WOMEN'S CHOIR
L'eglise AD, SemagaSunday, May 17, 2009
Friday, May 8, 2009
so, what in the world is going on in this picture?
the building is one of semaga's local protestant churches. this shot was taken a sunday afternoon after the morning service. we waited for the photographer most of the day, and most of the congregation had already left by the time he finally showed up. either way, i'm in there somewhere if you look a bit.
click for a larger version!
Monday, April 6, 2009
"When the sun goes down in village, you have to get inside quick. Otherwise the phantoms and evil genies will get you." Dominique tells me this every night on the way back from the market. He is on the back of my bike and we are riding fast, because there isn't much daylight left.
"But, we planted a small forest today, Dominique," I reply, referring to the twenty so acacias we tried around our courtyard. "And the good genies live in the forests. The good genies will protect us."
He seems skeptical. "Besides," I add, "I know karate. And the phantoms definitely don't know karate. "
We've never talked about his age, but if I were to guess, I would say Dominique is about sixteen. He has other names in village. I call him le comique which is true because you will always laugh when he is around. He also goes by le pilote because he has his own personal airplane which he takes on occasion to The United States to visit my family there. He is planning a trip to the moon next week where he will open the first ever dolo bar in space. It is like this, how we talk.
At night after a dinner of To and sauce de baobab (like hard mashed potatoes made from millet with a sauce made from leaves gathered en brousse) we sometimes sneak out to sit on the concrete gravestone in front of our courtyard. The gravestone is probably the most expensive thing that my family owns. They had a solar panel once, but the kids broke it which means that the huge chunk of rock out front is again number one. Raphael comes over from his house and sometimes we talk about America and sometimes about math and sometimes about girls.
If the moon is full, no one thinks about sleeping and kids play soccer through the night with a ball made of tied cloth. An NGO came once to give a real soccer ball to the village. It popped the first day. I bought one a couple of weeks ago. It popped the first hour. My friend Bazogni talks about a time when they used to have a bunch of soccer balls in our village but I think he is just idealizing. He also says there was a time when there were trees and the harvests were abundant.
Bazogni is probably twenty five. Like most of the men in Semaga, he has worked seasonally in Cote I'voir in the cocao fields. Some of the guys here go every year and have lives and families in both places, moving between the two homes in a strange limbo. Everyone who does seasonal work owns their own moto and more than likely has a cel phone. The others ride around on borrowed bikes and don't make calls.
For fun, we go out en brousse towards the grove of baobab trees and throw sticks at their hanging fruit. There is a legend about the baobab, that years ago, the gods uprooted and turned them so that the branches are now below, and the roots, above. If you see one, you will believe. Getting fruit is harder than you think, and sometimes it's an all day affair. But my friend Opio can get probably five fruits on a good day. His record is eight. Everyone has a specialty in village. Opio's is the baobab fruit.
Odo's is radios. We call him le magicien because even though he can't speak french, he can fix anything electronic. Except solar panels. Odo lives about a half K away from my courtyard, right past Bazogni's house and the pump. If he works through the night, sometimes I wake up to blasting reggae at three a.m. when the wires cross correctly. The whole village knows when Odo has fixed a radio. It comes with the other news like who is getting married, who just had a child, who just died.
When someone passes away, a man will come to the courtyard and play his drum. His beat will tell the village who died and from what and when the funeral is. Inevitably, funerals are the social events of the week and are a joyous occasion with dancing and dolo unless the deceased was young. The whole village comes and dances and celebrates and people do impressions of the man or woman that passed away, talking and dancing and moving how they used to do. -- Paying homage to a life lived as a millet farmer, metal worker, or gardener.
These are the professions in Semaga. As a business development volunteer, this means I find myself working mostly with farmers on a day-to-day basis, as, in Burkina Faso, business is practically synonymous with farming. There is nothing else but the earth.
As my dad kindly observed in our family's recent Christmas letter, my work experience in agriculture beyond mowing the lawn is... not much. This means that I am learning new things every day. Which is nothing short of awesome. As volunteers, most of us are in a strange situation where we bring a completely new skill-set to our villages. Something so basic to me, like saving one's money, the idea of profit, etc. might be a new concept to the farmers that I work with, where as something so basic to them, such as planting millet, tilling the soil, is totally new to me. In that sense, work is a sharing of ideas. We are learning together.
