Joyeux Noël!

Merry Christmas to all of you, wherever you are in the world. May my friends in Host Country and other PCVs remain safe and in good spirits this holiday season. May all travelers have safe passage and may everyone show kindness and goodwill towards others. Hope all is well chez vous!

Holiday Preparations

Mon amie l’attelle (My friend the brace) and I have been making good progress – two more degrees this week and just a few more to go before I’ll be medically fit to resume service. Comme (since/as) my next doctor’s appointment is in early 2011, I’ll be making a trek to Urban Metropolis over the holidays to visit some friends. During my convalescence, they’ve been hard at work in medical school and I’m excited to see them before leaving again for a few years. At first I was shocked that they didn’t have much time to chat during my brief séjour (stay). But in talking to them, I realized how enthusiastic they were about all most some of the things they were studying and how ready I am to continue with the next step of my career. Furthermore, this prise de conscience (realization) confronted me while buying coffee filters at Target for $0.87. Pourquoi? I thought about getting two packages, but realized that I probably was not going to be around for 200 pots of coffee. Finally, I’ve enjoyed reading blog posts and looking at pictures posted by my stagemates who just finished a training week. I’ll be seeing them sooner rather than later to experience some fruitful aventures of my own, which will make for far more interesting blog fare than ramblings about medical appointments and reflections on my identity and holiday habits.

This attelle has been my constant companion for the last few weeks. We have thrice daily half-hour rendez-vous, which have made the biweekly physical therapy appointments far more bearable. I use a white knob to adjust it to a pain level of 3 on a scale 1-10 and adjust the setting toutes les cinq minutes (every five minutes). I use the brace to work on extension but as an unexpected effet secondaire, my flexion has also improved by several degrees. This régime is a lot easier than the gravity approach which the adhesions in my arm valiantly resisted. Though I’m grateful for the aide, I won’t be sorry to send it back soon!

West African moment chez moi: Last night, I put my glass of wine down for one minute to grab something from the kitchen. I had learned in Host Country the importance of always keeping one’s beverage covered to protect it from flies. Hélas, last night I had to pour out half a glass of Cabernet-Sauvignon due to an intruder. At least it was à portée de main (within easy reach)and not the last bottle in the village!

Mysteries Solved!

Yesterday, I had another appointment chez l’orthopédiste. I have a follow-up appointment in very early January and will start working with Peace Corps Headquarters on the reinstatement process. Fingers crossed!

One theme of the past week has been realizing that
- I learned from a bande-annonce (movie trailer) that the Narnia title “Voyage of the Dawn Treader” is pronounced like the verb “to tread,” as in the famous Gadsen Flag slogan “Don’t Tread On Me!” For some reason, I always thought it was pronounced “treeder.”
- I read an article about couches. In French, the noun couche, can mean many different things depending on the context - layer, bed, covering. Dear readers, I kept waiting for the reference to layers before realizing that the authors meant “sofas”.
- A song that I was listening to included the word tilleul. Heading over to my trust WordReference, I discovered that un tilleul is a lime tree. I honestly can never remember having ever thought or talked about lime trees in my life. Curioser and curioser, the song mentioned falbala, which translates to “furbelow.” According to Dictionary.com, a furbelow is a ruffle, flounce or other ornament on a woman’s skirt and entered the English language via, you guessed it, early modern French.

Que vous aussi trouviez la solution d’un mystère! (May you also solve a mystery !)

Bii-Ribla

The title of this post means “boy” in my Local Language and describes how I’ve been feeling these past few weeks. Part of this sentiment comes from reminiscing about my own mostly happy childhood as ma famille gathered around the Thanksgiving table. We shared stories about growing up, proving that we each privilege different experiences depending on our circumstances and our states of mind. « Les souvenirs perdent leur reste de fraîcheur si on les évoque parmi la foule. La mémoire ne peut être qu’un exercice solitaire » [Memories lose their remains of freshness if one evokes them among a crowd. Memory can only be a solitary exercise.] Furthermore, I’ve had quite a bit of undirected creative time with which to read books and articles, write poems and short fiction, watch TV shows and films. Let’s not forget Christmas music! December was always a mad dash to vacation, made bearable by warm treats and anticipation.

Childlike freedom, however, can also lead to notions of impuissance (helplessness). Especially during this hectic holiday time, when everyone tries to cram in shopping amidst end of school and calendar year activities, it just feels malséant (unseemly) to rest on one’s laurels. I do my exercises three times a day, but there really isn’t much else I can do to speed up my recovery process. Where once I neatly fit into family and social networks, sometimes I feel maladroit (awkward) when making decisions. I will be leaving nindaare (one of these days), but I make contingency plans until then. Today’s Advent reading centered upon the idea of anticipation. “So too, you also must be prepared, for at an hour you do not expect, the Son of Man will come” (Mt 24:37-44). During his homily, the priest differentiated between tense expectation, such as when awaiting a relative and being receptive in a qué sera, sera mode. My goal for the week is to focus on the latter interpretation. Thankfully, I’ll have more news later this week after several appointments – the holiday rush stops for no one!

Random Reflections

- I went to see the Radio City Rockettes with my family last weekend. It was quite enjoyable and festive, though I could have done without the harem dancing mice. Still, it was nice to see so many multigenerational families gathered together to celebrate the holidays.

- Holiday shopping is upon us! I prefer the JCPenny’s model at our local mall (customer service kiosks distributed throughout the store) to the Dillard’s model (cash registers nestled within the departments, staffed with very friendly clerks who hail all passersby). Perhaps my friendly conversational side takes over when I’m broke, lost and alone (see this post).

- One of my favorite attractions at the mall is the large indoor aquarium. Not only is it stocked with fresh-caught fish, they always try to keep one albino catfish at all times. In recent years, management has added more lighting to improve visibility. It’s a very relaxing spot, though the adjoining play area does not add to l’ambiance tranquille.

- Physical therapy is going well. I have an appointment next week chez l’orthopédiste, who will give me a realistic timeline about return dates. The brace has done wonders for my range of motion and lifting those heavy bags of Thanksgiving fixings and holiday gifts isn’t quite as burdensome as it once seemed.

- Happy Thanksgiving to all! May you be surrounded by loved ones and full of good cheer and delicious food.

Je Veux Qu'Il Revienne (I Want Him to Come Back): Memory Edition*

Title Song

Just a little further, almost there [other inspirational phrases like “I think I can” and “It’s the CLIIIIIMB!!!”] and…oomph! Thankfully, my physical therapy regimen has switched to gentler, longer stretches which have produced amazing results (2 extra cm of motion yesterday). No, that first phrase describes the Sisyphean agony of recall from long-term memory.

While in college, I enjoyed exploring foreign languages and science simultaneously. It felt nice to give my brain a break from studying pages of Organic Chemistry reactions to work on some création littéraire. Conversely, I enjoyed explaining the lac operon to students after a night of fitfully tussling with the gender/number accord of past participles followed by infinitives. Yes, the French language really is that pointilleuse (fastidious with shades of anal-retentive).

After my sojourn is this all-you-can-eat buffet of academia, I went on a foreign language binge for a year in Europe. J’ai parfait (I perfected) my French, built up my Spanish and learned some conversational German (Ich möchte ein Bier!). I then moved to West Africa with the Peace Corps and was asked to combine my previously disparate sets of knowledge into one harmonious presentation. The French came easily – dredging up the scientific details from the recesses of my long-term memory was far more difficult. As an exercise while home on break, I pulled out some notes from Organic Chemistry and Mammalian Physiology and was astounded that at one point I was capable of doing that work. Heureusement, I’ll be teaching middle school but it’s still nice to have a better idea of context that one’s students.

Now that I’m back in AmericaLand, I’m trying hard to maintain my language skills. Popular songs, conversations with friends, Facebook updates, newspaper articles and books all play un rôle important in this endeavor. I can still get caught up on little things – verbs that take different objects in English, using pronouns to the fullest extent. Finding materials for my local language, par contre, has proven far more challenging. Little written material exists and since most of Host Country is not on the Web, there aren’t a lot of sound files either. I’ve been reviewing my language notebooks but that a) becomes intensely boring after awhile and b) only does so much to jog my memory.

