Marches, Money, and More

Sunday, February 26, 2012

As I eat an apple and drink cold mango juice, sitting on the queen-sized bed in my hotel room with a fan blowing on me and music sounding from my computer, I will attempt to recap my past few days…which have not gone like planned…at all.  Although, then again, things not going according to plans are the norm here.  Your first thought is probably, “Hotel room.  That sounds nice.  Why does Beth have the luxury of a hotel room and a cool breeze blowing on her face?  Where is she?”  Well, I’m in Tougan.  I should actually be in Dedegou right now -- another  “big” city and regional capital, located about 4 hours south of Tougan -- internetting, visiting with friends, and enjoying the Mask Festival (which occurs only once every 2 years in West Africa, and is always held in Dedegou, Burkina Faso)…but like I said, things rarely go according to plans here.  And so I’ll start from the beginning (Friday’s events)…. end with camping out in my hotel room (today -- Sunday)… and in between, intertwine a few stories/facts/info about Burkina as well, as they fit into my story of why I’m in a hotel in Tougan and not taking in all the sights and sounds of Dedegou’s Mask Festival.

Friday’s Events:

I.                    Marché Madness and Money Matters

II.                  The Fete in Tourou: Lauren’s parents

Marché Madness and Money Matters

Marché day: A day to stock up my kitchen pantry, aka, the hand-made basket I keep next to my water filter that holds cucumbers, onions, tomatoes, papaya, and anything else I buy to eat for the week.  Lately I’ve been trying to stick to a 2.000 mille limit each marché -- $4 American.  And by “trying” to only spend 2.000 mille I mean that I literally only bring 2.000 with me and once it’s gone, it’s gone.  Sometimes I return home with a few coins, but generally I use every last cent of my 2.000 mille.  In fact, while I usually can get a little bit of everything and anything I want to satisfy my 5 days of eating until the next marché day, every now then I’m confronted with difficult decisions: I have 200 CFA left…would I rather buy a papaya or 4 bananas?  Can’t have both this week…gotta pick one.  My 2.000 mille cap is also good because I should be trying to budget my money -- or at least be aware of about how much I spend each month to “live” in Burkina Faso, not including any miscellaneous expenses I incur (but a normal Burkinabe citizen wouldn’t), like traveling and spending the night at a hotel, and going out for pizza and beer.  Just the actual money I put forth to literally “live” in this country – food and water expenses. Furthermore, my budgeting also serves to prevent me from making unnecessary purchases.  Despite being in the middle of nowhere, there’s a lot of really weird stuff people get their hands on and then try to sell at the market, like traditional medicine made from hippo bones and multi-colored plastic cups that say ‘happy birthday’ in English with icons of smiling rainbows and mushrooms (?) … the marché could be compared to the dollar section of Target that you see when you first enter the store... and it’s all very tempting.  I don’t know why I have even the slightest desire to buy this weird stuff, but there’s just something about it that’s so appealing.  Included in the category of “unnecessary purchases” and appealing plastic cups sporting English words is purchasing too much food in general, resulting in not being able to eat the majority of it within the week before it goes bad.  But this day in particular, because I only had a few 5.000 mille bills in my house (it’s approaching the end of the month and funds start to get low – we should have our monthly living allowance money placed in our bank accounts any day now), I had to take one of those 5.000 mille bills and hope someone could break it at the marché.  