Thank you to everyone that checks this blog from time to time for updates. Your support means a lot to me! My village, Semaga, is about 60 K from the closest internet cafe, so posts are harder to make than I had expected them to be. Know, though, that everything here in Burkina is going well and I have felt extremely welcomed in my community. If anyone is thinking of visiting, mine is the mud hut right after the grove of mango trees on the path in to town. Ask for Brekke.
"But, we planted a small forest today, Dominique," I reply, referring to the twenty so acacias we tried around our courtyard. "And the good genies live in the forests. The good genies will protect us."
He seems skeptical. "Besides," I add, "I know karate. And the phantoms definitely don't know karate. "
We've never talked about his age, but if I were to guess, I would say Dominique is about sixteen. He has other names in village. I call him le comique which is true because you will always laugh when he is around. He also goes by le pilote because he has his own personal airplane which he takes on occasion to The United States to visit my family there. He is planning a trip to the moon next week where he will open the first ever dolo bar in space. It is like this, how we talk.
At night after a dinner of To and sauce de baobab (like hard mashed potatoes made from millet with a sauce made from leaves gathered en brousse) we sometimes sneak out to sit on the concrete gravestone in front of our courtyard. The gravestone is probably the most expensive thing that my family owns. They had a solar panel once, but the kids broke it which means that the huge chunk of rock out front is again number one. Raphael comes over from his house and sometimes we talk about America and sometimes about math and sometimes about girls.
If the moon is full, no one thinks about sleeping and kids play soccer through the night with a ball made of tied cloth. An NGO came once to give a real soccer ball to the village. It popped the first day. I bought one a couple of weeks ago. It popped the first hour. My friend Bazogni talks about a time when they used to have a bunch of soccer balls in our village but I think he is just idealizing. He also says there was a time when there were trees and the harvests were abundant.
Bazogni is probably twenty five. Like most of the men in Semaga, he has worked seasonally in Cote I'voir in the cocao fields. Some of the guys here go every year and have lives and families in both places, moving between the two homes in a strange limbo. Everyone who does seasonal work owns their own moto and more than likely has a cel phone. The others ride around on borrowed bikes and don't make calls.
For fun, we go out en brousse towards the grove of baobab trees and throw sticks at their hanging fruit. There is a legend about the baobab, that years ago, the gods uprooted and turned them so that the branches are now below, and the roots, above. If you see one, you will believe. Getting fruit is harder than you think, and sometimes it's an all day affair. But my friend Opio can get probably five fruits on a good day. His record is eight. Everyone has a specialty in village. Opio's is the baobab fruit.
Odo's is radios. We call him le magicien because even though he can't speak french, he can fix anything electronic. Except solar panels. Odo lives about a half K away from my courtyard, right past Bazogni's house and the pump. If he works through the night, sometimes I wake up to blasting reggae at three a.m. when the wires cross correctly. The whole village knows when Odo has fixed a radio. It comes with the other news like who is getting married, who just had a child, who just died.
When someone passes away, a man will come to the courtyard and play his drum. His beat will tell the village who died and from what and when the funeral is. Inevitably, funerals are the social events of the week and are a joyous occasion with dancing and dolo unless the deceased was young. The whole village comes and dances and celebrates and people do impressions of the man or woman that passed away, talking and dancing and moving how they used to do. -- Paying homage to a life lived as a millet farmer, metal worker, or gardener.
These are the professions in Semaga. As a business development volunteer, this means I find myself working mostly with farmers on a day-to-day basis, as, in Burkina Faso, business is practically synonymous with farming. There is nothing else but the earth.
As my dad kindly observed in our family's recent Christmas letter, my work experience in agriculture beyond mowing the lawn is... not much. This means that I am learning new things every day. Which is nothing short of awesome. As volunteers, most of us are in a strange situation where we bring a completely new skill-set to our villages. Something so basic to me, like saving one's money, the idea of profit, etc. might be a new concept to the farmers that I work with, where as something so basic to them, such as planting millet, tilling the soil, is totally new to me. In that sense, work is a sharing of ideas. We are learning together.
Thank you to everyone that checks this blog from time to time for updates. Your support means a lot to me! My village, Semaga, is about 60 K from the closest internet cafe, so posts are harder to make than I had expected them to be. Know, though, that everything here in Burkina is going well and I have felt extremely welcomed in my community. If anyone is thinking of visiting, mine is the mud hut right after the grove of mango trees on the path in to town. Ask for Brekke.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
quick
Just a quick update to let everyone know all is going well here. We swore in yesterday as volunteers after two months of training. It was a big ordeal with the U.S. ambasador and local government and press. The buz here is that, of the entire group that came to Burkina in October, no one has left yet, which we are all very proud of.
