I looked around the computer lab, scanning the monitors for trouble. Most students were opening the encyclopedia program while a few others opened some of the other educational software I had loaded onto the computers. I'd been opening the computer lab everyday after school. It gave the kids who were really into computers some more computer time and it gave an opportunity for those who were a little behind in class to catch up on their skills. My eyes drifted over to the student that I had designed at the class prefect (or so you'd say in Harry Potter). After reminding them once more of the rules - no touching the computer cables, no touching the spare and broken parts lying in different areas of the room – I made my way to the exit.
Initially I'd set up the system so that the lab was open to anyone after school. This quickly descended into the same 10 kids watching music videos over and over and over. I didn't think that was having the most positive effect on their grades so I had decided this semester that every grade would have a day in the lab, and today was 5eme's day.
Outside three students from 4eme were sitting, waiting to talk to me. I'd had all three of them last year, and each was pretty decent with a computer.
Students: Sir, we want more time on the computers.
Me: Everyone wants more time on the computers.
S: We really want to go in.
Me: Nope, today isn't your day, you can go in tomorrow.
S: But there isn't anywhere else to practice! No one has a computer.
S: In the US everyone has a computer, right?
Me: Well not everyone, but a lot of people have them.
S: Here no one has them!
S: Everyone in the US must be really rich.
Me: A lot of people in US are rich.
S: When you go home I'm going to come visit you in Europe.
S: The US isn't in Europe, idiot!
Me: So the US is now in Europe?
S: I mean I want to go to the US.
Me: Alright, well you get me $2,000 and I'll see what I can do.
S: The US is really rich because of us.
Me: What do you mean?
S: Because of the African slaves. They made the US rich.
Me: They certainly did contribute to the US being rich, but they weren't the only reason.
S: Well how else could the US become rich? The Native Americans don't work well.
Me: What?
S: The Native Americans don't work well.
Me: There are Native Americans that don't work well, just as there are Africans and Europeans that don't work well.
S: Well why did they have to bring in Africans as slaves then?
Me: That had to do more with diseases than work ethic. The diseases the Europeans brought with them to America killed a very high percentage of the Native Americans.
S: Oh. But Africa is so poor and the US and Europe are so rich. It's because we Africans can work well but we aren't intelligent.
Me: What? That's completely false. There are Americans, Europeans and Africans who are dumb and there are Americans, Europeans and Africans who are smart.
S: Yeah, but Africans can't be smart like Europeans.
Me: Yes they can be!
S: Well if they can why is Africa still so underdeveloped?
S; It's because the Europeans come and exploit all of Africa's natural resources.
Me: Natural resources hurt a country more than they help it to be rich. Usually the money ends up in the pockets of just a few people and increases the chances of a civil war.
Me: And the US and Europe were just as poor as Africa was now a long time ago! Things here are slowly getting better!
S: No they aren't, we are all very poor.
Me: Ten years ago, did your parents have cell phones? Electricity? Televisions? Now I'm betting all of them do.
S: But we're still very poor.
Me: But it's getting better! And it will continue to get better as long as there isn't a civil war.
S: Well I guess, but it's so slow!
Me: Yes it is. But imagine how much better it's going to be for your children. You might each have a computer in your home.
S: We're going to!
Me: Alright, now go do your homework or something.
S: Good evening sir, talk to you later.
Me: Good evening.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Choice and Waste
With less than six months to go in Burkina Faso I find myself contrasting Burkina and the US. Volunteers who return to the states are often shocked by the complete difference in lifestyle and culture. I’m still in denial that this will happen to me, but I suppose we’ll just wait and see.
One of the tritest experiences from anyone spending a lot of time away from supermarkets is the idea of walking into the supermarket and being completely overwhelmed by the amount of choices. You’ve probably seen this in films about people getting stuck in the wildness for six months. Apparently it’s common for PCVs to feel the same way. Often descriptions of this experience are accompanied by phrases such as “do we really need 10 types of canned peaches” and “it’s so wasteful.” The comments usually seem to imply that we don’t need the plethora of choices or that it is wasteful.
