demonstrations, parades, horse races, and lots of eating and drinking. We were there for only the very beginning of the fete but I still got to see some very cool things. The sister showed me around their family's compound, the graves of her father and grandfather (the previous chiefs- there was also a ceremony unveiling a statue of the grandfather in the center of town that morning,) and explained things I would never have known otherwise. (Example: we walked by a pile of feathers on the ground and she steered us around the spot because that's where they performed the chicken sacrifice that morning.)


Chiefs (in french it's chef, but that doesn't transfer in english) don't have the same power they used to, but they still have a very important position in society. They're extremely highly respected- in attendance at this celebration were all of the important government and business figures of the region. And the chef still has power to pronounce judgments on certain things and make decisions, it's just subordinate now to the national government. I got to eat at the lunch reception held for the chief and a number of these officials- the old man sitting next to me pointed out who was who, which was very helpful.


So all in all, a completely fascinating day, and at the end of it I got to feel even more legit by bringing home, on the taxi brousse, the two roosters the Prefet's friend gave me as a gift. Happy 6 months to us!!

well, if it works....

Amended: These are two of the taxis in Bagre! Taken just this morning. And the loads on these vans are completely typical- you see at least this much cargo on almost every taxi out there.

The taxi-brousse. Bush taxi. One of the most popular forms of transportation (and one of the most practical) in Burkina, and one that I cannot help but love. Don't get me wrong, they're uncomfortable, unpredictable, unsafe, and unreliable. But I'm kind of a romantic about adventures, and riding in a bush taxi is ALWAYS an adventure.
A bush taxi is generally an old-school commercial 15-passenger van, falling apart at every joint and seam, often brightly painted, with a ladder on the back and a roof rack. I mention the ladder and roof rack because they are a crucial part of the taxi-brousse experience- I'll come to that in a minute. They go on regular routes from villages to towns: for example, from Bagre I can catch a taxi in the morning around 7:30 that will take me to Tenkodogo in a little over an hour, and if I want to I can take the one that continues to Ouagadougou (if I'm prepared for another four-plus hours in the taxi. It's much faster and more comfortable to take a real bus company, but again, I have a soft spot for bush taxis.)
I said the taxis are built for about fifteen passengers, but there's a running contest among Volunteers for who's ridden in a taxi with the most passengers. I think the number to beat is in the thirties. And they're not always exactly IN the bus- there are often men hanging off the ladder in the back or sitting on the roof rack.
Then there's the non-human cargo. Passengers' bikes and motorcycles go on top, along with sacks of rice, bags of fruit and other merchandise. Live animals are also welcome- some of my favorites are whole herds of goats strapped to the roof rack, or crates full of chickens piled up as high as the van again and tied in bunches all along the sides and back of the car (looks kind of like a giant ball of chickens.) And then, there's the experience that prompted this blog post.

It started off as a very typical taxi-brousse ride from Tenkodogo: I was told it would leave at 14:00, I got there about 14:20, and we got going at about 15:30. After hours of sitting and waiting there's some magical signal that tells the driver it's time to get going, but what that signal may be is a complete mystery to me. The taxi is painted green and yellow with falling-apart leather seats that have been moved too close together and side walls that feel like they'll to fall out if you lean on them.
So the taxi got going (with a little push to give it a running start,) and a couple of stops for snacks and new passengers later we made it to just outside of Tenkodogo. Examples of fellow passengers include: big motherly woman in full complet (fancy dress made of pagnes,) younger woman with a baby, and the older man with a greying beard who was sitting next to me wearing a Ronaldinho jersey, grey blazer and a chief's hat. Then the taxi slowed down at the police stop, and the taxi guys called out something in Moore to a man standing by the side of the road. I caught that they asked him where he was going, and when he called something back they laughed, looked at each other, and turned the engine off. That's when I saw he was holding a rope. Attached to a donkey. So the guy sitting in the back row moved up to the next row up (my row,) the taxi guys shifted the back bench forward about a foot, and the donkey went in the back. Thus, fifteen adult passengers, a couple of kids, and a donkey.
Another running push and we had a lovely ride back to Bagre with the sun starting to set in the sky over the fields, a warm breeze flowing through the car, and the donkey kicking behind my seat every time he got anxious. Oh, and a couple of guys hanging off the ladder behind the donkey.

I love taxi brousse rides because there's a good chance you'll have a story to tell at the end of them. Which can go both ways: in a few months I'll probably be telling you that a taxi brousse ride caused the worst day of my life. But I have a strange affinity for car trips in general, they're like a world of their own, like a kind of in-between world. In a taxi brousse I get to view what's become familiar over the past half a year from a different perspective, and I can appreciate again how cool it is to live here. I get to see my new home like a tourist would, but I have the bonus of understanding (better) what it's actually like. It's very thought-provoking. … As indicated by this mile-long blog post. Anyways, bush taxis! I'll try to take some pictures here, they're really really a sight to be seen, not just imagined.