My phone vibrated in my pocket, pulling it out I saw 'PCCD' was calling. This must be important.
“Hi Shannon.”
“I'm afraid I've got some bad news. Seb passed away last night”
I, like the many other PCVs that received the news that day, was stunned. No one expected this. Seb's return to work two weeks prior had been accompanied by a huge sigh of relief. Our friend was out of the woods. But apparently that wasn't the case.
I fought back tears as I fumbled with my keys to get back into my hut. No. I felt wave after wave of sadness wash over me as memories of Seb floated back to me. No. I thought about his family, and our PCBF family. No. Please, no.
I first had the pleasure of meeting Kiendrebéogo Sebraogo over a year ago. I didn't quite know what an 'APCD' did, but I was pretty sure there was no hope of me correctly pronouncing his name in the near future. He said we could call him Seb.
As I would learn over the next year, Seb was a truly extraordinary individual. This means something different to everyone, but to me it meant that Seb saw us at our worst – the sometimes neurotic, stressed-out, hyper-sensitive beings we all sometimes become in this country – and was there with a helping hand and a big smile. For Seb we were more that just employees, and this really showed in the relationships he developed. He brightened the lives of everyone around him.
Seb's passing really did make the world just a little bit darker. As we're left to pick up the pieces it has been humbling how many people have stepped forward to light up that darkness. I challenge myself and all of you to do a part as well. Be a Seb for someone in their time of need – like he was for us.
Thank you Seb. You've touched many more people than you imagined that you could. I'll do my best to honor your memory.
Goodbye friend, you'll be sorely missed.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Sssss
I cracked another peanut between my index finger and thumb as I watched the status bar creep slowly across the screen. Peanuts are probably my favorite snack food in Burkina – they are (somewhat) healthy and are really easy to find. Plus cracking peanuts is a way to pass the time as I wait for the latest instillation to finish. And I have a lot of installing to do. After an unfortunate hard-drive malady incident, I found myself having to reinstall everything on all of my twenty computers. Good times.
The process had dragged on for the last couple weeks due to an abnormally high amount of power cuts. Watching an install that took several hours die at 90% as the power blinks out is a bit discouraging. Watching it happen several times in one day is extremely frustrating. But at least I was making progress; with about half of the computers done I was starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel.
I stepped out through the door into what was becoming a bright sunny day, not unlike the day before and probably much like the next day. I had amassed quite the peanut shell collection just outside my door and I dutifully added another handful. As they were racing down toward the ground I heard a loud “HIIISSSSSSSSSSSSSS” down next to my sandal-clad right foot. I jumped back about a foot and half and looked down to see a coiled cobra – hood and all – staring at me. I ran.
Once I was what I considered to be a safe ten yards or so away I peered back. It was about a foot and a half long – certainly not among the biggest snakes I’ve seen – but what set this apart from every other snake I’d seen was the its hood. It sat coiled exactly as I’d expect, looking at me and waiting, moving slowly back and forth. As I peeked through the slits between my fingers (what if it was a spitting cobra?) I felt an urge to go in and get a better look – this creature was absolutely fascinating. However after a few moments hesitation and a glance down at the bare skin of my foot that could have been so easily pierced by two poison laden fangs, I decided that I didn’t want to risk getting bitten by a cobra in a small remote town in Burkina Faso. It was time to go get some reinforcements.
Burkinabe hate snakes with a passion. The mere mention of ‘serpent’ gets the attention of the whole room and they will kill any snake they can find. I’d never actually seen this process, but I figured this was my time to find out. I ran over to the nearest classroom and grabbed a few of the biggest students and ran back to my lab. When we arrived I started to pick up some of the pieces of an old desk, thinking that it would be an alright weapon, or at least a way to stop from being bitten. The students exchanged confused looks.
After quickly explaining the situation the group dynamics immediately changed. “A snake!” “Where is it?” “How big is it?” “When did you see it?” An uninterrupted string of questions assaulted me as each student threw down the piece of wood I had given them and started picking up rocks. As we cautiously made our way to the place I had last seen my soon-to-be-deceased friend, I felt a pang of regret. The snake had done nothing to me – in fact he probably has helped me out by killing a lot of the mice in and around my lab. But what if I had stepped one foot to the right and he had bitten my foot? I shuddered.
“THERE IT IS!” shouted one of the boys and a barrage of rocks sailed through the air. I was amazed that so few students could through so many rocks! Someone got a headshot in early and flattened the snake’s head into a pancake. They moved in to closer range then, hitting the snake’s dead body with sticks and rocks. I told them to stop. He was most certainly dead at this point.
We did a brief clean-up of the area, putting back the rocks and moving the pieces of the snake off into the bushes. Then I escorted the students back to class, thanking them for their help. On my way back to the lab I saw another snake slither off into the bushes. Good work, stay afraid of me and we’ll get along just fine.
The process had dragged on for the last couple weeks due to an abnormally high amount of power cuts. Watching an install that took several hours die at 90% as the power blinks out is a bit discouraging. Watching it happen several times in one day is extremely frustrating. But at least I was making progress; with about half of the computers done I was starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel.
I stepped out through the door into what was becoming a bright sunny day, not unlike the day before and probably much like the next day. I had amassed quite the peanut shell collection just outside my door and I dutifully added another handful. As they were racing down toward the ground I heard a loud “HIIISSSSSSSSSSSSSS” down next to my sandal-clad right foot. I jumped back about a foot and half and looked down to see a coiled cobra – hood and all – staring at me. I ran.
Once I was what I considered to be a safe ten yards or so away I peered back. It was about a foot and a half long – certainly not among the biggest snakes I’ve seen – but what set this apart from every other snake I’d seen was the its hood. It sat coiled exactly as I’d expect, looking at me and waiting, moving slowly back and forth. As I peeked through the slits between my fingers (what if it was a spitting cobra?) I felt an urge to go in and get a better look – this creature was absolutely fascinating. However after a few moments hesitation and a glance down at the bare skin of my foot that could have been so easily pierced by two poison laden fangs, I decided that I didn’t want to risk getting bitten by a cobra in a small remote town in Burkina Faso. It was time to go get some reinforcements.
Burkinabe hate snakes with a passion. The mere mention of ‘serpent’ gets the attention of the whole room and they will kill any snake they can find. I’d never actually seen this process, but I figured this was my time to find out. I ran over to the nearest classroom and grabbed a few of the biggest students and ran back to my lab. When we arrived I started to pick up some of the pieces of an old desk, thinking that it would be an alright weapon, or at least a way to stop from being bitten. The students exchanged confused looks.
After quickly explaining the situation the group dynamics immediately changed. “A snake!” “Where is it?” “How big is it?” “When did you see it?” An uninterrupted string of questions assaulted me as each student threw down the piece of wood I had given them and started picking up rocks. As we cautiously made our way to the place I had last seen my soon-to-be-deceased friend, I felt a pang of regret. The snake had done nothing to me – in fact he probably has helped me out by killing a lot of the mice in and around my lab. But what if I had stepped one foot to the right and he had bitten my foot? I shuddered.
“THERE IT IS!” shouted one of the boys and a barrage of rocks sailed through the air. I was amazed that so few students could through so many rocks! Someone got a headshot in early and flattened the snake’s head into a pancake. They moved in to closer range then, hitting the snake’s dead body with sticks and rocks. I told them to stop. He was most certainly dead at this point.
We did a brief clean-up of the area, putting back the rocks and moving the pieces of the snake off into the bushes. Then I escorted the students back to class, thanking them for their help. On my way back to the lab I saw another snake slither off into the bushes. Good work, stay afraid of me and we’ll get along just fine.
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