I don’t agree that a large selection is tantamount to waste or is unnecessary.
Let’s take a look at those ten types of canned peaches. Each of these types of peaches is made by a company seeking to gain a profit. Assuming they act to realize this profit, they will either reduce peach prices or stop canning peaches if there are too many canned peaches hitting the shelves, in order to make sure that they can actually sell their product. The 10 different types of canned goodness are pitted into a fierce competition to ensnare potential peach patrons. They’re constantly looking for a way to gain that extra peachy edge, giving them a larger slice of the market. Peach sizes, tastes, colors, packaging and labeling are all changed to the perceived peach-purchasing preferences. Quality is strictly controlled and usually guaranteed.
Now let’s pretend for a second that I could find canned peaches in Burkina Faso. There would be one brand of canned peaches, maybe two if I was really lucky. Stores would almost never have said canned fruity goodness. The cans would often by damaged on transport and/or past the expiration date. If I opened a bad can of peaches no one will listen for more than two seconds and getting a refund or a new can is almost unheard of. There is no choice. Is this somehow less wasteful? or somehow more necessary?
I think the point of the original choice-is-wasteful argument that does stick is that, no, no one really physically needs access to ten types of peaches. And in that sense it is unnecessary. But the benefit of having the freedom to choose really does improve your peach eating experience. It also promotes peach producers to search for the safest, most cost effective method of transporting their peach cargo.
So in summary, I want some canned peaches!
One of the tritest experiences from anyone spending a lot of time away from supermarkets is the idea of walking into the supermarket and being completely overwhelmed by the amount of choices. You’ve probably seen this in films about people getting stuck in the wildness for six months. Apparently it’s common for PCVs to feel the same way. Often descriptions of this experience are accompanied by phrases such as “do we really need 10 types of canned peaches” and “it’s so wasteful.” The comments usually seem to imply that we don’t need the plethora of choices or that it is wasteful.
I don’t agree that a large selection is tantamount to waste or is unnecessary.
Let’s take a look at those ten types of canned peaches. Each of these types of peaches is made by a company seeking to gain a profit. Assuming they act to realize this profit, they will either reduce peach prices or stop canning peaches if there are too many canned peaches hitting the shelves, in order to make sure that they can actually sell their product. The 10 different types of canned goodness are pitted into a fierce competition to ensnare potential peach patrons. They’re constantly looking for a way to gain that extra peachy edge, giving them a larger slice of the market. Peach sizes, tastes, colors, packaging and labeling are all changed to the perceived peach-purchasing preferences. Quality is strictly controlled and usually guaranteed.
Now let’s pretend for a second that I could find canned peaches in Burkina Faso. There would be one brand of canned peaches, maybe two if I was really lucky. Stores would almost never have said canned fruity goodness. The cans would often by damaged on transport and/or past the expiration date. If I opened a bad can of peaches no one will listen for more than two seconds and getting a refund or a new can is almost unheard of. There is no choice. Is this somehow less wasteful? or somehow more necessary?
I think the point of the original choice-is-wasteful argument that does stick is that, no, no one really physically needs access to ten types of peaches. And in that sense it is unnecessary. But the benefit of having the freedom to choose really does improve your peach eating experience. It also promotes peach producers to search for the safest, most cost effective method of transporting their peach cargo.
So in summary, I want some canned peaches!
Experiments
Hey all.
I know I’ve been sorely lacking in Blog entries of late, and after some reflection I can see there is a pretty easy explanation for that. I’ve been trying to describe experiences here that I found novel, unique or interesting coming from my American perspective. However after being here for almost two years most of the experiences around me have long ceased being novel. A school day here is much like the one a week ago, which is not all that dissimilar to one a year ago. I see the same students, teachers and people in a week and do a lot of the same things. I’m in a routine of sorts, or maybe you could say I’ve settled in. That's not to say that I don't experience new things every week, I just feel less like they are worth writing home about.