And so now, I present to you a lesson on the exchanges of money in Burkina Faso….. A 5 mille bill is fine if you’re buying something that’s expensive and its cost actually totals at least 2 or 3 mille, like a hammer or a pair of shoes, but if you’re only looking to buy a few onions or a bag of green beans, you better search out some smaller bills/change first…or else plan to buy a few mille worth of veggies.  You see, in Burkina Faso, change is golden, and handing someone a bill (especially a big bill, i.e. a 5 or 10 mille bill) is the equivalent of a death sentence.  They glare at you with evil eyes and sometimes out rightly refuse to accept it.  I’ve even had vendors take back the object I was about to purchase and tell me to go buy it from someone else and/or not to come back until I had smaller bills/change to work with.  In America, we don’t think twice about paying for a $2.99 meal at McDonalds with a $20 bill.  Not an issue in the USA.  As a business, it’s their responsibility to have the means to provide us with the appropriate change after we make a purchase, not matter how big or small.  Plus, more often than not these days, everyone just pays via debit card and other electronic transmissions courtesy of our ability to utilize technology, and so there’s no direct change – the counting out of pennies, nickels, and dimes – involved anyways. 

But like I said, in Burkina, it’s the opposite mentality.  It’s our job, as the customer, to have the change to buy whatever product it is that we desire.  As inconvenient and frustrating as this can be, I understand where Burkinabe are coming from.  People don’t have a lot of money, and when they buy things, they buy it in small amounts.  For example, it’s more common for a woman to go and buy one Magi (bouillon) cube, a little baggie of salt, and a spoonful of oil to prepare the evening’s meal (totaling about 100 CFA) every afternoon, each day of the week, than it is for her to just buy 7 Magi cubes, a kilo of salt, and a bottle of oil to last her the week.  The price wouldn’t cost any more than what she already spends each week on the ingredients (it would actually cost less), but she doesn’t purchase in “bulk” because she often doesn’t have the 700 CFA to purchase a week’s supply at once.  Every day she might make a few coins from selling gateau or doing someone’s laundry, and then can buy ingredients for that night’s supper, but she rarely will make enough in a day to buy a “bulk” supply.  And then with the vendors themselves (like at the marché), they’re only selling one thing: bananas, or tomatoes, or woven baskets.  You have to buy each item from someone else.  Vendors rarely offer more than one type of product.  And so, you end up spending 100 CFA here, 200 CFA there, 25 CFA for a fried bean cake, etc.  Again, not like in America, where we pick out everything we want, throw it into our shopping cart, and then proceed to the checkout counter to have the total price calculated in one lump sum and then hand money to one person. Considering the total worth of that entire sack of green beans the green bean lady is hoping to sell at the marché (for 100 CFA per small pile) probably only amounts to 3 mille total, why on earth would she accept the big bill you thrust towards her hands when you’re only buying the equivalent of 25 cents of green beans.   It’s a continuous cycle, but everything functions based on having small change.  What can you buy if you don’t have small change?  Not much, that’s for sure.  And even if you have a decent amount of small change, to break someone else’s big bill so that he/she can have small change basically results in you just screwing yourself, because now you have a big bill that no one wants to deal with.  It’s ironic that big bills have more monetary value and yet at the same time, they’re pretty much worthless here, because you can’t use them.  Having 5 and 10 mille bills might make you “rich” but if you can’t ever spend any of that money, it’s not worth a thing.  You’re better off (and “richer” – as in able to buy things) having coins and 1 mille bills amounting to only 3 or 4 mille total than you are having a 10 mille bill in your pocket.  Funny how that works.  But like I said, change is golden here.

We volunteers are notorious for having big bills than no one can break, due to our money coming from a bank or ATM machine that spits out bills in 10.000 mille increments.  Thus, we have A LOT of 5 and 10 mille bills and have to be creative in finding places to break these big bills into workable amounts.  Some of our solutions are nicer than others, and they don’t all always work all the time (we still get nasty glares and occasional refusals to comply), but nonetheless, the following methods are our go-to attempts to breaking our big bills.