Local Language is certainly not boring. It’s a tonal language which deletes verb endings before direct objects. Par exemple, “Maam yũudame” (“I drink”) becomes “Maam yũuda bisap” (I drink bissap juice). It’s also heavy on the y’s, such as in the phrase for “Where are you from?”  “Yamb yita yɛ?” The consonants d and r are interchangeable at the beginning of the word. “Market” can be translated as “raaga” or “daaga” depending on the speaker’s home region and dialect. My language classmates and I used to exploit this property while reciting the “Buying things at market” dialogue for the fiftieth time. It paid off though, as I’ll be able to purchase virtually anything upon returning. I say virtually because off course I’ll head to my site and discover that we make some as-to-unheard-of wonder.

Remembering some of my favorite experiences from Host Country is becoming easier every day, as more and more of my stagemates download photos to Facebook. Most of the literature for future PCVs talks about the challenges you’ll face upon arriving and how the heat/bugs/food will matter less than connections. With a bit of distance from Host Country, my sensory memory recalls the sensations of sweat covering my clothes, of . But my souvenirs of great conversations with friends and getting to know people who led very different lives from myself hearken to me from afar, singing like humpback whales from the watery depths of ma vie jusqu’à présent (my life until now).

*Courtesy of Françoise Hardy, chanteuse extraordinare of the 1960s. This song talks about wanting a lost love back, even though you've suffered enough. Not the healthiest sentiment to have, but a very human one.

Linearity II

Body Lines
Good news! Using the brace has helped my arm to reach its greatest extension yet. Bonus: working on extension has also lead to gains in flexion. I’m amazed at how far my arm has progressed since August, but am très enthousiaste about maintaining this rate.

Timelines
In my last post, I pondered the seemingly convoluted evolution of my academic interests and career paths. Today I wanted to zoom in on a section of my lifeline and reflect on how this little incident interrupted my supposedly linear Peace Corps experience. Our medical team and administration in Host Country stressed the cyclical nature of the experience (emotional highs and lows, periods of frenetic energy and others of dormant torpor) and that each Volunteer’s experience was unique. Stuck in my competitive goal-setting ways (the dangers of inspirational posters!), I thought quand même that I had a pretty good idea of how my time would go. Secondary Education seems to have a pretty defined rhythm which corresponds to l’année scolaire (the school year).

Coming back from site visit, I was blown away by how different everyone’s living and working situation would be. Some were matched with eager counterparts who offered opportunities à gogo, while others would have to do some more digging to find out what the community wanted and how they as Volunteers could help. While recovering in Unbloggable Events LandTM, I spoke with other Volunteers who suggested mille et une variations on how to “make it your own” - working with your site to develop children’s camps, improve healthcare facilities, nurture nascent small enterprises.

I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t a bit apprehensive as to how I’ll fit in since I’m off the calendrier normal. Heureusement, everyone has been very supportive and this little detour will just add some more spice to my future stories.

Linearity

October was a rough month for most of my friends in law and medical school. Each suffered a unique case of system overload, but the frantic messages promising communication later and complaints of 16 hour days. Still, they were all glad to have satisfied another requirement to advance in their rather linear degree paths.

I first heard the word “linear” in my 7th grade Pre-Algebra class. We were trying to figure out solutions to equations of the form “y=mx+b.” Never a big fan of math, I was surprised to see the concept again in my English courses as a way to describe narrative arcs. While my own life seems to be a random set of méandres (twists and turns), the end result is actually quite linear.

When I first entered college, I was set on attending veterinary school immediately after undergraduate and stepping onto the fast track to personal and financial success. Then I took Mammalian Physiology. Lots of interesting information, much of which got drowned out due to sheer volume. That was the same semester that I decided to take Honors Organic Chemistry II, Contemporary African Art, Introduction to French Literature and a seminar about elephants. With the clarity of time, I now see that I had made my college major choice into une crise d'identité and had decided to throw myself onto everything and see which held me afloat.

After jumping off the pre-veterinary track, I decided to keep my position as an undergraduate teaching assistant in biology and added another job as a peer leader. Teaching was something new and different that gave me a) authority and b) instant feedback. It’s a lot easier to read a 19 year old’s glazed over eyes of boredom than a calm professional’s visage impassible as she hands back your latest paper. Those gigs lead to my year in France as an English teaching assistant, which helped me to prepare for my eventual job in the Peace Corps which combines language/cultural expertise with technical knowledge.

The sense of this evolution made sense to me while talking to friends and family who had suffered through my pre-test freakouts. Explaining it to most other people isn’t that hard, as they either see the scribbled lines of coherence or decide that I’m just out of my mind. One friend’s mother still believes that I’m a great con artist convincing government entities to shell out vast amounts of cash for exotic trips (coupable!). Et pourtant (and yet), some acquaintances and family members keep asking me, “What about your career? When are you going to figure out what to do with your life?”

For awhile, I kept a hazy list of graduate programs running on my laptop and was fond of discourir de my grand future plans. Thankfully, cultural adjustment doesn’t leave a lot of spare processing energy for non-immediate challenges so training was a break from this worry. Since returning to the US, I’ve had more time to think as I do my physical therapy stretches and procrastinate on finishing short stories. The list expanded in depth and breadth as I found more scholars whose “intellectual communities” I wanted to belong to. I was chatting with one friend who’s thriving in the medical school marathon about future anxieties. She reminded me that I’ve already made steps on the career path and that I’ll have graduate options available when and if I need them.

Having grown up in the “gotta have more 90s,” I was used to making plans of success and modest fame far in advance. I have been known to make extensive spreadsheets detailing future courses, working hours and career plans. So the list is still there, but I’m not freaking out about it anymore. I’ll figure something out, even if I don’t feel called as if by a siren song streaming through a sea shell. In keeping up with other PCV’s blogs, I’m surprised at the range of projects my colleagues are undertaking and how they’re adjusting to radically different expectations. Mieux vaux plier que rompre (better to bend than to break)!

Community

My last post on the great holiday of temporary community, Halloween, started me thinking about individualism and communities in my own life. The great French classical philosopher Pascal said “Le moi est haissable” (basically, “The ego is destable/obnoxious). I thought about this quote during my Sunday morning routine: reading the local newspaper, going to church with my family and eating brunch with my father at one of our favorite local restaurants. Shopping and church are the activities that I use most often to form my own communities.


En feuilletant (while browsing)the Christmas ads, my father reminisced about how my sister and I used to circle our desired objects when we were younger and more openly with our greed. But it went beyond the Target circular – the JCPenny’s Christmas catalogue was a tome to be reckoned with. Dolls, keyboards, computer games, soccer balls. I remember bundling up in my thick winter coat and going to the customer service desk at our local mall for late December pickups. Now that I’m a bit more raffiné (refined) as well as connected to technology, shopping is one of the few experiences that forces me to leave the comfort of my own home and interact with the wider community. Last year in France, I got to know a few of the street vendors at the Marché de Noël and was excited to see students and colleagues in a different setting. Markets in Host Country are intense affairs with complex negotiations and a strong reliance on social trust. Plus, FedEx Ground has yet to take off.

L’Église fulfills my need for interaction in a different way. In a global sense, I feel connected to so many other Catholics around the world when I go to Sunday Mass. It gives me great comfort when abroad to know that my family in Kansas will recite many of the same prayers, struggle with the same problems and sing many of the same hymns as I do seven hours before them. On a local level, we also share la paix du Christ with each other before taking Communion. Shaking the hand of a fellow human being creates an instant connection whose power is magnified when one feels adrift and alone. Watching the same faces process towards the altar each week to receive la hostie creates a sense of familiarity.

But these activities alone are not enough. As social critic Robert Putnam argues in “Bowling Alone,” Americans have become a more intensely individualistic nation over the past few decades. There are some definite benefits to focusing on the individual (self-satisfaction, empowerment, seeing nuances rather than groups) but disadvantages as well. Polite greetings and smiles of recognition are great but cannot take the place of genuine human caring and interaction. To saluer someone properly in Host Country takes a few minutes of sustained conversation and contact. We are encouraged to get to know our neighbors on a deeper level than “Heya Bob, great weather, eh?” This has never been easy for me and as my friend Valerie writes at Exit Anytime, putting oneself out there for recognition and display can be profoundly uncomfortable. But as caterpillars must endure the chrysalis to become butterflies so too must I find my own critical point to begin metamorphosis.

Fall Food, Films and Fiction

Tout d’abord, good news! We had a breakthrough on the healthcare/insurance front and I’ll soon be receiving my orthopedic device which will help physical therapy go much faster. I’ll still have to wear it for quite awhile before returning to Host Country, but each step brings me a little closer.