So I think I’ll be experimenting with a few different types of entries to see what sort of things I’m inspired to write about. I’ll try and keep them shortish and stay away from to-do lists. Happy reading!
I know I’ve been sorely lacking in Blog entries of late, and after some reflection I can see there is a pretty easy explanation for that. I’ve been trying to describe experiences here that I found novel, unique or interesting coming from my American perspective. However after being here for almost two years most of the experiences around me have long ceased being novel. A school day here is much like the one a week ago, which is not all that dissimilar to one a year ago. I see the same students, teachers and people in a week and do a lot of the same things. I’m in a routine of sorts, or maybe you could say I’ve settled in. That's not to say that I don't experience new things every week, I just feel less like they are worth writing home about.
So I think I’ll be experimenting with a few different types of entries to see what sort of things I’m inspired to write about. I’ll try and keep them shortish and stay away from to-do lists. Happy reading!
Saturday, November 20, 2010
GRE
So I spent the last month studying vocab for the GRES. Here's a report on how they went.
3:20 am
I wake up, feeling terribly nauseous. Arg. Run to the bathroom and start puking. I really shouldn't have eaten that burger last night.
5:30 am
Wake up, sure that it's time to get up and go. Realize I have a fever and pop a couple pills.
7:00 am
Wake up, eat a strong breakfast of bananas and off to the testing center.
9:00 am
The test instructions are supposed to start
9:07 am
The other test taker shows up
9:10 am
It becomes apparent that the other test taker doesn't understand the directions for filling out the registration sheet.
10:10 am
We're almost done with registration, ready to start the essay!
10:55 am
My hand goes on strike! The advantages of the computer based test seem pretty relevant at the moment.
11:45 pm
Last essay almost down, hand cramping like a fiend.
1:30 pm
Two testing sessions down, two to go! Starting to feel a bit 'floaty' but that might just be concentrating for so long.
3:00 pm
I'm free!
3:25 pm
Back at the transit house, lay down for a quick nap
9:00 pm
Wake up from said 'nap'
The next day I get the results back from my test checking for parasites. I managed to get two kinds - Entameba coli and Blastocystic hominis! Now I feel like a real Peace Corps Volunteer!
Still waiting for the more important test results... they should be coming after New Years sometime.
3:20 am
I wake up, feeling terribly nauseous. Arg. Run to the bathroom and start puking. I really shouldn't have eaten that burger last night.
5:30 am
Wake up, sure that it's time to get up and go. Realize I have a fever and pop a couple pills.
7:00 am
Wake up, eat a strong breakfast of bananas and off to the testing center.
9:00 am
The test instructions are supposed to start
9:07 am
The other test taker shows up
9:10 am
It becomes apparent that the other test taker doesn't understand the directions for filling out the registration sheet.
10:10 am
We're almost done with registration, ready to start the essay!
10:55 am
My hand goes on strike! The advantages of the computer based test seem pretty relevant at the moment.
11:45 pm
Last essay almost down, hand cramping like a fiend.
1:30 pm
Two testing sessions down, two to go! Starting to feel a bit 'floaty' but that might just be concentrating for so long.
3:00 pm
I'm free!
3:25 pm
Back at the transit house, lay down for a quick nap
9:00 pm
Wake up from said 'nap'
The next day I get the results back from my test checking for parasites. I managed to get two kinds - Entameba coli and Blastocystic hominis! Now I feel like a real Peace Corps Volunteer!
Still waiting for the more important test results... they should be coming after New Years sometime.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Seb
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.
“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.
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.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
In which we ford a river
I decided to hop on the small van we call a taxi-brosse when the bus I was riding on decided to take an unexpected stop and made no signs of moving again. These stops are really the more frustrating parts of transport. You'll be going along making good time and you come upon a village. You stop as per normal to pick up some passengers, but then you notice that the driver has turned the bus off and vanished! Then you spend the next several hours grumbling and waiting in the hot sun, given absolutely nothing to know when or if they bus will be continuing.
