An Evening in Ouahigouya

June 30th, 2009

I’m lying on a bench on the concrete porch outside my house on my back. The cool night air flows over me, giving me some respite from the heat of the day. The bench feels cool, especially in comparison to the dirty hot concrete floor I have just been standing on. I can see the moon above next to the concrete overhang - its full brilliance obscured by the clouds, dust and smoke that seem to permanently reside in the skies above.

Inside, Bernadette, the other boarder at this house, scolds Bulgeisa, the serving girl. Her usually soft and kind voice takes on a sharp tone as she scolds in Moore. I hear the sound of the tables being set. One table will be for Bernadette, Bulgeisa and my two host sisters, Gidoni, 7, and Dorine, 8. Their table is a proper kitchen table with six chairs. The other table is for me, my parents, Jacques and Felicete, and my brother, Faniel, 3. It’s not an arrangement that I hope to keep for the whole three months that I’m here, but at the moment I lack the necessary language skills to say anything else.

Geckoes crawl on the wall behind me, their small feet clinging to the wall so effortlessly, for a moment I feel as though I am hanging upside down, looking down at the floor upon which they crawl. Four of them appear from around the wall in a line, as if waiting for the leader to make sure that the coast is clear before venturing any further themselves. Their large black eyes shine the light of the florescent bulb which is their goal. Or more correctly, the insects and moths that fly haphazardly around the bulb.

Lizards here are very common, so far I’ve managed to identify and find names for three kinds: margouya, geckoes and salamanders. Margouya are by far the most common – when I’m outside they are a constant reminder to me that I am indeed in Africa. Not that I really need a reminder, the constant heat around me is reminder enough. Most of the time when I talk to people in the states it is hard to know where to begin. The heat is usually where I start. The first week here you can hardly stand it, sweating all day and all night. My skin, so used to the dry, clean Montana air, does surprisingly well the transition. Other trainees haven’t faired so well. Cases of heat rash, caused by the clogging of overworked pours, are fairly common, evident by red itchy bumps appearing on the skin. Spiny heat afflicts a few more. I’m told it feels like being stabbed by small needles every time pressure is put on the affected skin. It doesn’t sound fun.

Patience, our dog walks cautiously up to me. I hold out my hand to him, not expecting him to come much closer. To my surprise he does, and allows me to pet him. He is a good dog, but you can tell he has had a rough life. Scars cover his face from fights with neighborhoods dogs. He’s skinny, like everything else around here, despite the fact that he is fed every day. I think a lot of it is the need to have a large surface area to volume ratio to lose heat. He looks at me with his big brown eyes as I pet him, his tail slowly wagging. It took me a while for him to get used the idea of getting petted. Apparently dogs here aren’t petted. I asked Dorine why she liked Patience, she replied that he was a good dog and that he guarded the house. After a couple minutes of petting he has had enough, and curls up on the floor to sleep. I’m never sure if he comes to me for the attention, or the chance that I have food.

Part of the courtyard around me is visible in the all too familiar fluorescent light. This corner of the courtyard is home to the only tree, as well as the ominous hole which marks the opening to the well. The hole looks a little small for me, but seems a perfect fit for my three siblings. They seem weary of it, though the sisters do get water from it almost every day. The rope to the bucket is tied to the tree and looks strong enough to hold their weight. I’m fairly certain I could pull them up if need be.

Dinner is served and it is time for me to go inside.