We had a few trick-or-treaters this year, more than I expected. Our neighborhood has changed over the years, but we still don’t have many families with young children running around. Oh well, at least Maman had bought licorice and animal crackers for treats instead of tempting candy bars. During my time at home, I have discovered a new passion for strawberry-yogurt covered breakfast bars. There was an attempt at instant mashed potatoes, which reminded me of le tô, the traditional dish par excellence in Host Country. I wish I could say that these memories imbued the dish with a taste akin to Proust’s madeleine, but alas, ‘twas not to be.

As for films, I’ve watched “Robin Hood,” “Perfume” and “The Girl Who Played with Fire” among others. I enjoyed listening to the Australian lead actors in Robin Hood chatter away in their British accents and was glad to hear a bit of French when the characters were a) in France or b) talking to a French person. Such historical realism was not to be found in “Perfume,” the story of a young man blessed with an over-stimulated sense of smell and cursed with a lust for possession. It was, cependant, still an enjoyable film with great acting by Dustin Hoffman. Quant au dernier film, I was a bit shocked as to how much of the book the production team had cut out, but they managed to keep the essential threads. What I’m really looking forward to is the third film. Sex crimes and murderous lairs reeking of criminals make for good dramatic cinema, but a psychologically-torturous courtroom drama will be a big change.

Enfin, I’m working my way through Lettres philosophes by Voltaire and Half-Broke Horses by Jeannette Walls. Both possess a key characteristic that keeps my reading interest: short units (letters and vignettes, respectively). Voltaire’s reflections on the relatively freedom of English reason and nobility compared to the stuffiness of Louis XV France are quite interesting in light of les Révolutions (Française et Américaine). It’s been a great vocabulary-enriching exercise to read tracts on religious philosophy and meditations on the composition of the cosmos while at the same time grappling with new verbs in the passé simple and arcane adjectives. Walls’ novel draws from her grandmother’s life and depicts a young woman’s growth in a period of great technological and cultural change. Each vignette about key episodes in Lily’s life is punctuated by reflections regarding family responsibility and savoir-faire. Fascinating read and a great follow-up to 2005’s The Glass Castle.

Anatomy of a Day

Ev’ning

Beautiful sunset glows
Time has wast’d away
Soon there’ll be winter snows
Outdoors I shan’t stay
Copyright BurkinaSciSteven 2010

I’ve been trying to take advantage of the natural beauty available off my lovely back porch during these past few weeks. While on my site visit, I spent 7 hours a day reading on my front porch, surrounded by animal noises and the green espoir (hope) of freshly planted crops. Now that I’m back in AmericaLand, I have a tendency to spend most of my day indoors surrounded by Wi-Fi and climate control. I don’t feel that I’m wasting my days, but I do miss that extra dimension. Sure, I catch a few minutes of time here when I let the cats out, there when I walk to my car but it can hardly compare.

I usually get up around 8 am, spend some time drinking coffee, reading the newspaper and easing into the day. Next, I spend a few hours on la Red (the Net en español) reading blog posts and newspaper stories – I hit up the New York Times, Le Monde, El País and amuse myself by attempting to read a few headlines from Die Welt. Lunch comes all too soon and is a pleasant interruption. Maman comes home to chat about the day so far, what we’ll do that afternoon and how spoiled the cats are. My last few PT appointments have been in the early afternoon which gives me a chance to stretch out a bit.

Une fois rentré (once home), I read a few chapters from An American Tragedy(Dreiser), Half Broke Horses (Jeannette Walls) or Lettres philosophiques (Voltaire). Normally I enjoy the comfort of my bed, but reading works as a pleasant outdoor activity for me. The antics of birds and rabbits are still fun to watch, though remarkably less so now that they’ve figured out that the cat is too spoiled and fat to pose any serious danger. Then that 5 minute Facebook break has turned into an hour of snooping and clicking on various Wikipedia links. A few days a week before dinner, I like to me promener (walk around, stroll) with my mother in our local park. Birds call, soccer moms power-walk and youth unencumbered by jobs or homework congregate in the street to conduct loud bonding rituals (yelling, chasing, posturing).

Evening is a time of reckoning, when we stop and take stock of our day. Was it joyful/sad/productive/restorative/unsatisfying? When you don’t have a lot of scheduled activities, it’s easy to while the day away and then feel guilty at its bittersweet end. Twenty minutes of outdoor time is my minimum requirement for “fine day,” as the status quo around here is luckily “good day.”

Wishing you all "fine days" and Happy Halloween!

De l’opacité à la transparence

The further I go in my study of languages, the clearer things become for awhile. It’s as if I’m polishing a glass window with a rag. It starts out completely opaque and I have no idea where to start. Sure of my ability to turn challenges into opportunities, I pick a spot and start polishing. Books and classes are my WindexTM, daily practice is my cleaning rag. This récemment-trouvé (new-found ) translucence is usually just clear enough for me to see just how much more work there is to do. But, whatever, I’m feeling pretty confident in my abilities and tackle a large swathe. Ooomf! I overreach and feel more lost than before. Then I remember how hard it was to make that first tache claire (clear patch) and go back to books, classes and speaking. Eventually, I get this spot clear and continue. Une fois terminé (once finished), I wipe the whole window again to turn translucence into transparence. I’m currently at different stages of this process for different language. Par exemple, the French window is mostly transparent with a few stubborn spots of translucence and some opaque blotches I have yet to encounter. I’d say that my English window is quite clean with a few specks, my Spanish window is getting more translucent by the day and that my Local Language window is mostly opaque with a few spots of clarity. I don’t need all of the windows to be perfectly clear all of the time – I’d simply like to be able to see what’s going on outside.

One domaine in which I’m currently trying to improve my vocabulary is biology. As the title of this blog explains, I’ll be teaching Sciences de la Vie et de la Terre in French once I return to Host Country. This is a challenge which puts me on equal footing with all of the other co-stagiaires since I don’t have a large scientific vocabulary in any language other than English. My language classes centered on daily activities (what kinds of fruit to buy, how to express that one would like to ski) and literary interpretation. These skills come in handy when trying to explain the reproduction cycle of flowering plants and climates of the Earth, but don’t give much clue as to the "proper" scientific terms. Last year in Nancy, I used to wander through the aquarium/natural history museum and gaze at the beautiful names for the exhibited wonders. Some corresponded directly to their English counterparts: une étoile de mer (literally “sea star”) is a starfish. Others had chosen different characteristics to highlight, but were still recognizable: une méduse is a jellyfish, which as a cnidarian goes through a life cycle of polyp and medusa stages. Still others had seemingly no connection: un scalaire is an angelfish, un escargot is (you guessed it) a snail.

Back in the States, I’ve been watching nature documentaries in French and Spanish. Clips from the BBC’s award-winning series “Planet Earth” and “Blue Planet” are available on YouTube in various dubiously-legal formats. Furthermore, I watched the French film “Océans,” a spinoff of the BBC idea condensed into one 1.5 hour film instead of several episodes. I learned that a walrus is un morse (una morsa in Spanish) and une baleine à bosse is quite literally a humpback whale. Granted, while living in a landlocked Sahelian country it’s unlikely that I’ll see any of these creatures, it’s still interesting to think about how language influences the way we think about the natural world. Since eighth grade my teachers and professors have expounded on the miracle of binomial nomenclature as a universal naming system. As more and more scientific articles are published in English rather than in French, German or Russian, what shifts are yet to come?

Speaking of shifts, I had a pleasant conversation with Host Country administrators this week and we’ll hopefully work with Peace Corps HQ to create a return plan for me in the coming months. À bientôt (see you soon)!

Je Suis D'Ici et D'Ailleurs, Entre Deux Vies*

News from the orthopedic surgeon today: good progress, waiting for the Brace that Will Hold Up the WorldTM, follow-up appointment in six weeks. Yes, my Kansas detour will last a bit longer than expected. I’ve recently suffered a few bouts of le syndrome de l’imposteur. All passed by quickly, alxamdulilaay, but still provided opportunities for self-reflection.

- Peace Corps – I have received a lot of support from friends/colleagues and am waiting to return, but I am no longer like the others. They have had many shared experiences and I don't know if I can les rattraper (catch up to them). Like many tightly-knit groups, the Peace Corps has its own idea of “age” based on length of service. In some countries, it’s not uncommon to hear “Are you from Host Country 20 or 21? When will the 20s have their training?” Will I still be in ma cohorte, in generation 1.5 or in another situation entirely?
- Grad School – As part of the great process of se tourner vers l’avenir (looking to the future), I’ve been researching graduate schools and comparing applications. Bien que (although) I’ll have great recommendations from faculty, I still started panicking when I saw the Personal Statement where I’m asked to define what led me to the field and what I hope to do with my education. Other concerns from web browsing: hard to refocus on “one” goal after relishing diverse experiences and reading selon mes envies (according to my urges/cravings) , comparisons with Everyone Else Who Is Wildly Successful (speaks/reads seven languages, has received super-fancy fellowships, etc).

