Lightning Strikes Computer Lab, Students Scared but Unhurt
Tiberi guesses that the fuse is blown
Tuesday April 27th, 2010
After foolishly attempting to hold a computer class during a heavy downpour a bolt of lightning struck the computer building Tuesday…[more]
Administration Confirms: The Fuse is Blown
Officials say fuse should be replaced ‘soon’
Thursday April 29th, 2010
School officials confirmed reports Thursday that a fuse had been blown during Tuesday’s rainstorm and say it will be replaced ‘soon.’ Tiberi says he’s worried that the computers won’t be back online in time for finals, the 10th and 11th of May… [more]
Biking by ‘le Claire de Lune’
Tiberi allegedly bikes to neighbor’s village by moonlight
Friday April 30th, 2010
Allegedly describing the alleged journey as ‘scary’ at times and ‘beautiful’ at others, sources allege that Tiberi boasts of eating ‘the best chicken of his life’ in a late night trip to Yaba… [more]
No Power
Electricity not restored to computer lab
Tuesday May 4th, 2010
So far this week students have had to spend their time reviewing written notes in lieu of typing practice for the final. Students are beginning to wonder if there even will be a final, asking “are we going to have a final?” School administrators repeated their claims that the fuse will be replaced ‘soon’ but admitted to setbacks because they ‘forgot to call the repair guy’… [more]
Rain on the Bus: Better or Worse than Dust?
Tiberi’s travels to nearby Tougon during a rainstorm
Friday May 7th, 2010
Mr. Tiberi maybe a trip up to Tougon on Friday, despite rain-storm like conditions. He describes the trip as being ‘okay’ but added that he didn’t like ‘dirty water’ dripping from the ceiling. Upon arriving in Tougon Tiberi says he was ‘dismayed’ to see so much ‘dirty water’ on the ground. Luckily Tougon residents Tyler and Jessi came to the rescue with bikes… [more]
8th Annual West African Wrestling Competition Held in Tougon: Hailed a Success
Tiberi attends event with neighbors Jessi and Tyler
Saturday May 8th, 2010
Bringing competitors from across francophone west Africa, the event was ‘really cool’ says Tiberi but soon moved into praises of Tougon residents Jessi and Tyler LeClear Vachta, ‘they saved Oreos for me,’ he says, ‘OREOS!’ then stared dreamily at a dark colored rock on the ground… [more]
No Computers for Computer Literacy Final
Mixed Reactions from Students
Monday May 10th, 2010
Officials confirmed that finals given today were ‘written’ finals on ‘paper.’ Students generally had mixed reactions though Mr. Tiberi could not be reached for comment as he is reportedly proctoring tests all day. When asked when the fuse would be replaced officials set the timeframe to ‘soon’… [more]
Finals Are Over
Student celebrate as teachers left to correct mountains of tests
Tuesday Math 11th, 2010
CAFT students left school Tuesday with a collective sigh of relieve which was perhaps rivaled in magnitude by the collective groan of the professors. “I have a lot of tests to grade,” exclaims one professor while another adds, “It’s not easy.” … [more]
Showing posts with label rain. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rain. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Sunday, April 25, 2010
First Rain
The sunburned, parched land aches for rain. From the puffs of dust that dance in the air after every step to the wilted and nearly dormant plants it can be seen everywhere. It’s in the eyes of the half crazed chickens as they dash from shade patch to shade patch, mouths open panting. It’s in the desperate flight of flies, attacking anything that sweats, fighting for a little moisture. It’s in the dry, hot air, literally sucking the moisture out of every breath. It’s everywhere. And yet we can do nothing more but to wait.
The sun blazes its way across the clear, faded blue sky marking the passing of each day. There hasn’t been a cloud able to stand up to its bright, strong rays in months. And then a telltale breeze flickers through my hair so softly I’m sure I must be imagining things. And yet it comes again, stronger this time and this time with a touch of ozone. My eyes dart up the horizon seeing a looming wall of dark, strong clouds. I rub my eyes and look again, almost surprised to see its still there.
Minutes pass and the wind is coming in gusts, carrying with it the overpowering scent of clean, beautiful wet rain. I stand up and step outside – not wanting to miss what might be the first rain drop I’ve seen in half a year. And I’m not disappointed.