1.       Bigger boutiques, typically found in larger villages and big cities.  A lot of money flows in out and of these stores each day, and usually it’s possible to get small change.  Of course we have to buy something first, which is fine is we’re in need of powdered milk or credit for our cellphones or any of the other merchandise the boutiques offer (which typically are at least 500 CFA an item, if not 1 or 2 mille, like the cans of powdered milk).  But if we have no immediate need for these things, we still have to buy something anyways with the thought that, “Well, we’ll use it eventually, right?”  Often, when this is the case, we look for the cheapest and yet most useful thing we can find on the boutique shelves and buy it, handing the shop owner a 10 mille, with a nervous smile while simultaneously uttering, “Désolé” (sorry).  Just the other week, Jason had to do this, but didn’t need or want anything from the boutique, nor did he have a lot of money to “spare” on buying non-needed items – he needed every cent to pay for some furniture he had ordered, as well as his food for the week.  So, in typical American fashion, he shrugged of the meanness of his act, and bought 3 small cans of tomato paste (totaling 300 CFA) and paid with a 10 mille (of course), thus requiring 9.700 in change.  The shopkeeper wasn’t happy, but Jason got his change.

2.       Camping out in the “big” city for a day or more and going to every boutique or bigger restaurant several times a day and only buying one or two things at a time, each time paying with a big bill and claiming that the small change we got from them an hour ago when we bought only 2 cans of tuna is gone already, as we try to buy a container of oatmeal and again pay with another big bill.  Cruel?  Yes.  Necessary?  Yes.

3.       Going to a “real” restaurant and/or ordering cokes and beers.  Everyone pays their individual total in exact change (if possible) – generally between 500 CFA and 2 mille depending on how much they ate/drank – and the pile of change and small bills is then collected in a heap on the table.  The first person to claim it (or grab it) then gets to exchange a big bill.  For example, if the total amounts to 12.300, the lucky individual will take 10.000 out and put in one of his/her 10 mille bills.  Then perhaps the same individual or another lucky person will take the remaining change (2.300) and stuff it into his/her wallet, throw in a big bill of his/her own, and go pay, thus getting to keep all the change we get back from having paid our 12.300 bill with 20.000 mille (two 10 mille bills).  Yes, the Peace Corps is comprised of geniuses. 

4.       Paying for bus transportation with a 10 mille.  Yes, the trip to Tougan only costs 1 mille… and thus I will get 9 mille back, mwahaha.   Typically everyone on the bus is paying at least a mille (if not 6 or 7 mille depending on their destination), and so it’s usually pretty easy to break a big bill on the bus.

But enough on money matters in Burkina Faso; back to today’s story, specifically, the marché today and my having brought 3 mille more than my normal allotted amount of 2 mille.  Surprisingly, I was able to break my 5 mille at the peanut butter lady.  I figured I’d give it a try, and if she wouldn’t take it, I’d break my bill somewhere else and come back later to pay for my jar of peanut butter (which cost me 600 CFA).  She didn’t look too happy to see the light green bill (each bill has a different color; 1 and 2 mille bills -- which are more liked/accepted than the 5 and 10 bills -- are pink and blue, respectively) but she didn’t turn me away.  Success.  And I didn’t even have to buy a random can or two of unwanted tomato paste at the local boutique in order to break my large bill.

I continued throughout the chaos of the marché, buying this and that and then more of this because that lady’s tomatoes looked better than the ones I bought from the first lady.  I saw a truck full of potatoes, so I got a bunch of those, too – our marché hardly ever has pommes de terre’s!  Besides, they keep well compared to most other produce here.  I still have a few potatoes left from when I bought them in Tougan about a month ago, and they’re just fine.  They haven’t been going bad or tasting weird or anything.  I also got my canteen full of fresh milk from the Peuhl women.  Pronounced “pole,” the Peuhl people live in their own little groups/villages in brousse (which is the land located not along or near a road or main pathway of some sort) and are generally herders, raising cattle, goats, and sheep.  Each marché, they journey as much as 20k to sell their milk and “yogurt” (soured/curdled milk) out of calabashes -- which are bowl-like containers carved out of dried gourds -- that they carry on their heads as they gracefully walk along. 