In addition to moments of self-doubt and tortured self-reflection, I’ve had some very positive experiences as well. Not surprisingly, most of these deal with human interaction. Though I’ m an introvert most of the time, human contact and relationships sustain my emotional life and keep me from being listening too closely to the doubts swirling around my mind. That, and le sport – nothing like a nice walk on a sunny day to turn your mood around!

- Peace Corps - I’ve received a lot of encouraging mail and hope to speak to the administration team in Host Country in the near future about logistics, which should put most of these questions to rest. En outre, I’ll always have those strong connections with my group no matter what I’m called. This week, I gave presentations to sixth graders about the goals of the Peace Corps and what my all-to-brief journey to Burkina was like. This activated a positive feedback loop of performance and adrenaline and reminded me of the joy of teaching and why I joined the Peace Corps.
- Grad School - While stressing out, I glanced over my CV and some common themes jumped out (l’Afrique, la Francophonie, l’identité). I was able to type up a shitty first draft with some ideas, which went a LONG way towards calming me down. De plus, I reviewed some of my old papers and my spirits rose while rereading my own bright insights and encouraging comments from respected professors. While I have some fields that interest me more than others, I don’t have to actually be ready to write a dissertation/commit to a topic RIGHT THIS MINUTE!!!

*Sheryfa Luna

Age Ain't Nothin' But A Number (And a Host of Socially-Agreed Upon Conventions)

One large difference between cultures is the definition of stages of the life cycle. While in one context adolescence might extend until age 18, it may not be unusual to see 15 year olds with jobs and families. The very markers we use to define age classes also differ: what roles do academic achievement, independent living, childbearing, working full-time play in determining who is and who isn’t an adult? And how has the recent global recession changed the significance of these markers? If someone holds a full-time job and pays rent to his/her parents for a room in the family home, is s/he “self-sufficient”?

Much of this reflection was spurred after I had read this article from Newsweek while waiting for my physical therapy appointment. Clients at HomeTown physical therapy practice run the gamut from chatty octogenarians (J rides the bicycle next to me and compares progress and thoughts about the weather) to stoic jeunes from the local high schools in for sport injuries. During a recent appointment, I needed to do some exercises in the common room rather than in one of the intime (cozy) examination rooms. Suddenly, I was in view and within earshot of eight other patients and their therapists. Conversations regarding dog breeds, newly released films and best restaurants for a cheap date combined to form a cacophonie chaotique.

Though I’ve been out of college for awhile, I’m still used to being in age-segregated spaces. The majority of my fellow stagiaires in Host Country are between the ages of 23 and 26, with a few wonderful outliers. Last year in France, I lived with other twentysomethings in a dorm-type situation. At work, however, I interacted with two age diverse groups. As I’d expected, the faculty ranged in age from 23 to 60 but the more striking gamme was that of the students’ ages. Within one class, I worked with 14 year olds to 24 year olds and every age in between. Part of this is symptomatic of high rates of redoubler (repeating a year) at my particular établissement and in France in general. Redoublants can also be found in Host Country, the USA and many other countries, especially those that have strict promotion requirements and exams between primary, lower secondary and upper secondary schools.

From my observations, adolescence seemed to be the most variable state in Host Country life. The peoples of Host Country, like many around the world, believe that elders should be revered, due in part to their acquired wisdom. Children were given fewer responsibilities and accordingly fewer privileges. Adolescence, cependant, lasted five years for some people and ten for others. Some grew up faster due to external circumstances, such as the loss of a family member. Others, however, made conscious choices about how long they stayed in school, when they started asking for more adult clothing, when they became romantically involved.

Many of my working friends have independently arrived at the same conclusion: “adulthood” encompasses far more ages and stages than “childhood” or “adolescence.” This is not to suggest that the latter two phases are less important (or fraught with less drama!), but rather to make sense of the sudden shift from being surrounded primarily by age peers to making friends at different stages of life. There are many positive aspects to this change: opportunities for less formalized mentorship than could be found in an academic setting, less angst as everyone approaches the same transition phases. On the other hand, it can be hard as a freshly minted graduate to search for age peers, especially if most of your colleagues are 4+ years older and in different romantic/familial situations than yourself. Of course, this assumes that “you” were a traditional undergraduate who was not working more than 15+ hours per week, was not supporting a family and was 18-23 at the time.

While I had fun in college (thanks especially to R, K and P), life after graduation is wonderful as well. Thankfully most of my friends have found their way into medical/law/graduate schools which are good fits or have managed to find a job vaguely related to one or more of their interests. My parents aren’t the most *ahem* exciting people on the planet, but they make adulthood look like it’s not all tears and pain. Perhaps that’s one reason why I never felt the need to go overboard at université: I knew that there would be more waiting afterwards. Add this to the list of issues that I would like to investigate further dès mon retour (upon my return) to Host Country. Orthopedics appointment this week!
*Hat tip to Pretty Ricky and Aaliyah!

Donne-moi un signe, aucun signe!

Before leaving Host Country, we had a session on local superstitions and legends in Host Country. For a wonderful list, check out Valerie at Exit Anytime. According to the All-Knowing Mind (aka Wikipedia), Rules of Three exist in the fields of medicine, Wicca, mathematics, writing, economics, programming et beaucoup d’autres (and many more). With respect to writing, things often come in threes to suggest the building up and release of dramatic tension, to emphasize certain traits and to establish patterns. In the past few weeks, I’ve been searching for signs that I will indeed return to Host Country. To wit:

1) The NBC Nightly News ran a story about the Peace Corps reentering Sierra Leone after a 16-year absence. Many questions ensued from family and community members as to the veracity of this portrayal. Verdict: Accurate
2) The Amazing Race participants left Accra, Ghana to voyager to a rural village.My mother commented that she is now able to identify several West African countries on a map. Yeah Goal 3: Helping promote a better understanding of other peoples on the part of Americans.
3) Walking up my driveway, I noticed a spider web with a central gap that looked almost precisely like Africa. It was glittering in the mid-afternoon sun and I meant to take a photograph of it before the rain came down. No citation, but I have a very reliable witness.

And if you still think that those occurrences are due to the random hand of La Fortune ou les lubies (the whims) of national television and local arachnids, I submit the greatest sign of all: great messages from friends, family and community members. Thank you/Merci/Barka/Gracias/Obrigado/Jerejef/Danke.

To everything - turn, turn, turn - there is a season..

Life this past week has been quite hectic. I’ve had to fill out a lot of paperwork and attend many rendez-vous at my excellent new physical therapy practice. Since I’ll be at HomeBase for awhile, I’ve also started reconnecting with college friends and researching prospective graduate programs while I have Internet. A few days a week, my mother and I take a turn about the local park for exercise and conversation. Furthermore, my bed presents too many temptations of sleep and reality TV for me to do any work there. Thus, I decamp to the kitchen island or the deck in order to draft these bloggy delights. Gazing out into my backyard or observing squirrels in the park’s pine trees, I’ve noticed signs that winter doth approach. The leaves are changing color, the rabbits are becoming bolder in their search for food and the shorts/flip flop combination I’ve been wearing is no longer sufficient to stave off chilly breezes. Growing up in the Midwest, I usually experience a few seasons every day and didn’t think much about the different climes presented in my schoolbooks. Having survived a tour de force European winter and more than a few blistering hot days in Africa, I can now better understand the importance of seasons in literature and film. Not only do places like South Africa have the opposite pattern of seasons from the US (spring starts in early September), but places like Host Country have an entirely different alternation of seasons (rainy season, hot season, not-too-hot-or-rainy season). In Western literature, autumn usually symbolizes decay, abundant harvest or some combination thereof (cf Keats, To Autumn). What if your home doesn’t have an autumn? One of the challenges for postcolonial nations is translating Northern Hemisphere experiences such as skiing to their own cultural realities. Mentions of senses that are supposed to remind us of shared experiences (a brisk autumn breeze, songbirds singing amongst melting snow) instead inspire exclusion. The phenomenon works both ways – I didn’t understand why so many peoples of the world took siestas until I lived in a subtropical climate for four months. But there was a key difference. As an American, I had access to a rich (in terms of sheer quantity and in cultural capital) literature relating experiences similar to my own. Works from their own cultures do exist, but they often aren’t widely distributed and are predominately written in world (colonial) languages. Things are starting to look up as more authors from the Global South are published and postcolonial studies gains more respect as an intellectual field of inquiry. Until then, Host Country pupils will still grow up surrounded by literature that speaks of falling autumn leaves and princesses with peau blanche comme neige (skin as white as snow).