The first drop strikes the skin of my shoulder, stabbing me with a pinprick of coldness. Then another, and another and they are dropping fast and furious around me. I’m soaking now. The ground itself is dancing and alive as it absorbs its fill then starts to form small puddles. Fighting down the urge to shiver I smile. The first rains have come to Toma.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Class
July 10th, 2009
“Bonjour classe” I say in my loudest voice, trying my best to project to the back of the room. Normally this would be no problem for me but today it’s raining. The thousands of fat raindrops hurling down on the ceiling make it sound like we’re in a stadium full of thousands of cheering fans. I look around at the students in the room, taking stock of my future students. Because this is the IT class we have students of all ages, from a boy I would guess to be 15 to a man who looks as though he is pushing 60. They stare at me expectantly.
I dive into the French headfirst, trying my best to be heard over the rain. I tell the students who I am and my plans for this summer (teaching them in Model school) and for after (teaching IT in Toma). This is my first time talking to real Burkinabey students. I look around the room and am thrilled to see looks of recognition, they understand my French! I smile, but then remember that I’m going to have to read half of the lesson I had prepared today. This is going to be painful.
In the back of the class sit the other IT trainees as well as our IT PCVFP (Peace Corps Volunteer Facilitator Permanent), Vincent. During training a large number of PCVFs cycle through telling us their experiences and facilitating our discussions. The PCVFs usually stay a couple of weeks, PCVFPs do the same thing, but stay for six weeks. Vincent points up, signaling that I need to project my voice louder. I feel like I’m almost screaming, but I manage to put out a few more decibels, straining my voice.
After reading a sentence I look up to confused Burkinabey faces. I realize that I’m talking quickly, but can’t seem to enunciate, go slowly and yell. I try for two out of the three. I’m teaching today about the basics of mouse use, moving and clicking. Many of these people have never seen or held a mouse in their lives. It’s hard to put myself in their shows. I think using a computer is one of my first memories.
The fifteen minutes I need to teach today passes by slowly and painfully. Reading French is painful. I give up halfway and retreat into my somewhat small but familiar memorized vocabulary. I can’t say quite everything that I wanted to say, but at least it seems like more people understand me. For a few moments, I almost forget that I’m teaching in French as the lesson seems to click together at the end. I think I could get used to this.
“Bonjour classe” I say in my loudest voice, trying my best to project to the back of the room. Normally this would be no problem for me but today it’s raining. The thousands of fat raindrops hurling down on the ceiling make it sound like we’re in a stadium full of thousands of cheering fans. I look around at the students in the room, taking stock of my future students. Because this is the IT class we have students of all ages, from a boy I would guess to be 15 to a man who looks as though he is pushing 60. They stare at me expectantly.
I dive into the French headfirst, trying my best to be heard over the rain. I tell the students who I am and my plans for this summer (teaching them in Model school) and for after (teaching IT in Toma). This is my first time talking to real Burkinabey students. I look around the room and am thrilled to see looks of recognition, they understand my French! I smile, but then remember that I’m going to have to read half of the lesson I had prepared today. This is going to be painful.
In the back of the class sit the other IT trainees as well as our IT PCVFP (Peace Corps Volunteer Facilitator Permanent), Vincent. During training a large number of PCVFs cycle through telling us their experiences and facilitating our discussions. The PCVFs usually stay a couple of weeks, PCVFPs do the same thing, but stay for six weeks. Vincent points up, signaling that I need to project my voice louder. I feel like I’m almost screaming, but I manage to put out a few more decibels, straining my voice.
After reading a sentence I look up to confused Burkinabey faces. I realize that I’m talking quickly, but can’t seem to enunciate, go slowly and yell. I try for two out of the three. I’m teaching today about the basics of mouse use, moving and clicking. Many of these people have never seen or held a mouse in their lives. It’s hard to put myself in their shows. I think using a computer is one of my first memories.
The fifteen minutes I need to teach today passes by slowly and painfully. Reading French is painful. I give up halfway and retreat into my somewhat small but familiar memorized vocabulary. I can’t say quite everything that I wanted to say, but at least it seems like more people understand me. For a few moments, I almost forget that I’m teaching in French as the lesson seems to click together at the end. I think I could get used to this.
The Storm
July 7th, 2009
The wind hits without warning, the dirt it carries stings my eyes and makes breathing difficult as I hurry to clean up the remains of our medical session. The light had slowly faded from the sky in the last few minutes as the storm approached and though it was just after midday, an artificial night had fallen over Ouahigouya. I had seen several storms before but I had never seen darkness like this. Another gust of wind hit, overpowering our feeble kickstands and knocking over several of our bikes. This was going to be a big one.