By the end of my shopping, I discovered I had spent almost 4.000 mille total.  Dang, so much for my 2.000 mille cap.  But I guess when you spend 750 CFA on potatoes and 600 CFA on peanut butter and then 300 CFA on milk and 400 CFA to buy 2 papayas, well, that’s already over 2 mille right there.  And for some reason, even though I had plans to be voyaging to Dedegou in a few days, I still bought more than enough veggies.  Why?  What was I thinking?  I wasn’t thinking….that’s why.  And shopping is fun.  I always liked malls and Targets and grocery stores in America, why would an African marché be any different?  If anything, a marché is even more fun!  Chaotic…slightly nerve-wracking…bartering/haggling for prices…people everywhere, whether friends, orphans begging for money, or pickpockets…but nonetheless, fun.  You should try it sometime; come visit me and I’ll be sure to plan a shopping extravaganza or two to the local marché!

So, as I was saying, I spent more than I wanted.  I was trying to call it quits and leave the marché, when I saw other white people!  This leads me into part II of my story:  The Fete in Tourou. 

The Fete in Tourou: Lauren’s Parents

I was trying to call it quits and leave the marché, when I saw other white people!  But not just any other white people, or even the other volunteers who use the same marché as me, but Lauren (another volunteer in the area who generally goes to the marché held in the village of Di because it’s closer to her village) and her PARENTS.  Yes, her parents were visiting from America.  They had been in Burkina for over a week already, spending a few days in the capital of Ouaga and a few more days down south, checking out other big cities and famous locations.  Now they were finally visiting Lauren’s actual home and surrounding region.  They happened to be at our marché because the next day (Saturday) they would be having a fête in Lauren’s village, and they needed to buy sacks of rice, 10 heads of cabbage, a jug of oil, some goats to slaughter, etc.  Now Lauren lives in what you would actually call a village.  I know I refer to my site as a village, but really, Lauren lives “in village.”  Her site, the village of Tourou (pronounced “Too-roo”) is not located on a main road – you have to travel at least 8k through brousse to get to her little cluster of huts and mud buildings that are the home to the 200 people in her village.  That’s right, 200 people.  In honor of her parents visiting, they were having a fete (party/feast).  Well, actually, let’s get this straight, her parents were throwing a fete for the village: it was her parents who shelled out the money for the 200 people in her village to eat riz gras (rice cooked in tomato paste and oil with some veggies on top) and goat meat, as well as drink muga-ji (kind of like a juice but mainly sugared water with some flour in it), and have a traditional dance and drumming group perform entertainment.  This was all quite a treat for the village…they generally (or never) can afford to have something like this.  It cost a bunch of money, but actually, when you think about it, not a whole lot at all (by American standards).  For less than $300 dollars, Lauren’s parents were going to feed an entire village.  Over 200 people (in addition to ourselves, “the Americans,” and a few other people who had been invited) would enjoy one of the best meals in their lives (in terms of quantity, quality, and nutritional value), plus have entertainment: all of this for less than $300.  Not bad.