Escapism

Since my return to the US for further treatment of problems caused during Unbloggable EventsTM, I have been torn between wanting to learn as much as I can about Host Country from afar (reviewing language notes, reading journal articles, etc) and ignoring it so as not to dwell on my absence. At the same time, I’ve become more plugged into American culture (reading a Theodore Dreiser novel set in Kansas City, listening to popular music and checking Facebook a lot) but since I hope this will be a short detour rather than a long-term séjour (stay), I’m reluctant to completely engage with this culture. As a compromise, while I’m in this “liminal” state (shoutout to law student P and his diatribe against this term!), I’ve been focusing on European culture. This provides a good balance between America and Africa – I can maintain my French and Spanish language skills and already possess most of the cultural capital to understand phenomena in Western Europe. However, it’s still “different” enough to attract my curiosity and spur meditations on cultural diversity.

I’ve been listening to popular music that I come across on YouTube. One song that piqued my interest was Jena Lee’s Victime idéale. The singer asks a 13 year old girl if carelessly flaunting all of the material attributes of womanhood really makes her happy. First verse (with off-the-cuff translation):

Treize ans à peine, t’as peur de rien Barely thirteen, you fear nothing
Tu te sens femme, et tu la joues bien
You feel like a woman and you play the role well
T’as le lipstick et les piercings
You’ve got the lipstick and the piercings
Et sur ton blog, ton corps est en vitrine
And on your blog, your body is on display

Later references include “low-cut miniskirt,” “g-string,” “belly-button ring” and “mascara.” Having grown up in America during the 90s, I saw this phénomène at middle school and high school (according to reliable sources, it still exists). Would young women in Host Country villages identify with this material display of adulthood? Perhaps. Adolescents all over the world desire to be treated more like adults. Young ladies may not all have blogs and miniskirts, but they also find ways to express their maturity, such as by taking on different roles within the family, wearing more womanly outfits or dating. Gender roles are complex in both America and Host Country, involving styles of dress and speech, family composition and duties and educational/professional success. Not only does culture play a role, so does affluence – young ladies in Host Country cities have more access to good than their cousines villageoises.

A final escapist indulgence has been [limited quantities of] American reality TV. I’ve been watching a few episodes of “16 and Pregnant” and “Teen Mom” – reminders that in many cultures motherhood brings with it adult privileges and responsibilities. I’m not sure what direct and indirect cultural equivalents exist, but I’m excited to find out upon my return. Thanks to all of my stage-mates who have left comments – wend na ko-d nindaare (may God grant that we shall each other again one of these days)!

Musings on Material Culture

Since returning to Hometown to continue with treatment, I’ve been studying le décor of my childhood home. My parents remodel, renovate and update on a fairly regular basis it looks far more stylish and livable than when we first moved in 20+ years ago. Each time I return home, there are new features à gogo (galore). Furthermore, as a homeowner back in Host Country, I’ve been pondering what furnishings to get when (not if) I return. We don’t have a picture wall where the ghosts of family portraits past cast their chilling gaze upon us. Rather, family members have a set of objects that are repeated in many rooms. Par exemple, my mother LOVES scented candles and places a few in each room (mine was spared due to intense pyrophobia). My contribution is books – lots of them. Books in English, books in French, coffee table books, novels, old textbooks, books I loved, books I was never able to finish. Taken individually they look like your typical bric-à-brac, but in small ensembles create visually and intellectually intriguing arrangements. I’ve been using my Kindle for PC the last few months due to space restrictions on travel. While I enjoy the cheaper price of books and increased storage capacity, I’m reluctant to abandon material books for many reasons (importance of print culture, easy annotation, impracticality of traveling in bush taxis with laptops, etc.) Now I have another: it’s very satisfying to have a record of where my intellectual interests and whims have taken me. Books that fit into a themed collection (my 17th century French biographies from later high school), a genre (travel guidebooks) or are just interesting outliers (Jon Hein’s Jump the Shark: When Good Things Go Bad) illustrate a lot more of who I am than I’m usually willing to admit.

Frustrations

The Unbloggable EventsTM Saga has taken yet another turn and I’ll be leaving Unbloggable Events Land to continue my treatment. D’un côté (on the one hand), I’m frustrated. I’d hoped to have returned to my post and started my duties as a Volunteer by now. I keep thinking about my fellow stagiaires who are integrating into their communities and experiencing the ups and downs of personal growth. De l’autre côté, I want to be completely healed before returning to the field. There’s no point in going through the struggles involved in being a PCV if I’m also in constant physical pain. At least I’m making progress! In the meantime, guess which bird has been annoying me for the past few weeks in UEL.

Infernal racket reaching new heights
Beak aglow in sun, moonlights
Iridescent plumage plucked from skies
Screeching whenever it flies

A Change of Heart

Due to the Unbloggable EventsTM, I have been receiving physical therapy. My therapist is a wonderful lady named A. Normally, we chat about the differences between our two countries, les activités quotidiennes (daily activities), and wild animals (she and her husband love to go camping). Though A is quite petite, she purposefully applies pressure and we’ve been seeing good results. Our sessions usually involve resistance activities, ultrasound and a “pins and needles” machine for pain relief. All was well.

But today, dear readers, today was different. Teeth were gnashed, garments rent and mercy demanded. For you see, previous appointments had cleared me for more intensive physical therapy. Instead of a nice kneading of the affected muscles and joints, A pushed me further than I thought possible. Rather than chat about dolphin sightings or lion attacks, I had to turn my head and close my eyes to avoid cussing her out. Such betrayal! To make matters worse, I caught an episode of “The Tudors” last night. Katherine Howard, the “rose without a thorn,” met her bloody end after her lover was tortured in the Tower of London. Great images to have stuck in your mind…

However, I can withstand pain as long as I know that there’s a good reason for it. I am excited that we’re making progress and that I will soon be able to return to my country of service. All of my stage-mates are already hard at work and I can’t wait to join them.

Life-Art Imitation

One of my favorite soap operas in Unbloggable EventsTM Land (henceforth UEL) is broadcast in another language with English subtitles. UEL is a pays multilingue with a high degree of personal plurilingualism (the ability of one person to speak several different languages at varying levels). One of the minor characters on this soap opera is a female native English speaker who is dating a male native speaker of the broadcast language. In order to better convey her awkwardness with the broadcast language, the subtitle writers translate her literal phrases into English. Thus, while the other characters appear to speak fluidly and gracefully, her phrases resemble those of many L2 (second language) learners. Par exemple, she uses anglicismes (English words in place of the correct words in the target language), omits or improperly conjugates verbs (“I happy to see you…I going coffee shop.”) and misuses prepositions (“I am on the car.”). I point out these errors not to mock the character, but because I have made these same and many others numerous times.

Turning to the world of film and fairytales, one of the great mysteries for me was how everyone in Disney movies spoke the same language even if they were from different worlds. Pocahontas “magically” learned English immediately after meeting John Smith. Moreover, one major issue I had with The Little Mermaid (H.C. Anderson and Disney) is the unlikelihood that an undersea form of communication would be roughly comparable to the language of landlubbers. So what if she sold her voice – would they have been able to talk or understand each other anyways? I do realize that yes, this is where the “magic” force of “true love” comes in and how clunky the plot would be if we had to go through a language-learning sequence in a movie ostensibly made for children. Yet, I did appreciate the scenes in Avatar explaining the English language school and how Neytiri teaches Jake her language. It adds a deeper level of commitment and understanding to their relationship as we see them work together towards a goal rather than be driven by sheer emotion and the vagaries of fate. And I often feel like both participants in that dinner table scene where Ariel combs her hair with a fork and Eric looks perplexed. Not angry, just…confused. Part of the fun of cross-cultural living!