Today we got a break from the usual class at ECLA and were meeting for a medical session at the house of Ryan’s host family. Medical sessions are always one of the more popular ones, as the PCMOs (Peace Corps Medial Officers) usually brought treats. Today we had been sipping cold orange juice under the thatched-roof porch while learning some basic first aid for situations we were likely to encounter here. We were learning basic do’s and don’ts with snakes and spider bites, scorpion stings, acid-beetle burns, dehydration, car accidents, cuts and some other basic first aid stuff.
As we went through the last scenario in the safety of the living room the power cut plunging us into darkness just as the first few drops of rain hit. Within seconds thousands upon thousands of drops were pounding in the tin roof above our heads. I looked out the window to see a tree bowing to the wind, looking very much like hurricane footage from Florida.
“So this is where hurricanes come from,” Ryan remarks. We all nod our heads in agreement, awed at the sheer power of the storm. After a while, conversations start up. After a month of being here, the topic on everyone’s mind is site placement. We’re scheduled to find out on Thursday where we are to spend the next two years of our lives. Some really want to be in the rainy green south. Some want an area where the local language is Djoula, some want Mooré. Personally, I hope that I get a site where I can learn Djoula but I would be fine learning whatever local language I need to.
There are two different types of volunteers in our staging group, secondary education (SE) and girls’ education and empowerment (GEE). As one of three dedicated IT people, I am one of few likely to end up in a large city with a house with internet.
We talk for several more minutes before the sticks holding the water-soaked thatched roof have had enough and one of them gives way with a loud crack. Heads snap toward to door as wire, thatch, and sticks fall to the floor. I look around at the others, glad that no one was out there. They seem to be thinking the same thing.
“Clang, clang, clang” something a little more solid strikes the roof. Hail? Here? I laugh to myself, trying to remember the last time I actually saw ice. I look outside to see pea-sized hail bouncing off of the fallen thatch. Someone ventures out to grab a couple pieces and passes them around. They melt quickly. It is nice to feel ice again. I close my eyes, trying to remember what it feels like to be cold.
In time the storm passes. I step outside to breathe the air, cleaned by thousands of raindrops. I fill my lungs with deep breaths. It feels good.
The wind hits without warning, the dirt it carries stings my eyes and makes breathing difficult as I hurry to clean up the remains of our medical session. The light had slowly faded from the sky in the last few minutes as the storm approached and though it was just after midday, an artificial night had fallen over Ouahigouya. I had seen several storms before but I had never seen darkness like this. Another gust of wind hit, overpowering our feeble kickstands and knocking over several of our bikes. This was going to be a big one.
Today we got a break from the usual class at ECLA and were meeting for a medical session at the house of Ryan’s host family. Medical sessions are always one of the more popular ones, as the PCMOs (Peace Corps Medial Officers) usually brought treats. Today we had been sipping cold orange juice under the thatched-roof porch while learning some basic first aid for situations we were likely to encounter here. We were learning basic do’s and don’ts with snakes and spider bites, scorpion stings, acid-beetle burns, dehydration, car accidents, cuts and some other basic first aid stuff.
As we went through the last scenario in the safety of the living room the power cut plunging us into darkness just as the first few drops of rain hit. Within seconds thousands upon thousands of drops were pounding in the tin roof above our heads. I looked out the window to see a tree bowing to the wind, looking very much like hurricane footage from Florida.
“So this is where hurricanes come from,” Ryan remarks. We all nod our heads in agreement, awed at the sheer power of the storm. After a while, conversations start up. After a month of being here, the topic on everyone’s mind is site placement. We’re scheduled to find out on Thursday where we are to spend the next two years of our lives. Some really want to be in the rainy green south. Some want an area where the local language is Djoula, some want Mooré. Personally, I hope that I get a site where I can learn Djoula but I would be fine learning whatever local language I need to.
There are two different types of volunteers in our staging group, secondary education (SE) and girls’ education and empowerment (GEE). As one of three dedicated IT people, I am one of few likely to end up in a large city with a house with internet.
We talk for several more minutes before the sticks holding the water-soaked thatched roof have had enough and one of them gives way with a loud crack. Heads snap toward to door as wire, thatch, and sticks fall to the floor. I look around at the others, glad that no one was out there. They seem to be thinking the same thing.
“Clang, clang, clang” something a little more solid strikes the roof. Hail? Here? I laugh to myself, trying to remember the last time I actually saw ice. I look outside to see pea-sized hail bouncing off of the fallen thatch. Someone ventures out to grab a couple pieces and passes them around. They melt quickly. It is nice to feel ice again. I close my eyes, trying to remember what it feels like to be cold.
In time the storm passes. I step outside to breathe the air, cleaned by thousands of raindrops. I fill my lungs with deep breaths. It feels good.
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