So I spot Lauren and her parents buying some onions or something and approach them to introduce myself and welcome them to Africa.  I had hardly said more than, “Hi,” when her parents took over the conversation, starting with, “Do you speak English?  …Oh good!  How nice it is to see another American and understand what they’re saying!”  Lauren’s parents, who are from Texas, are characters – very, very interesting, nice, and intelligent people – and I chatted with them and answered their nonstop questions for over an hour as we wandered throughout the marché, accompanying Lauren as she bought things for the next day’s fete.   I was able to give them some insight into the educational side of Burkina Faso, its children/students, and its school systems and curriculum, which both of Lauren’s parents were extremely curious about.  After all, Lauren’s mom used to write/edit math text books and other curriculums published by textbook companies; Lauren’s dad is a rocket scientist – really, a scientist who builds/designs rockets and other things for space exploration.  To further give you an idea of Lauren’s family and why they are so unique/interesting/refreshing, Lauren’s mom is a middle-aged woman (50 something?) who speaks French along with babbling in 10-12 other languages.  She possesses a very elegant and educated vocabulary and yet isn’t afraid to bluntly speak her mind, saying things how she sees them, including profanity and vulgar adjectives if necessary.  And somehow, she has connections to tons of famous people.  It wasn’t unusual for her to say something along the lines of “and when I was working for so and so on this project, I thought, ‘well why don’t I give *insert famous person’s name here* a call and see if he/she’s interested in helping?’”  On the other hand, Lauren’s dad (the rocket scientist), is a 73-year-old man.  Naturally, he’s very smart also (I mean, come on, he builds rockets!), and was very concerned about the math and physics education that students get here.  When I told him students hardly ever do experiments or hands-on activities to demonstrate math/physics concepts, he immediately said, “Well I’m sure my friends back home and maybe NASA could put together some supplies to send out here to demonstrate the velocity… blah blah blah…intense math vocabulary…blah blah blah.”  To which I had to reply: thank you, that’s very nice of you, but receiving the supplies (transportation to village) would be difficult, and also, I’m not sure the students are ready to do this kind of math: I’m still working on basic math concepts -- like 12 times 7 equals 84, or that the angles in a triangle always have a sum of 180 degrees -- we’re not ready to handle velocities and accelerations or surface areas and densities of objects.  Nope, definitely not ready for that stuff.  I gotta get my kids to add, subtract, multiply, and divide correctly first (very important since there are rarely calculators available to calculate these numbers for them), before we can do anything else...like build mini rockets.

Anyways, Lauren’s parents are great, and it was fun to chat with them and share my perspectives about Burkina Faso.  Also, having “foreigners” around really made me realize how much we volunteers have grown in the past 8 months.  Not just with our language skills, but also in our ability to adapt to the culture and develop an extreme tolerance for anything, constantly displaying high levels of patience.  We’ve adapted to our surroundings so much so, that we don’t even notice things that should bother us or raise concern (if we were in America).  Example 1:  We’re chatting near the side of a building, when Lauren’s mom suddenly grabs my arm and tries to pull me towards her.  “There’s a fire/hot-metal-thingy/man-chopping-bones-and-fat right behind you!” she exclaims.  I glance over my shoulder.  I’m a good 18 inches away from the man and his brochette-making operation.  “Oh thanks, but it’s fine.”  “But you were getting close to the fire…and he has a big knife…and”  Lauren then jumps in and says, “Mom.  Stop.  She’s fine.  We live here.  We know what we’re doing here; you don’t.  Trust me, it’s okay.”  Example 2:  We’re standing in the road/pathway.  There are people everywhere, ladies with enormous pots of boiling oil set over huge wood fires to fry fish or bean cakes on both sides of the path, kids running, men carrying displays of hats and sunglasses that they hope to sell as they wander through the crowds of people, etc.  Typical marché scene.  Lauren, her parents, and I are all talking, when her dad stops mid-sentence about something math related: “What is that man doing?!?  He’s hitting that donkey with an ax and forcing his donkey and cart to go through that crowd of people!  But there’s no room on the path!  He’s just pushing himself through all the people!  Look!”  “Yeah, Dad, that’s how they do things here.”  “What?  But why?  That’s dumb.  This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen!”  “Dad.  Stop.  Breathe.  It’s okay.  You’re right: it’s dumb and doesn’t make any sense.  But they do it anyways.”  “Well why doesn’t someone tell him to stop?  Tell him that there’s not enough room for him to be able to drive his donkey cart through the small paths of the market!” “Dad.  Look around.  It’s not just him.  There are motorcycles and cows and kids pulling wagons and men riding bicycles all through the marché.  They all push through crowds of people, whether or not there’s room, whether or not it makes it any sense.  That’s how things are we.” 

