Three Weeks

Well, now I’m going on three weeks since I left home. I guess that means I should have a lot to tell about. I moved in with my host family a week ago Tuesday, and there’s an internet café right next to the house. Unfortunately, the connection is unreliable, and the keyboard is french (the latter not intended as a pitfall…). Every time I’ve tried to sign on and respond to emails, I’ve been thwarted. So, I decided to dig my laptop out of storage, do my writing on it, and transfer to the web via flash drive.

My host family is great. I have a host dad and a host mom, sans children—although there is a girl who comes by in the morning to help with chores, who is very nice albeit quiet. My host dad plays guitar, and he taught me a song. Awesome. We jam together pretty much every day, excluding yesterday and the day before, because…

DIARRHEA!!

That’s right. They told us it would happen, but I was hoping not to me. I believe the culprit was benga (beans and rice)—the preparation was a little sketchy, and I also used a spoon which I was unclear on the prior whereabouts of. My mistake. The day after eating it, I woke up with a Stanley Cup of a stomach ache, rushed to the latrine, and spat motor oil out my butt for ten minutes. Not a good day for french class. The juice was coming out both ends of my GI tract at once. Big mess. Bad times. So it goes. It’s over now, though, thank god. Only one day. Other volunteers have had it for longer. Empathy is an incredible coping tool.

What else to say? On the trip over, we were supposed to refuel in Niamey, Niger. The plane broke, though, so Air France had to put everyone up in a four star hotel for the night. Pretty cushy introduction.

Food? Mangos here are delicious. There are also some pretty good juices. Lots of Coca-Cola and Fanta. And Guinness, believe it or not, but that’s way too thick for this weather. The local beer, Brakina, is darn good. They eat tons of carbs here. A few volunteers claim nausea caused solely by a diet of pure carbohydrates. Overall, it’s not bad. Much less variety than I’m used to. I’m suffering physical withdrawal from my ice cream, pizza, and chips/dip addictions.

I’ve got a cell phone now. I can receive calls for free, but it’s expensive for you to call me. If you do want to call, get the number from my mom. I’m five hours ahead of Chicago here.

That’s about it. It’s hot here, no doubt, but after getting over diarrhea I’m not complaining about the heat (nor is anyone else). Oh. I watched Michael Jackson’s top videos on VHS today at a friend’s house (it’s retro for the Burkinabé, too).

Vocab:

-For Meghan: C’est vrai, ce mensonge? (French: “Is it true, this lie?”)

-For Katie: Nye, tond toogdame. (Moore: “Yes, we can.”)

-For Paul/Kristen: le sarcasme (Yeah, that’s a hard one.) / bonus round: une barbe (French: “beard”. God knows why it’s feminine…)

-For Lizzy/Senthil, my friends in the food biz: benga (Moore: DIARRHEA)

-For the Clowns: There is a cat at the training center who is very clearly not neutered. We call him Balls. New mascot?

-For the guys: Á votre santé! (French: “Cheers!”)

Hugs and handshakes,

Jon