It’s been forever. Trust me, I KNOW. What can I say? Teachers live busy lives. In fact, the only reason I’ve been able to crank out this here entry is because school has been cancelled this week due to protests. Every year, around the second week of December, students throughout Burkina Faso—and especially in larger cities like Bobo and Ouagadougou—go on strike. There are a few reasons behind the strike, but the main one is to protest the 1998 murder of Burkinabé journalist Norbert Zongo. However, if you talk to just about any teacher at my school, they’ll tell you that the students merely “go on strike” because they’re lazy and restless for the holiday break to start. So, make whatever you want out of that. I, per Peace Corps policy, am not supposed to publicly declare my sentiments regarding the political climate of my host country, so I’m not going to give any sort of insider opinion on the protests in this forum.
I can, however, talk about the strike itself, which was absolutely off the crazy chain! So, you have to picture this: I teach at the second-largest lycée (high school) in Bobo, which has a student body of about 2,300. Directly across the street is the city's largest lycée, which has about 5,000 students. So, in one relatively tiny quarter-kilometer space you essentially have a village of students. The strikes started happening last Friday, and were initiated by the students at the neighboring lycée. I was in the middle of teaching my 8am class when one of the school secretaries knocked on the door and told me, “Il faut sortir. Ils vont grever.” (“You have to leave. They are going to strike.”)
I kind of stood there puzzled for a moment. Her message seemed urgent enough, but she said it so cavalierly that I wondered if “They are going to strike.” was simply referring to the upcoming batting line-up on the Milwaukee Brewers—*rimshot*—thank you! I’ll be here all night!
Despite the secretary’s nonchalant tone, I promptly took all the necessary precautions and proceeded to dismiss my class and shut down the lab. Soon enough, I began to hear a lot of commotion somewhere off in the distance. It was different than the usual schoolyard jabbering I’ve grown accustomed to. It sounded more pointed and exigent. I started to hear whistles and mumbled shouts of some sort of proclamation of dissent. Then, into the wide courtyard of my school flowed the source of the noise: a steady and dense stream of protesting students, some of whom held whistles in their mouths, while others clutched rocks in their hands.
You’d think I would have been alarmed at such a sight—and, for a few seconds, I was—but then I noticed the other teachers and administrators sitting casually on the sidelines watching the action, all the while greeting each other with bright smiles and the usual Burkinabé pleasantries (“How are you? Did you sleep well? How’s your health? How’s the weather? How’s the family? How’s the neighborhood? How’s the house? How’s the sheep?”)
Weird, right? So, basically, I just took a seat next to my homologue and watched the protest unfold. It was a little like being a spectator in an ancient Roman amphitheatre, only the action that took place before us was far louder and less violent. Sure, lots of kids had rocks, but they basically just threw them at the walls of the building, injuring no one and causing hardly any damage, mostly because there’s nothing to damage. My computer lab is the only part of the school that has glass windows, since it’s air-conditioned, but they didn’t go anywhere near that.
So, all-in-all, it was a surreal experience: sitting in a semi-circle with my colleagues, blithely chatting about the insignificancies of the day while taking place just a few feet away was the most un-violent violent protest I’ve ever seen. I guess, given the annual regularity of the student strikes, they’ve become kind of routine for all those concerned.
At any rate, school has been closed down this week, and there are no more protests. The schoolyard is pretty much a ghost town, and I have the computer lab to myself. This gives me time to check over some of the hardware and do tedious, menial jobs like scrubbing the mouse balls with alcohol and cotton swabs (no optical mice here!).
Things are really going great, though. Honestly. I feel so attached to Burkina right now that I already know it’s going to be really hard to leave here when my service ends. I’ll try to write again soon, but who knows? It could take me another month to post something. I still have a couple of more busy weeks of classes ahead of me. Plus, I’m heading north to Mali right after Christmas for a little vacation with some Peace Corps buddies. And right after that, I have In-Service Training at the Peace Corps Bureau in Ouagadougou for a few days. So, winter is shaping up to be a busy season. I promise to keep in touch, though, however spotty the communication may be. At any rate, I’m so glad all of you are still reading this schlock of a blog! Your support is endlessly appreciated!
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxooooooo
PS: I took a short video of the protest as it was beginning to gather some steam. It’s not well-shot at all (I kind of had to be covert), but it gives you a vague idea of what it was like:
2 comments:
That's very interesting. Thanks for sharing this snippet of life in your new town. Hope all is well my dear!
Your computer lab is air conditioned? You suck.
Love,
Whitney :o)
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