Most of us still have about a week in Ouahigouya before going to site, during which we will be doing our shopping and other things to get ready for service. On my list is a lipico mat, a gas stove, and a table and chairs. I leave the day after Christmas.
My counterpart, Valantin Bako, who I will be working with for the next two years, is the mayor of neighboring Godyr (see previous post). Valantin is a hell of a charater and stole the show during our "counterpart workshop" by showing up a day late on a rigged motercycle with a dead rabit on the back. He had left Godyr at three in the morning and hit the rabit on his way during the night. It was roadkill but the first thing he did after introducing himself was insist that I take it home for rabit stew. Jury is still out on rabit meat, but I think I could go without it. Others here disagree.
There is a lot of talk of Maranga trees these days, a tree that sheds a leaf seemingly more nutritious than pretty much everything in the world. A plant called Djtrofa (sp?) is next in line, as it seems to have the potential for being an amazing source for bio-fuels. Additionally, both stop desertification and could be in the works for projects I'll be working on for the next two years. I will keep everyone posted.
I love you all, and hope everyone has a great christmas this year. I'll be trying to send some emails out over the holidays to catch up more individually, so be on the lookout. Also, please give me a call if you get a chance, as I would love to talk.
All the best,
Love,
brekke
ps : FAMILY: call me!
Most of us still have about a week in Ouahigouya before going to site, during which we will be doing our shopping and other things to get ready for service. On my list is a lipico mat, a gas stove, and a table and chairs. I leave the day after Christmas.
My counterpart, Valantin Bako, who I will be working with for the next two years, is the mayor of neighboring Godyr (see previous post). Valantin is a hell of a charater and stole the show during our "counterpart workshop" by showing up a day late on a rigged motercycle with a dead rabit on the back. He had left Godyr at three in the morning and hit the rabit on his way during the night. It was roadkill but the first thing he did after introducing himself was insist that I take it home for rabit stew. Jury is still out on rabit meat, but I think I could go without it. Others here disagree.
There is a lot of talk of Maranga trees these days, a tree that sheds a leaf seemingly more nutritious than pretty much everything in the world. A plant called Djtrofa (sp?) is next in line, as it seems to have the potential for being an amazing source for bio-fuels. Additionally, both stop desertification and could be in the works for projects I'll be working on for the next two years. I will keep everyone posted.
I love you all, and hope everyone has a great christmas this year. I'll be trying to send some emails out over the holidays to catch up more individually, so be on the lookout. Also, please give me a call if you get a chance, as I would love to talk.
All the best,
Love,
brekke
ps : FAMILY: call me!
Monday, December 15, 2008
Dancehall Protestantism
My host father, Zideouemba, is a deacon for the local protestant church. On Sundays, we walk in together and sit at the front, and my host mother, Mariam, moves to the right side of the room with the other women, and my sister, Grace, moves to the left with the children. The service is more than three hours long, which is long.
but you wouldn't notice for at least two hours. I promise. The reason is that my dad, the deacon, is in charge of the music, and he is a real rock star. At first, he walks to the front of the church and someone hands a mic over. It's wired directly to a single huge speaker at the side of the sanctuary. He's wearing his Sunday morning best, a traditional Mossi outfit called the boubou which is kind of like a sheet with arms that you put on over a pair of pants. The pants are also like sheets or maybe like sleeping bags, but this time for your legs.
There are two boys sitting on wooden boxes who wait for his cue, and for a second it is quiet and then there is a bit of distortion while he clears his throat. but suddenly he starts to sing and boogie out of nowhere! The section of women who sit on the right start to yip and yell in response. The two boys start pounding on their boxes and make a mean beat and then I wait for it, because this is my favorite part: the old woman who sits two pews ahead of me starts to move with the rhythm. Its just a bit at first, but pretty soon my dad is tearin' things up up front and grandma just jumps out of her pew and really starts getting down.
The music will kick your ass. You might even cry, because sometimes it all just happens perfectly and you realise you are in this concrete church in Africa where it seems like people have nothing, but once you come to church with them, you're not really sure if it's that they have nothing or that they have everything. and it is hot and dusty and uncomfortable outside, but, the music is killing you and it is just too beautiful. Bite your teeth and keep on swaying. It's cultural faux pas in Burkina to shed a tear, especially out of joy.