D-E-P-E-N-D-E-N-T

I’ve taken increasing steps towards physical, intellectual and financial independence in the past few years. To wit, I’ve lived abroad, held steady paying jobs and don’t feel the rush of possessing books/movies/DVDs without having told my parents about each and every purchase. On the other hand, I’ve grown more dependent in other ways. I faithfully phone/Skype my family every weekend which helps me remember that the Peace Corps identity need not overwhelm the other parts of Steven. Furthermore, CARE PACKAGES! They’re absolutely wonderful, but it means disclosing one’s needs/wishes to one’s parents in a way that one has not done since one turned 16 and had disposable income and access to a car. Thankfully, my parents don’t bat an eye at any of my food/entertainment requests – mostly they just say “You wouldn’t eat that at home!” or “Huh, we’ll have to watch that.” Same for the Kindle for PC (gracious thanks to our friends at Amazon) – we have a joint account so my parents can see what I bought and read the books as well. We’ve all finished at least a few books in the Millenium trilogy by Stieg Larsson and are also working our way through the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency series by Alexander McCall Smith. They also really seem to like The Tudors. We’ve moved beyond “That’s…interesting,” which just made me realize how terribly aggravating the polite “Fine” is in response to “How was your day?” when repeated ad nauseam. I’m glad that we don’t share every interest, but that my parents are engaged in my life and want to know what I’m reading/watching/doing. However, if they really want to know about ma vie intellectuelle, il faut qu’ils apprennent le français (they must learn French). Another great reason to learn foreign languages!

A (Climate-Controlled) Room of One’s Own*: Modernity and Creativity

Think back to any historical representation (documentary/popular film/YouTube) you may have seen depicting the lives of medieval people. Really, any. What do you remember about the medieval priests? They’re always scribbling on parchment by the light of a tallow candle and wrapped up in cloaks. Sounds romantic doesn’t it – devoting one’s life to the pursuit of knowledge, malgré (despite) the elements? Think again.
Since coming to Unbloggable EventsTM location, I’ve had access to electricity, running water and climate control. Throw in lots of unstructured time for strolls and reflection and you have a winning combination for creativity. As my fellow stagiaires (now volontaires) can attest, burning heat and a lack of fans didn’t deter my desire to write, be read and adored. I filled pages of my notebook with short stories, poems and drawings in any number of styles and languages. True, I’d had a lot of practice in college – I preferred to keep my hands busy in large survey courses with snippets of creative writing rather than struggle to fill in the 2-star Sudoku as was the fate for so many.
But, I digress. My new temporary home provides me with all of the conditions for good writing: comfort, a good balance between witty conversation and reflective solitude, a destabilizing effect (center to periphery as we say in postcolonial studies)which creates wonder and mystery, laundry machines. Still, these same qualities will lead to stagnation after awhile. Meditation and reflection are fine when one has DONE something, otherwise it just isn’t terribly interesting. At my site, I’ll have a) many new experiences each and every day (new people, new words/ideas, new things to bake in a home-made Dutch oven) and b) a generous amount of time in which to process them. Some of my friends can dash off a piece of creative writing whenever inspiration strikes – I usually need to help it along by reading and prewriting. Oh, and revising. I have one short story and a few poems that need my attention for the moment…
*Shout out to Virginia Woolf, modernist feminist essayist extraordinaire. I highly recommend A Room of Own’s Own, To the Lighthouse and Orlando.

Did You Catch That? No Worries

One of the other main themes in my life during the past few years has been a continuation of my love affair with la langue française. While I do not claim to be a “superior, native-like” speaker, I can manage quite well and we’ve hit a comfortable stage. For the moment, I’m trying not to think about the effort it will take to move off this plateau and up to the next level. Additionally, I’ve been trying to work on local language during the Unbloggable EventsTM, but since it isn’t spoken in this region or by the other PCVs I’m with, I’m reduced to repeatedly going over the same notes. Oh well, at least I’ll be able to buy anything in the marché. Instead of focusing my attention on these two languages which will play a very large role in my life here and probably in the future, I’ve been futzing around with German. Why German, you say? It’s not for reasons of family heritage or a deep longing to better appreciate beer. No, it’s rather precisely the lack of this volonté (will) that makes studying it so enjoyable. I feel no obligations towards it, nor have any preconceived notions. I will always be fascinated by French and Francophone literature, but sometimes one just needs something different. To wit, I’m reading The Sorrows of Young Werther (in translation) and listening to some Learning German podcasts I downloaded from Deutsche Welle. Fluency is nowhere near the horizon, but some carefree summer fun is just what the doctor ordered.

Urban/Rural Divide

Yesterday, my fellow adventurers in the land of Unbloggable EventsTM and I took a long hike in a nature preserve just outside the city limits. I wasn’t expecting much, but we ended up seeing at least 20 zebras, 5 giraffes, 4 ostriches and several guinea fowl. I had some pictures taken near the giraffes and upon further examination of the photos I realized that one can see the skyline of the city behind the hill. Moreover, I recently finished The House of Mirth, which follows Lily Bryant’s social problems in the gossipy minefield of Old New York. Much of the action involves going between lavish country mansions and cramped city apartments. When her financial situation takes an unfortunate turn, she is forced to live in a small boarding house in the city while her friends discuss their itineraries in the Hamptons and Newport for la saison. I have also been enjoying The City in Literature, a study of the role of the city in French, American and English fiction since the Enlightenment. Some authors saw the city as a paradis where dreams can come true while others saw in it the destruction of agrarian ties and family bonds. On a more personal note, this move to a West African village represents a step in the opposite direction of urbanization from my previous abodes. I grew up in a town of 50,000 people; went to college in a town of 80,000; studied abroad in a town of 3 million; lived in a town of 350,000; and will now teach in a village of less than 5,000. Should be interesting…

In Flux

I’m still in the midst of Unbloggable EventsTM, but wanted to update everyone to say that I’m doing fine. These events have brought me into contact with several Volunteers from many African countries. After having spent so much time with my fellow Trainees (miss you all!), I was surprised to hear “How long have you been at your site?” several times a day. Once people found out that I hadn’t sworn in yet, they immediately responded with “NEWBIE!” I find this, like nassara (foreigner), to be somewhat less than endearing. However, I have met many nice Volunteers at different stages of their service. The 6-8 month groups talks about their sites and compares experiences constantly. By contrast, the 12-14 month Mid Service people are just excited to see each other and discuss gossip and movies. Those nearing the end of their service talk about next steps and what projects they have left to finish. I recently finished reading House of Mirth by Edith Wharton. Lily Bart, the protagonist, constantly adapts her small talk to maintain a veneer of pleasant friendship in the society game of old New York. While I’m not hankering for a marriage proposal from an eccentric book collector (yet), I have noticed shifts in my own conversational habits. Having gotten so close to my training class and thus free to express my opinions, I find myself une fois de plus (yet again) restricted. In any case, I’m starved for neither social nor culinary opportunities. Hamburgers, Thai food, markets – but nothing like host country.

4As

Let me tell you the true love story of stage, of a friendship that is pure and true. Two of my LCFs (Language and Culture Facilitators) have prénoms (first names) that start with A. One is from a regional capital who now works in a small village. She is a shy French teacher used to being alternatively submissive and intimidating. The other works in aforementioned regional capital as a professeur de SVT. She is married with children and always walks around with a smile on her face. They have become inseparable over the last few weeks and are known as les jumelles (“twin girls”). They get their hair done together, laugh at strange things, and relish being in the company of another smart independent woman who left her region natale (home region) to make a life for herself. Each is one of the very few women teaching in secondary education and I’m delighted that they have gotten to know each other so well.

The other 2As of the title refer to the mass I attended on Saturday night. The Old Testament reading told the story of Abraham, of a man who left his homeland on blind faith to make a new life in a distant land. Though I had several years of preparation and experience before joining the Peace Corps, never before has this passage resonated so strongly with me. Enfin, the last A stands for ange (angel). I had arrived only 10 minutes before mass and had to stand underneath a tree. Towards the end of the service, I decided to sit down on a tree root. An adorable little girl came up and offered me the use of her tabouret (stool). I politely declined by saying that I was fine and would be happier if she used it. She scurried back to her mother, a small smile peeking out from behind voluminous folds of fabric.

Coping Strategies

Since I’m in the midst of Unbloggable EventsTM, I thought I’d write about the day immediately preceding them. My host mother took my roommate and I across the street to meet our neighbors. As it turns out, one of them is her father who very warmly greeted us in educated French. His second wife talked about la vie quotidienne en Afrique (daily life in Africa): you wake up early, you work hard, you’re tired, you suffer, you eat (too) little, and then you pass out to start the whole thing over again le lendemain. When you put it like that, life just seems depressing at worst, there at best. One of the most common phrases in Host Country is “On est là!” (“We’re here!”). Though this does lead to some frustration when dealing with what seem like major issues, it does make for a surprisingly effective expression of solidarity or condolence in a land of many struggles.

