Pictures!

My little brother in my hat.



The French teachers staying with us and my host sisters.



My room in Toma.



My host sisters and brother!




It's a bit hard to upload pictures here so these will have to do. I will get some more up and some more posts next time I have the internet (in a month or so). Until then take care!

Moving In

August 27th, 2009

After a much needed night of sleep I spent today dusting, scrubbing, sweeping and cleaning. My room had collected a large amount of dust in everything from several months of vacancy I was determined to get it as clean as possible before starting to get it dirty again! I started by cleaning out all the furniture which consisted of a closet and a table with a draw which was inhabited by a lizard of some sort. I dusted the surfaces that I could find and swept the floor. One room down one to go! Next was the bathroom. I had bought some Ajax in Ouaga for exactly this purpose and set to work with a brush, cleaning the layers of grime off of the once white tiling. It made a big different. Next I did what I could for the toilet and sink with some success, but still not “clean”. And then I was done for the day. Time to go use that internet that I’d been looking forward to!

My computer lab is just a short walk away from my house and is connected to the cyber. I went to ask one of the frères what I needed to do to use the internet. And so the bad news began.

“The internet isn’t working today.”

“Oh,” I said remembering the many times the internet in all of Oahigouya would cut out for days at a time, “how long has it been down?”

“About a month”

“Oh” I said, a bit more worried now, this didn’t seem like your small breakdown in service, “when will it be up again?”

“I don’t know,” was the response followed by a description that included such words as the government, 1,000,000 CFA, payment, and company.

I later found out that not only was the internet at CAFT out, but it had been the only source for internet in a 45km radius. And all my dreams of being in touch with the world went out the window. There would be no Skype and no email. I wouldn’t have access to US or world news. I couldn’t depend on Google and Wikipedia to answer all my random questions about the world. I was cut off, isolated, and more so than I had ever prepared myself for.

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Update: There is hope that the problem will be resolved. From what I can tell the ministry of education of Burkina was paying to keep that connection up as part of a country wide program to provide internet access. Apparently every year the connection gets cut for a certain period of time, but it should be back up sometime in the first half of next year.

Until then if you want to get in touch with me you can send me a letter at:

Bovard Tiberi
s/c Frères du Sacré-Cœur
Province de Nayala, Toma
BP 166, Burkina Faso

Or if you feel like searching around on the internet for a while for a good calling card to Burkina (you can get about 30 minutes around $5) you can give me a call at 226 (country code) 75273642 (phone number).

I would love to hear from you!

Ride to Site

August 26th, 2009

“Beep, Beep, Beep” My morning had begun with the sounding of my phone alarm and, quite to my surprise given the activities of the previous evening, I didn’t even snooze the alarm. After the swear in ceremony the previous evening we went out on the town, stopping at a restaurant for dinner and drinks with the largest group of Peace Corps volunteers that I had ever seen then continuing to an empty dance club where we danced the night, and most of the early morning, away. And now as the jeep lurched and bumped its way down the highway I was really paying the price.

In our jeep rode three other volunteers which we would be dropping off today. I was the last stop along the way. Chris was first. Like me, he is a SE-IT (Secondary Education – Information Technologies) volunteer. Chris has a degree in English Literature and has spent the last few years doing web-based programming in a small company that was being slowly run into the ground. His site is Yako, just a short 90km or so from Ouaga and on the paved road, which makes transport easy. Tyler and Jessi are next, a married SE and GEE respectively they are the closest volunteers to me from my stage, living just 45km to the north in a town called Tougan. Jessi and Tyler met in college and married just after graduation, spending the last year trying to get into Peace Corps in a country that spoke Spanish as they both spoke it. Unfortunately for them and fortunately for all of us here, they weren’t able to find a timely placement and so decided to start completely over and learn French!