I suppose I should be more concerned about things that could potentially be a safety hazard – oh wait, that’s EVERYTHING here – but things become so common and such an everyday, typical occurrence, that you forget that these actions are things we should be worried about at all.  It just becomes normal, not dangerous…even though it still, quite obviously, is very, very dangerous….which might explain why I was mugged a few weeks ago while buying carrots in the marché…lost 25 mille…the story (creatively entitled “Beth Gets Mugged” to come later.

The afternoon with Lauren’s parents was enjoyable, and it allowed me to spend even more time wandering around the marché, even though I really should have left hours ago…but at least I didn’t spend any more money when chatting with the parents.  I finally went back to Sierra’s house (the volunteer who lives in Guron, the village where our marché is held), and gossiped with the other volunteers who had come in for the marché.   Suddenly, Molly and I had a brilliant idea: with the fete in Tourou the next day, we should bike up to Lauren’s village later this afternoon, rather than bike there tomorrow morning.  Then we could spend the night (aka slumber party with Lauren), help set up for the fete in the morning, party and dance with the village all day, and then leave via vehicle with Lauren’s parents that evening to go back to Tougan, instead of having to bike back to our villages (it’s about a 90 minute bikeride).  Lauren had rented a car and a driver to chauffer her parents around Burkina rather than deal with the horribleness of Burkina’s transportation, and so her parents were staying in a hotel in Tougan, rather than in Lauren’s mudhut.  Thus, conveniently, we’d catch a ride with Lauren’s parents to Tougan, get a hotel room for the night, sleep on a real bed with a ceiling fan, take a real shower and thoroughly wash our hair, eat good food for supper, and then eat some more while we simultaneously snack and watch a movie on our computer.  Note: we recently discovered “Mister Potato Crisps” – the Arabic knock-off of Americans’ Pringles – and so we were banking on getting a canister of the sour-cream-and-onion crisps to munch on during our movie…and perhaps a box of wine, too.  The next morning, bright and early, 6am or so, we’d part our separate ways.  Molly had to catch the bus to Ouaga for a formation on latrine building with her homologue and a mason from her village, and I wanted to go to Dedegou for the once-every-two-years, weeklong “West African Mask Festival.”

I had been planning on going to the Mask Festival, but up until this point, I still wasn’t exactly sure when I’d be making the voyage; it depended on school, and how much class I could miss, and when I could get transportation, etc. etc.  But within minutes, Molly and I had decided that our idea was perfect and put our plan into action.  We made sure it was alright to crash at Lauren’s house and to ride the car to Tougan the next day with her parents.   Then I made sure I’d have a place to stay if I showed up in Dedegou on Sunday (the festival doesn’t start until Tuesday).  It was currently 3pm and we had to leave by 5pm if we wanted to make it to Lauren’s before dark, so before pedaling home on our bikes as fast as we could to pack our bags and take care of any other necessities since we’d be gone for a week (i.e. telling our neighbors to water our gardens and feed my dog), we threw the majority of the food we had just bought in the marché into Lauren’s rental car.  There was no since in us taking it home, as we wouldn’t be there to eat it anyways.  Better to take it to Lauren’s house where we could eat some of it for supper, and anything we didn’t finish, Lauren could just keep.  While it wasn’t a huge problem, I realized that I had just “wasted” 4 mille at the marché buying things that I now had no use for.  Great.  So into the car, we tossed onto Lauren’s mom’s lap a sack of green beans, a few cucumbers, a small bag of potatoes, a loaf of bread, 2 bags of salad/lettuce, etc.  Much better to have the car take it, rather than us bike it up, as we’d have to attach our backpack and computers to our bikes anyway, and the less weight on the bike, the better.