In any case, today I said enough! I saw that the tax-brosse was passing by and I decided to hop on it. And off we went! I was one of two passengers, which was a little bit disconcerting at first (empty taxi-brosses have a tendency to stop in places for long periods of time, hoping that someone will decide they need to go somewhere) but as we continued a slow but steady pace forward I began to feel very good about my decision to abandon the bus.
On the road I'm traveling on there are two inverted bridges. This may sound pretty fancy, but really it's just a concrete half-pipe for cars, which allows the river to cross over a road without wiping it out. I had heard that these inverted bridges where in pretty bad condition (read: under feet of water) at times but I had never really experienced this before as I usually didn't take this road. Today that was about to change.
We came upon the first inverter bridge and my heart skipped a beat, there was about two and a half feet of water covering the bridge! I heard the driver and the passenger in front nervously talking about the battery. Looking down I see the car battery uncovered and very much ready to electrocute us all, sitting at my feet. Eeeek!
Before I have a chance to say I might want to sit this one out, the van plows into the river, trying to best it can to maintain speed. I glance nervously down at the door where the water is beginning to seep in through the bottom. It seems every time we slow down more water starts pouring it.
“GO FASTER GO FASTER GO FASTER”, I'm yelling inside my head as we start to catch up with a guy pushing his moto across. He's not making very good time and is right in the middle of the road.
“Tell him to move” the driver tells the front passenger. The passenger leans out the window and starts speaking softly to the guy.
I yell at him, “You must speak louder!”
It seems the guy pushing the moto isn't going to move and it doens't seem like our driver is keen on slowing down and I'm expected a mid bridge watery collision and possibly electrocution, but at the last moment the guy veers off the right and we're home free!
Safely on the other side the front passenger turns to me and says, “You were afraid?” I explained that I really didn't fancy getting electrocuted, to which he just smiled and says, “Oh, so you heard us talking about that did you?”
Ah, Burkina.
In any case, today I said enough! I saw that the tax-brosse was passing by and I decided to hop on it. And off we went! I was one of two passengers, which was a little bit disconcerting at first (empty taxi-brosses have a tendency to stop in places for long periods of time, hoping that someone will decide they need to go somewhere) but as we continued a slow but steady pace forward I began to feel very good about my decision to abandon the bus.
On the road I'm traveling on there are two inverted bridges. This may sound pretty fancy, but really it's just a concrete half-pipe for cars, which allows the river to cross over a road without wiping it out. I had heard that these inverted bridges where in pretty bad condition (read: under feet of water) at times but I had never really experienced this before as I usually didn't take this road. Today that was about to change.
We came upon the first inverter bridge and my heart skipped a beat, there was about two and a half feet of water covering the bridge! I heard the driver and the passenger in front nervously talking about the battery. Looking down I see the car battery uncovered and very much ready to electrocute us all, sitting at my feet. Eeeek!
Before I have a chance to say I might want to sit this one out, the van plows into the river, trying to best it can to maintain speed. I glance nervously down at the door where the water is beginning to seep in through the bottom. It seems every time we slow down more water starts pouring it.
“GO FASTER GO FASTER GO FASTER”, I'm yelling inside my head as we start to catch up with a guy pushing his moto across. He's not making very good time and is right in the middle of the road.
“Tell him to move” the driver tells the front passenger. The passenger leans out the window and starts speaking softly to the guy.
I yell at him, “You must speak louder!”
It seems the guy pushing the moto isn't going to move and it doens't seem like our driver is keen on slowing down and I'm expected a mid bridge watery collision and possibly electrocution, but at the last moment the guy veers off the right and we're home free!
Safely on the other side the front passenger turns to me and says, “You were afraid?” I explained that I really didn't fancy getting electrocuted, to which he just smiled and says, “Oh, so you heard us talking about that did you?”
Ah, Burkina.
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