The ride was a long one, juxtaposed with abrupt goodbyes as first Chris, then Jessi and Tyler were dropped off. And then it was my turn. We pulled up to CAFT as the last rays of light were fading from the sky. The driver, Issouf, was supposed to make another 100km that day to meet up with the next group of volunteers he was ferrying to site and was a bit flustered at running late. Things had not gone as planned. As we hastily unpacked my belongings from the jeep, my bike, two trunks for storing valuables, two duffle bags and two backpacks, a sense of excitement and loss came over me. Training (or stage) was over and now it was time to start all over again. And with a last wave, the red white and blue Peace Corps logo on the back of the jeep was gone. And I was alone.

Swear In

August 25th, 2009

We sat in the first two rows, under the reaches of the branches from the several large trees in the courtyard, their branches and leaves outlined against the night sky. Surrounding us in the US embassy courtyard were hundreds of people. Host family parents, trainers, Peace Corps staff and admin, other volunteers and embassy officials made up most of the crowd. Tonight was the night that we had been working toward for the last three months, tonight was the night that we would officially become Peace Corps volunteers and officially start our two years of service.

Several of our group had given speeches in as many different languages, French, Jula, Moore, Fulfude, and others but now the speaker was the top-ranking embassy official, who was speaking to us in perfect French. Near the end of the speech he switched to English and addressed us directly. He said that there were many reasons why were where all here but that found in each of us was a form of idealism. I think he was right. Then it was time.

“I, Bovard Tiberi, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States of America against all enemies, domestic and foreign, that I take this obligation freely, and without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion, and that I will well and faithfully discharge my duties in the Peace Corps, so help me God.”


And with that officially began my life for the next two years as a Peace Corps volunteer.

By the Pool

August 23rd, 2009

I felt like I was back in the states. The blue water of the swimming pool caught the strong rays from the sun, causing the surface to shimmer. Surrounding us where several multi-story buildings, blocking out the noise and smells of the street. On one wall was painted a mural of an African landscape – hippopotamuses, giraffes, elephants and oddly painted birds played in the sun. And in the middle of all of this we sat at one of the white poolside furniture sets, looking at the bounty set before us.

We were in Ouagadougou, or for short Ouaga (pronounced “wa-ga”), hanging out for a few days before swear in. We had some last few sessions going over the condensed rule book given to each of us and stocking up on some last minute medical supplies but besides that we were free to spend time together in what will be the last time we are all together until our COS events at the end of our service. In just a few days time we would all hop on a bus or Peace Corps car and leave for our sites. The image of the Peace Corps car leaving us and all of our stuff behind was something that we were all a little worried about and trying not to think about for the next few days.

Leslie had splurged and bought a meal that she would have had almost every day during her time in Italy - a decent bottle of red wine, high-quality, packaged European crackers, a generous cut of delicious looking brie cheese, and a bar of Swiss chocolate. She had been generous enough to share a little with me. I like food, and I appreciate good food, but never have I been so transformed or perhaps dislocated by the taste of food. I was back in the United States, hanging out by the pool with good friends. And that was a wonderful feeling.

The next few days were spent eating some amazing and expensive (by Burkina standards) American-style food, hanging out by the pool, relaxing and enjoying the end of a very successful stage (32 trainees were due to be sworn in out of the 32 that had arrived).

A last look at my room

August 19, 2009

I turn the skeleton key in the lock for one of the last times as I open the door to my room. I can’t believe that it is almost over. I open the door, looking thoroughly over my room for the last time. It’s dirty. A thin layer of dirt covers the floor, a combination of dirt tracked in by my sandals, blown in by the wind and fallen from the ceiling. Every so often during stage I motivated myself to sweep it all out, but I hadn’t done so in about a week.

In the center of my room is my bed, an old metal frame which creaks and groans with my every move. A lone sheet lies on top of my mattress which is covered by my completely oversized green mosquito net supported by four pieces of wood attached to the legs. For some reason, the higher-ups decided to give us all mosquito nets that would easily fit over a king sized bed. Needless to say there is a lot of net when used on a twin.