Rain Rain Go Away

Our training site has been inundated with rain every day for the past week and a half. While in the other parts of the country, “rainy season” means “rain actually comes a few times a month,” here it comes for at least one hour each day. This meteorological phénomène does keep temperatures cooler, but also disrupts traffic for trainees host country staff (trainers, instructors, students, etc). The word for March in my local language is tuulgo, which means “hot.” April is tuul-nifu, which means “even hotter.” Hopefully I’ll be able to rig up a car battery in my house and enjoy a few hours of fan-cooled repose during hot season.

I’ve also been spending more time with my host family. We recently went to a wedding – sort of. In many West African countries, weddings are public affairs with lots of involvement from the neighborhood. No need to be invited, just bring some soap/fabric/whatever’s on hand and yourself. Having missed the ceremony, we stayed for the late-afternoon dancing portion of the event. It resembled a 4th of July block party in the US – lots of women dancing around, lots of men drinking (here non-alcoholic) beverages, children shoving and teasing each other, dogs running everywhere. The dance moves weren’t complicated. Women lined up and followed the same serpentine motions as their neighbors while showing off glittery fabrics and accessories (such as a baby on the back).

TV is another bonding time. Yesterday I watched 45 minutes of a LONG documentary on African colonialism. It was produced by a French television group and I could immediately spot the accent. Host country nationals roll their r’s and are nowhere near as pressé to speak as quickly as possible. Later, I caught a few minutes of a popular French children’s cartoon. The class was going on a field trip to a Swiss ski resort. Again, I recognized the accent but found it far more difficult to understand. As one of the Volunteers who had studied abroad put it, “I’ve lost my Frenchy-French. When I went to visit my host family, I got it back. Sometimes I’ll hear something on the radio and think ‘Come back Frenchy-French!’” Still, cultural adjustment is going well. Only a few more weeks of stage (training period)!

Thoughts on Language Learning

Last night, I had a very interesting encounter with my neighbors. One of them is a very pleasant 17 year old who has taken it upon himself to be a cultural guide for the nassara (foreigners) of the neighborhood this summer while his female family members make rice, take care of the children, etc. F invited me to have tea with him and some friends. It had just rained and thus I couldn’t do my laundry that evening, so I gladly accepted. We sat down outside his courtyard, made pleasant small talk in French, then they started rapidly speaking in local language. They admonished me for not understanding and wanting to join in – they knew that I had been taking classes in local language through Peace Corps. I declined, saying that I would try to understand the conversation and perhaps join in at a later date. F graciously provided some translations, but the others just looked confused. One finally explained that they were trying to help me understand by speaking at me. I knew that they weren’t trying to be frustrating or exclusive, though that’s certainly how it felt. Another asked if we commonly learned languages orally in America. I calmly explained that, no, normally in America we have classes, books, dictionaries, and other learning aids. All of my interlocuteurs had learned local language as children, French when they went to school (age 5-6) and perhaps other local languages for professional/family reasons later on using the “listen attentively and figure it out” method. Another complicating factor is that Americans are used to meeting people who speak English as a second, third, or fourth language. I feel that most generally try to be understanding and encouraging of the other person. Apart from Peace Corps trainees and volunteers, hardly anyone learns local language as a foreign language and thus my discussion partners had never met anyone who spoke “part” of the language. It was always an all-or-nothing proposition to them. I drank my last cup of tea and went back home to prepare my lesson for the next day, glad that I had stayed long enough to explain my frustration rather than retreat.

Souvenirs

Being on site visit allowed me ample time to read, reflect, and ponder. In an attempt to distract my tired brain from the heat, I compared my stage schedule to my emploi du temps last year in France and a typical day during my senior year of college. A typical Wednesday would look like the following for each year:

Senior Year (2nd Semester) 8 am get up and eat cereal, 9 am class, 10 am reading at library, 11 am class, quick lunch break at campus café, gym, nap, homework, nap, Chipotle dinner, homework/thesis research, ice cream/The Office DVDs

Nancy, France (3rd Trimester) 7:15 am scarf down pain au chocolat and dash to bus, 8 am class, 9 am bakery break, 10 am class, 11 am bus ride home, quick sandwich lunch, nap, Facebook, nap, blogs, jogging, chicken and rice dinner, email, French film/wine

West Africa (June) 5:45 am woken up by braying farm animals (in city), bucket bath, eat bread with long-lasting butter substitute and Nescafé, bike to school, 8 am local language class – grammar, 10 am French language class – presentations on assigned novels, avocat/omelette sandwich lunch, medical session on diarrhea, bathroom break, cross-cultural gestures, Internet café, chatting with host family while watching World Cup, homework, read book

As you can see, my productivity now more closely matches that from my senior year of college than my lazy days last year. I’m glad that I had that time to reflect and chill out, and am also très content that I’m doing so much per day now. We have a bit more than 1 month left in our training period. While many Peace Corps Volunteers are told to spend the first few months getting to know their sites and doing assessments before taking on major projects, we the future teachers will have one month until our 25+ hr/week jobs start. This should be a nice compromise – enough to keep me quite busy, but also let me savor the color of my new flowers and the sounds of the bleating goat tired up outside my courtyard.

La messe africaine

Since my arrival in country, I’ve been to 4 messes (Catholic masses). Two were completely in local language, one was entirely in French, and the latest one was a complementary mixture of the two. They normally last 1.5-2 hours, though yesterday I sat through a new priest’s first mass for four hours. There’s not a specific élément ajouté which makes the services longer, each part just takes an extra 5-10 minutes. For instance, the choir will sing an eight minute song instead of a four line hymn. Moreover, the messages have been quite different than what I normally heard in the US or Europe. Instead of discussing how to best use material goods to benefit the less fortunate, the priest is far more likely to emphasize the comforting and supportive nature of God’s love, especially in times of great hardship. The churches I’ve been to were all cathedrals which resembled your typical American suburban Catholic church. One of my other goals for my time here is to learn more Islam and its influence in host country culture (cuisine, politics, gender relations) given that the Muslim population is large but not the absolute majority. During the masses in local language, I’m usually able to tirer (draw out a few key words such as “God,” “father,” and “very good.” While the other parishioners are reciting their phrases, I usually quietly recite them in my head in English. It’s the thought (and the faith) that count. Still, I’ll try to find a Bible in the local language before heading to site. Especially since there’s always a lot of causerie (informal chatting) after mass!

Greetings!

Bonjour ! Ne y yibeoogo ! Hello !
Salut ! Ça va? Y yibeoog yaa laafi ? Hi! How are you?
Ça va bien. Laafi bala. I’m fine.
Et la famille ? Y zak ramba ? And the family ?
Ça va. Laafi. Fine.
Et le travail ? Y tuuma kibare ? And work ?
Ça va. Laafi. Fine.
C’est bien. Yaa soma. That’s great.

That sums up about 85% of the conversations I had on site visit. (Side note: Much more sympathy to parents of sullen teenagers!) I had some interesting exchanges with my future co-workers, but on this whirlwind découverte, I didn’t get beyond salutations with most people. One complicating factor is French proficiency. The first elementary school in my village wasn’t built until the 1970s and the collège (middle school) where I’ll be teaching is less than 10 years old. Fundamental cultural differences also play a role. In host country culture, greetings are presque mandatory and form a much greater part of relationships. Still, I’m starting to understand just how isolating the Peace Corps experience can be. Il faut (It is necessary) to always remember that integration is a process, not an event. Going through stage has made me realize how much I’ve grown since last year. As my previous blog details, I had many wonderful experiences in France, but I spent more than a few nights in front of my computer with a glass (or two) of wine, waiting for something to happen. My language proficiency and ease of cultural adjustment were things that I took for granted when I returned to the US, but are helping me to deal with the stresses of life in a very different culture.

Sojo it goes...