Grandma is all the way out on the dance floor now and others have joined her. They form a dance circle and people even show off their moves in the middle. Everyone is clapping, and the melody is swift. When my dad yells out during the song he does it in the way someone would yell out "Chicago, make some noise!" at a concert, but he says, "Bark Wend Na!" which means Praise God, and everyone yips and yells in response again, like we did when we were little kids playing cowboys and indians. I get the shivers every time.
We go home after church and clean house and do laundry. The Sunday afternoon meal is banga which is exclusive to Sundays. It is rice and beans with oil but it is delicious like you wouldn't believe. After we eat, I go to my room and promise myself that next Sunday I won' be such a wall-flower. My host dad is the deacon after all, it would be bad form to keep showing up with such stiff legs.
but you wouldn't notice for at least two hours. I promise. The reason is that my dad, the deacon, is in charge of the music, and he is a real rock star. At first, he walks to the front of the church and someone hands a mic over. It's wired directly to a single huge speaker at the side of the sanctuary. He's wearing his Sunday morning best, a traditional Mossi outfit called the boubou which is kind of like a sheet with arms that you put on over a pair of pants. The pants are also like sheets or maybe like sleeping bags, but this time for your legs.
There are two boys sitting on wooden boxes who wait for his cue, and for a second it is quiet and then there is a bit of distortion while he clears his throat. but suddenly he starts to sing and boogie out of nowhere! The section of women who sit on the right start to yip and yell in response. The two boys start pounding on their boxes and make a mean beat and then I wait for it, because this is my favorite part: the old woman who sits two pews ahead of me starts to move with the rhythm. Its just a bit at first, but pretty soon my dad is tearin' things up up front and grandma just jumps out of her pew and really starts getting down.
The music will kick your ass. You might even cry, because sometimes it all just happens perfectly and you realise you are in this concrete church in Africa where it seems like people have nothing, but once you come to church with them, you're not really sure if it's that they have nothing or that they have everything. and it is hot and dusty and uncomfortable outside, but, the music is killing you and it is just too beautiful. Bite your teeth and keep on swaying. It's cultural faux pas in Burkina to shed a tear, especially out of joy.
Grandma is all the way out on the dance floor now and others have joined her. They form a dance circle and people even show off their moves in the middle. Everyone is clapping, and the melody is swift. When my dad yells out during the song he does it in the way someone would yell out "Chicago, make some noise!" at a concert, but he says, "Bark Wend Na!" which means Praise God, and everyone yips and yells in response again, like we did when we were little kids playing cowboys and indians. I get the shivers every time.
We go home after church and clean house and do laundry. The Sunday afternoon meal is banga which is exclusive to Sundays. It is rice and beans with oil but it is delicious like you wouldn't believe. After we eat, I go to my room and promise myself that next Sunday I won' be such a wall-flower. My host dad is the deacon after all, it would be bad form to keep showing up with such stiff legs.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Semaga
Site Announcement, Baby
So, all of the Peace Corps Trainees received information this last week on the communities they will be living in for the next two years. My future home is a small farming community in the mid western part of Burkina called Semaga!
Semaga is lcated about 60k north west of Koudougou, which you can see on the map above. I will be the first PC volunteer in Semaga. As PC training has progressed, it seems more and more like much of the work I will be doing will be focused on agro-business development.
As far as I can tell, there is no market in Semaga, and I will have to ride my bike a couple K to a village called Godyr for fruits, veggies and so on. We should all cross our fingers for cel phone service though I've heard climbing a tree sometimes helps. Will let you know how things pan out in that department!
If you want a better idea for where Semaga is, go ahead and type "Godyr, Burkina Faso" into google maps and the general area should come up.
More information soon!
So, all of the Peace Corps Trainees received information this last week on the communities they will be living in for the next two years. My future home is a small farming community in the mid western part of Burkina called Semaga!
Semaga is lcated about 60k north west of Koudougou, which you can see on the map above. I will be the first PC volunteer in Semaga. As PC training has progressed, it seems more and more like much of the work I will be doing will be focused on agro-business development.As far as I can tell, there is no market in Semaga, and I will have to ride my bike a couple K to a village called Godyr for fruits, veggies and so on. We should all cross our fingers for cel phone service though I've heard climbing a tree sometimes helps. Will let you know how things pan out in that department!
If you want a better idea for where Semaga is, go ahead and type "Godyr, Burkina Faso" into google maps and the general area should come up.
More information soon!
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