On the left wall leans my makeshift closet, a precarious construction made of nails and pieces of wood dragged into my room from our courtyard. It consisted of two upright large dead trees, one leaned into the corner, and the other carefully balanced against the wall. Into these two pieces is nailed several different sizes and shapes of nails, onto which I have somehow managed to mount two branches, running parallel to the floor. These branches now hold my towel, shirts and pants and also serve as a drying wrack for the times when the rain decides to arrive just after I finish washing my cloths. I often wondered if having this hastily constructed mess in my room was such a good idea, as the slightest wrong tug would pull the whole structure down on my head. It probably wasn’t, but I made it without incident!

On the floor rests a yellow and green fluorescent looking metal chest, which has held my most valuable belongings for the last three months: electronics, money and letters. The top is cluttered with some dirty cloths and random papers from class. It’s a good chest, but it will be staying here, picked up by the PC for use in the next stage.

The only other pieces of furniture in the room are a table and a chair. The chair has had the honor of holding my backpack since I discovered the small lake that appears on my floor when it rains. The table contains everything else that I have brought home. Books, medical supplies, water filter, bike helmet, anything that I had pulled out of my two duffle bags which are tucked away safely at ECLA.

Packing this all up is going to be a chore.

Excision

August 13th, 2009

We gather under the hanger at ECLA as the last rays of light fade from the sky. This is one of the few times that all thirty-two of us get to be together as evident by the excited air of conversation that fills the air. Tonight we have a guest speaker coming in to talk about excision or female genital mutilation. I feel like the label of excision gives it some sort of cover or legitimacy. I’m not quite sure why they have decided to use it.

The speakers are two men from an agency that has been educating people about excision for several years now. First they spoke of its history. Excision was practiced on practically everyone born before 1985 though government efforts to stop the practice began a few years before that. Since then the government hopes that there has been a decline, and has evidence that there has been a decline in the cities. The villages though are both hard to collect data from and difficult to educate.

Then they gave us some of the reasons that they have heard from people defending the practice. Some reasons where religious, some sexual, and some superstitious. The two men said that this all boiled down to the fact that people are not very educated about the subject.

Then they brought out the models. The first was what a healthy normal women looks like. The next were absolutely shocking. I’ve heard about excision, I’ve read about excision, but nothing had prepared me to see, even in model form, the horrific mutilation and terrible side effects caused by excision. It was unfathomable to me what could posses someone to allow that to be done to their child, for someone to want that to be done to their child.

It comforted me to realize that this is part of the reason we are here. Directly confronting communities and engaging them in a discourse about excision falls more in the area of the GEE sector, but there are things I can do as well. And I certainly intend to.

Bucket Baths

August 11th, 2009

“Splash” the plastic bucket impacts the surface of the water as I grab the rope. It’s always a struggle for me to get the large plastic bucket to fill with water, but after several more splashes, I get it to fall on its side. After the water has filled the bucket I start to pull the bucket to the surface. It takes a little longer than usual today which isn’t surprising given that we have not had rain for several days now. I squeeze the bucket through the opening in the top of the well and recover the opening. I’m not sure if the wooden plank I place across the small opening is to keep things out of the well or to keep what is growing down there from getting out. And there are a lot of things growing down there.

I glance into my bucket and shivers run down my spine as I watch the hundreds of small worms wriggle in the clear water. I only recognize the mosquito larva the rest I only can guess at, though I prefer not to. I place the dirty sheet that we use as a filter over my bucket and slowly pour the water through it. As the last drops fall through the cloth the former residents of the water go into a frenzy, desperately trying to wriggle their way into some sort of water. I make sure they do not succeed.

I grab my soap and towel and make my way to the stall that serves as the shower, careful not to spill water all over me on the way there. With my free hand I move the piece of roof that serves as a door and squeeze my way in, letting the roof slam back down on the wall. As I place the bucket down the smell of sewage wafts up from the drain. The latrine is directly next to the shower. It took a while to get used to the smell while taking a shower but now it doesn’t bother me – as much.

I pour the first cup of water over my head, making sure to not get any close to my eyes or mouth. I only trust that the water is clean enough to wash away the dust that has caked my skin over the day. The cool water feels good after the heat of the day. It seems the no matter how careful I am here I end the day hot, sweaty, and dirty.

I finish much cleaner than I started, but still feeling slightly gross.