I returned home in sweat with aching muscles from biking so fast, started grabbing clothes and other travel necessities, and stuffed them into my backpack.  Towel, yes.  Shorts to sleep in at night, check.  Swimsuit cuz there’s a pool in Dedegou, super important.  Jeans, so I can dress like an “American” when around all the other volunteers coming for the festival.  Daily medicine, to prevent getting malaria. Hairbrush, that’d be helpful, I suppose.  Money, oh yes.  Bank card, so I can withdraw even more money when I spend too much buying cool stuff in Dedegou. Tests that I should have finished correcting weeks ago….nope, they can wait.  I’d rather bring a book to read to help pass the long hours of waiting on transport.  A week is a long time, but I got everything I “needed” into my hot pink school-girl backpack.  We’ve learned how to travel REAL light here, and if that mean’s wearing the same thing almost every day and washing at night, so be it.  The fewer things you bring on transport, the better (ideally it should all fit in your lap, if necessary, and you should be able to carry everything at once and still have a free hand).  And the same goes with biking, too, of course.  Would you rather bike 30k with 10 pounds strapped to your bike or 50 pounds?  Unfortunately, I had to bring my computer with me, and even though I packed light, my computer and case is heavy.  Thus I probably had about 50 pounds strapped to my bike.  Not exaggerating.  But oh well.  It was only this once, the 90 minutes to Lauren’s house.  After that I’d be riding in a car with my 50 pounds of baggage, not physically exerting energy to get my stuff from one location to another. 

I finished up some last minute things…or didn’t finish them…like all the dirty dishes currently lying on the floor of my house…and the window shutters that I’m pretty sure I left wide open.  Dang.  Now my house will be infiltrated with dust when I get back.  As I attached everything to my bike, I realized that I probably should tell my school that I was leaving…and wouldn’t be back for a few days…and thus wouldn’t be having classes on Saturday, Monday, Tuesday, possibly even Thursday, depending on when I got back.  Probably a good idea to inform the school director and other teachers…  so I went to school.  With stuff on my bike and me dressed in “sporty” clothes for biking.  Oh well, I look weird to them all the time anyways.  I bike my 300 meters to school and when I show up, pretty much everyone is sitting outside, under a tree, drinking tea…naturally.  What else would you do at school? …certainly not teaching of any sort or mentoring students….yes, school, the place to drink tea and chat with other teachers.  As I pull up on my bike, they give me the typical greetings and essentially the equivalent of a Burkinabe “high-five” handshake/finger-snap thing as I shake each of their hands.  They’re happy to see me, but also surprised.  The director is sitting outside, so I tell him that I want to leave for a few days.  Well, okay, I didn’t exactly ask him to leave (and skip school).... no, unlike a professional person, I did not ask “permission” to have some time off from work.  Instead, I bluntly said that I was leaving for 4 or 5 days and thus wouldn’t have class.  “Okay,” everyone says, and also, “Bon voyage!”   Really?  Is it really that simple?  Is it really not important or a big deal that I’m skipping school?  Guess not…  They asked when I was leaving; I pointed to the stuff on my bike. “Toute de suite.  J’attend Molly.  On va aller ensemble.”  “Oh! Ca, c’est bon!  C’est meilleur de voyager avec quelqu’un et pas seul.”  (Me: Immediately.  I’m waiting for Molly.  We’re going together. --- Teachers: Oh, that’s good!  It’s better to travel with someone and not by yourself.)  I chatted with the teachers a few more minutes, then Molly called and said she was at my house and ready to go.  After saying goodbye to the teachers and then shaking everyone’s hands again, I biked back to my house to meet Molly. 

Note:  It’s still Friday in my story…and we have not yet actually left for Lauren’s house or had the fete in Lauren’s village.  But as my time is running out and I haven’t finished my story yet, I will post what I have written and finish the rest next time….there’s a lot.  We’ve got the story of searching jolly jus before leaving my village, pre-fete/slumber party at Lauren’s house; the events of SATURDAY (fete, biking to Tougan and almost dying, and more….); Sunday (relaxing in Tougan aka too sore to travel so I didn’t and laid in my hotel bed instead, meeting a possible terrorist?); Monday and beyond (West African Mask Festival – fun with friends, hanging out at the pool…)

So, the adventures of Beth in Burkina Faso: to be continued….