Just a little update from language classes: since I originally placed into Advanced French, I started more intensive local language classes a few weeks ago. I do, however, still have a few courses per week with my French class and instructor. We’ve been reading novels related to our host country and doing small reports in addition to discussions on pertinent social issues and logistics like transportation. My amazing instructor A often uses “Sojo” as a filler word. Francophones tend to feel uncomfortable with pauses and “umms…” and add in more filler words such as “puis” (then) and “en fait” (in fact). My classmates and I thought that “Sojo” was a word borrowed from our instructor’s native language and asked her what it meant. As it turns out, it’s her own unique pronunciation of “chose” (thing)! Personally, I tend to stick with “voila” and “quoi” as reliable fillers, though I had some friends back in France who quickly adopted the habit of ending most of their phrases with “putain” (literally “whore” but figuratively akin to “crap”). My language instructor also mentioned that one can tell host country nationals who have spent time in France because they use “vache” and “vachement” in their speech. In France, one can say “la vache” in response to exciting (positive/negative) news and “vachement” as an adverb to refer to something that is done to excess. What are your filler words?

Training Tales

We’ve almost finished the first month of training and things are moving at a far brisker pace. I’m glad to be getting more exposure to my local languages in addition to French practice. However, the physical and mental stress is starting to wear on me a bit. Classes six days a week in an immersive environment doesn’t leave a lot of individual downtime. Luckily, I brought some great books and downloaded a few more thanks to the Internet. After polishing off “The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest,” I got midway through “Mysteries of Udolpho” before turning to “The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency: The Full Cupboard of Life” for some quick entertainment. Emails and conversations with friends and family from the States reenergize me, though I admit to being a bit tardy with responses. Even though I spend most of my day with other Trainees, I relish lazy late afternoon conversations with them as a way to de-stress from une longue journée très (voire trop) chargée! Regular naps and Crystal Light lemonade also help the transition. Thankfully my body seems to be adjusting to the heat and the food. I seem to have found a morning breakfast drink: two scoops Nescafe, one scoop powdered milk, one cube of sugar, one cup of hot water. It may not taste like a traditional café au lait, but I appreciate the few moments of silence each morning when I can drink this unique concoction and observe the world around me a bit. Chickens crowing, people cleaning and chatting, water being drawn from the spigots. A few days ago I went running with some friends. After five minutes on the trail, we found ourselves in a lush forest that gave way to a small neighborhood. It turned out to be the nice landscaping of a golf course, but a few moments surrounded by la verdure and endorphins from the run did wonders for my mental health. While training can be exhausting, I’m also very excited to dive into new material. We’re preparing for more practical experience in the classroom and will hear more about our eventual living/working arrangements later. Notice how many times I said “we” in the past few sentences: though it can be hard to find individual time to recharge, sharing this experience with amazing Volunteers and Trainees reminds me that I do have a place here.

Friends

As a very curious person, I enjoy having friends with interests vastly different from my own. Though I’ve met quite a few good friends by living abroad, sometimes it’s strange to think about how many wonders I’ve seen that my college friends have never visited. I suppose it comes with the “International Education and Development” territory. They’ve all traveled some outside the States: P to Paris and Brittany, K went to Vienna once, and R to Pakistan and China. Still, I’ve traveled all over Europe, taken a boat tour of a South American rainforest, and washed my feet off after stumbling into an African sewer. Plus, I’m the only one who can somewhat se débrouiller in multiple foreign languages (French very well, Spanish OK, salutations/taxis/restaurants in a few West African languages). Until my junior year of college, I had never even been out of the country. Now, I have friends spread throughout the globe and am currently studying with others who embrace the “citizen of the world” concept. In both Senegal and France, I was lucky enough to meet some great people who I enjoy chatting with about all manner of topics. I am incredibly grateful for my friends’ stories and support – they go a long way towards keeping me sane. As much as I enjoy discussing international policy, it’s nice to chat about significant others, studies (most are in graduate/professional school), and other more quotidian affairs. These are the people who knew me as I started to discover who I was, who appreciate me for being Steven instead of “American,” “teacher” or any of the other labels I’ve recently acquired. They know that I enjoy French colonialist literature, detective stories set in Botswana, and guilty pleasure reality television. In return, I love their diverse interests: history of sexuality, painting, free and mobile clinics, vegetarian cooking, playing the clarinet, work/life balance for physicians, wine, writing poetry. While it’s fun to be around so many other people who share similar interests, it’s also nice to hear about something very cool, yet totally different. In return, I’m excited to learn more about my fellow Trainees and their interests. Excuse me, but I have to keep reading The Mysteries of Udolpho to prepare for a conversation about Gothic literature.

Adjusting

We’ve just finished the first official week of training and I’m exhausted. In order to turn one class of Trainees who entered with various skills into a class, my in-country training consists of many hours of language, security, medical and other classes combined with family homestays. There are some very beneficial aspects to this arrangement: I learn several new things a day and have a resource for dealing with my host country’s climate and culture. Each day feels like a day and a half, starting at 6:30 am when I take my bucket shower and get ready for breakfast. This is becoming more challenging as I get more acclimated and no longer wake up as early as possible to escape the pool of sweat that has formed on my bed. Several of the host families know each other and there are a few clusters spread throughout the city, making it convenient to visit my friends. This weekend I have some light homework and household chores to do (laundry), but it’ll be nice to decompress for awhile before the cycle starts over next week. Still, I remember some of those long lonely afternoons when I first moved to France and would much rather be engaged and active.

Arrival

Sorry it’s been awhile since posting, but I’ve been pretty busy moving around the world. After arriving in Philadelphia for staging, I checked into my hotel and set out to explore the city. I wandered around a beautiful park and ate a delightful dinner at Cosi’s, which doesn’t exist au Kansas. Upon returning to the hotel, I met my roommate B. I must admit, I was a little nervous about who my fellow stagiares would be. My anxieties were relieved once B and I started comparing life stories and things we had packed for the trip. Le lendemain, we went to Independence [square/hall/park] and saw the Liberty Bell through the museum’s window rather than waiting 45 minutes in line. Staging itself was rather uneventful – we met each other briefly, talked about the Peace Corps goals, and went out for dinner/drinks later. I volunteered to be a group leader and was responsible for getting all 20+ of us on the bus to the airport (some stagings have over 50 participants!). Our flights from JFK to Capital City via Paris went off without a hitch and I was able to watch “Tout Ce Qui Brille,” “Nine,” and “Inglorious Basterds.” Once in country, I met with staff from country headquarters, took a language placement test (Describe the oil spill disaster in French. Seriously), and got to know my classmates better. We are now at the training site and I’m so excited. I’m living with a very nice host family and no longer have to lug my stuff around all the time. Speaking French, being able to eat with one’s hands, and not being to weirded out by using a pump instead of a faucet will go along way to cultural adjustment. Of course, I’m now able to devote more time to studying my national language – personal growth never stops!

Chicago

I’ve visited the Windy City many times for des raisons diverses: layovers during international travel, family vacations, official business. Today, while searching for the right terminal at O’Hare Airport, I stumbled upon a gorgeous exhibition of art. Backlit by the beautiful summer sunshine, the artwork created by local high school students added a punch of color to a rather dreary day of traveling. At first I reflected upon the impetus behind the project: to provide quality creative and stimulating opportunities to promote increased engagement in school and community affairs. Dazzled by the floating prisms, I nearly missed seeing the giant dinosaur skeleton by the Field Museum kiosk. My thoughts turned to friends and family: my former coworker (current friend) L who did her undergrad in the city, R who’ll arrive soon to work with medical outreach clinics, P who’ll search for law school lodgings, Mom who wants to take a short vacation with relatives. Though I’ve never lived in Illinois, whenever I’m in Chicago, I know that I’m (almost) home.

Intro

Salaamaalekuum! It’s the day before my departure for Burkina Faso and I’m surprisingly unambivalent in my delight. Yesterday was full of anticipation and worries, which were not helped by watching “Free Zone” starring Natalie Portman. It’s a wonderful film, but looking at the desolate Jordanian landscape and listening to the animated conversations in languages I don’t speak reminded me of what the first few days on my new adventure may feel like. Thankfully, we ended the evening with a screening of “2 Days in Paris” written by Julie Deply. A light-hearted story about a bilingual française and her bumbling American boyfriend, this film reminded me of the joys of living abroad: the new experiences, the unexpected cultural interpretations. I’ll spend a few days in Philadelphia for staging before flying off to the other side of the world. I wonder what my fellow trainees are like: their motivations for applying, their interests in science and Africa, how our varied personalities will coalesce to form a unit or clash to cause divisions. As for me, I’m just excited to discover the unknown.
PS PCV refers to my future identity as a Peace Corps Volunteer. Until August, when I'm officially inducted, I'm known as a trainee. SVT refers to Sciences de la Vie et de la Terre (combined biology/earth science) which I'll hopefully be teaching.