If there’s one aphorism that sums up the Peace Corps experience more than anything else, it’s that it’s full of ups and downs. Sadly, I could classify these first few weeks of living on my own in Bobo as a great big Down with a capital D. I’m in a real funk lately, and, frankly, it’s making me question my stamina as a Volunteer—can I really eke out an existence here for two whole years?
There isn’t anything in particular that’s getting me down—the despondency has most likely been caused by a summation of minor problems that is further exacerbated by my own fragile emotional and physical state. Truth be told, I think you have to be a little bit mentally skewed in the first place in order to leave a life of comparative luxury and shuttle yourself off to a strange and impoverished land where you work for free. Be that as it may, things are really starting to get to me.
I think I can best get my feelings across by describing what daily life is like for me. For those of you who don’t remember, I am working as a high school computer science teacher here. However, school doesn’t start until the beginning of October, so it’s been entirely my duty to fill my time however I can during these past few weeks. Given that, I typically have one of two days: my easy-but-dreadfully-boring-stay-at-home days and my productive-but-hectic-and-exhausting market days. The first type of day is relatively self-explanatory: I sit at home and try not to bore myself to death. I wake up at around 7am and attempt to fill my time by reading, playing video games (I once played and beat all four episodes of Duke Nukem 3D in a single day), and trying not to cook food that’s too disgusting. I do a lot of sitting around. By 7pm, I usually feel a slight bout of cabin fever coming on, in which case I lay down and go to bed, falling asleep at around 8 or 8:30.
My second type of day is a little bit more elaborate, given the cultural and environmental trappings that come with it. For one thing, I have a really long bike ride to get to la centre ville (essentially, downtown Bobo, where all of the city's amenities are located). It’s nearly 10km one way, so, basically, if I need to go shopping, I have to prepare myself for 20km of biking there and back. It’s hard enough just biking out of my neighborhood to get to the main road, considering the fact that it’s all dirt roads with enough potholes to make the surface of the moon seem glossy out here. On top of practically sweating and panting to death while biking, hundreds of little kids are all around me, following me and screaming, “Tubabu!” at me. When I got all this attention from kids upon my initial arrival in Burkina three months ago, I found it cute and endearing. Now, though, it’s enough to put me into a blinding, savage fury. All it takes is a single “Tubabu!” to put me on edge these days. My typical response to getting tubabued is a gritting of my teeth, followed by a dirty look. Sometimes, if I’m really put off, I’ll yell back, “Yes, I know I’m foreign and I’m white! THANK YOU, CAPTAIN OBVIOUS!” in English. I’m aware they have no idea what I’m saying, and I don’t care. Hopefully, I’ll soon get to a point where this kind of stuff doesn’t even bother me anymore. For now, though, it’s driving me up a wall.
10km later, I’m at the marché, where hundreds of more eyes watch me. If I haven’t made this clear by now, I’ll say it one more time: being white makes you a tad bit conspicuous here. When I lived in NYC, I had this paranoid fear of being watched all the time on the subway, at Whole Foods, in Rockefeller Center, whatever. This fear stemmed specifically from the high level of activity and sizeable population of the place. Nobody was ever really watching me, though. Like I said, it was paranoia. Here, however, people ARE watching me. EVERYBODY is watching me. In fact, I find it strange and a little off-putting if somebody DOESN'T get all wide-eyed and look at me as if I have eleven-and-a-half heads when they see me. Needless to say, all this attention takes loads of getting used to. And I'm still not used to it. In fact, most of the time I simply can't stand it. And I just get swarmed at the marché. To my left, I'm being accosted by some lady who wants me to buy her overpriced fabric, and meanwhile some idiot to my right is screaming, "SHUUUKE NOOORRRISSSS!" ("Chuck Norris" in a Burkinabé accent) at me. I can only take so much!
I hate doubting myself—especially when it comes to something with as great a magnitude as Peace Corps service. But that’s what’s happening now. Thankfully, I only have two more weeks before school starts, and I think things will get considerably more bearable once I start doing my job. Until then, however, I hope I don't get judged for just being a hermit for a little while. I can only handle this much attention in very small doses.
At the same time, I’m beating myself up for what a whiny, ungrateful idiot I’m being. I’ve been given a wonderful opportunity to help others, help myself, and expand my horizons. The Burkinabé are terrific, friendly people who couldn’t be more welcoming or accommodating despite having nothing. So, what grounds do I really have to complain? Right now, I should really just be focusing on my commitment to my service. And that's what I'm striving to do with every fibre of my being.
Well, then! I'm sure that was a gloriously fun entry for you to read. Aren't I just a bundle of cheer? Incidentally, please try to send me some mail so I can get out of the doldrums of settling in. I would love some letters and postcards from home! They are really cheap to send, and cost way less than a package (duh)!
Until (hopefully) next time, XOXO
