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)!