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Anala has to be a Ghanaian cat. I have encouraged his independence no matter how it goes against my American animal protectionist nature. When I leave Sandema, Anala will stay here and must know how to live like the other cats here. The first few nights I had him were terrifying, for me, he stayed out all night returning home with the dawn to eat breakfast. I was sure he was going to get lost, or that something would gobble him up or that a snake would bite him. He was fine. He has stayed out every night since. Whether it rains or its too cold(for Ghana) or the hamattan is blowing he manages to stay dry and I assume warm during the night.

I have encouraged him to hunt by feeding him only enough to make him come home. I like lizards just fine, when they are outside, but when they are in the house it’s Anala’s job to hunt them. He also keeps down the frogs and mice. I give him water but he rarely drinks it. I see him at the borehole sometime getting water from the puddles.

Anala can find shelter at night and hunt for food therefor I think I have trained him to survive when I leave, but I think he will miss other small things. During the day he sleeps on one of my chairs. All my friends here walk into my hall and say “AH! Anala is on the chair!”  If I am sitting he will jump on my lap or even come when I pat my lap. I have been told “We don’t train our cats like that here.” I buy the school boys (small dried fish) to feed him. One of my girls said “Madam Vicky’s cat lives good oh!”.  I think he will also miss me talking to him. Tenni says “Cat’s don’t understand English.” but mine always have.

When I go outside and he isn’t sleeping Nala likes to come out and play. He seems a bit confused about the other animals. He thinks the fowl are for watching and the goats for chasing. (lucky for him because I think my landlord would send Anala away if he ever killed one of the fowl.) The other day I was outside and Nala had a cat fit. He ran across the yard, up the summer hut pole and onto the thatch roof. I heard him thrash around there then down the pole he came with a lizard in his mouth.

Right now Anala is curled up on my lap taking all the space for my computer causing me to twist around and type on the arm of the chair. I guess some things are not American or Ghanaian but just cat!

-vc

Today was the first day of school for my small girl. She came to the house before 6:00 am, very eager to start the school year. I warmed up TZ (tee zed) and wata stew for her while she fetched water and swept. As she came to the house with the last bucket of water the rain let loose. Oh she was so disappointed. As I have mentioned before when it rains almost everything stops here in Sandema. My neighbors don’t like to go out in the rain. So there would be no school at least until the rain let up. I was also not having school that day because although the student’s had reported there were no classes. Students were cleaning the campus.

Cantuace at her TZ then Tenni, Thomas and her brother, Samuel came into the house. I was enjoying my morning tea, listening to the BBC and doing Kakuro. There was a small rumble of voices in the kitchen. It got louder and louder and suddenly all the kids were screaming. They were all talking in the local language and I couldn’t understand any of it.  I had no idea who started it or what the fight was about because they were talking much too fast and loud for me to ‘hear’ it. I am sure the underlaying reason was everyone’s disappointment about school being postponed by the ran but I wasn’t in the mood for psychoanaylsis I just wanted my peaceful morning back. I tossed them all out of my house.

Cantuace was in the house for a few minutes when they came and started screaming outside the door. When I went out to shoo them away Cantuace followed screaming herself. I said to myself “Forget this” and went back inside. In about 5 minutes Cantuace was still outside but alone now. She was wailing like she had lost her mother. I went out to try to comfort her and bring her in the house. She went to the back room and calmed herself down.

I think three things contributed to the fight. As I said earlier everyone was probably disappointed that they couldn’t go to school. The second is that all those adolescent hormones can flare up at any time. And last like any brother and sister Samuel and Contuace know how to push each other’s buttons. I was just glad it was over.

After finishing my tea and the puzzle I decided to make spagetti sauce. A rainy day is just right for simmering the sauce to perfection.  I started grinding the ingredients, tomatoes, garlic, and onions. The grinding bowl is good therapy. The meditative feeling I get when grinding veggies remindes me of how it use to feel to knead bread. I also reserved some tomatoes and onions to dice and add to the sauce. I had beef and pepperoni. Jack thanks for the pepperoni. I put the beef in a pot on the stove with some spices and a small bit of water. Portia and Rofina call this steaming the meat. It does wonders to tenderize tough beef. After the meat was steamed I added the puried veggies to the pot. Chopped the remaining tomatoes and onions and added them as well.  (I would give my left arm for some fresh celery oh how I miss it)

While the sauce was simmering my other two girls came, Portia and Rofina. We had tea which in Ghana is a hot drink and some bread with butter, groundnut paste or jam. We talked and caught up. I shared my photos from Burkina with them but all too soon they had to go.

The rain had finally stopped. Tenni and Cantuace gathered their school things and headed off about 11:00 am. At last the house to myself.
Last night Bernard, Lenore’s husband, called. He wanted some of my Burkina blog entries for the newsletter he and Lenore send out. I had not yet rewritten them from my blog notebook so today I was planning to do that. As the sauce simmered I sat down with my computer and began the rewrites. I usually write my blog long hand in a notebook then transfer it to computer for the initial rewrite. The kids here say that’s how “my generation” does things because we are not comfortable editing on the computer. Oh how that irks me! I was using computers before some of those young wipersnappers were born! What I didn’t know is how much rewriting involves playing solitaire! Its such a good way to ‘think’. With short stops to check on the sauce and a longer one to eat a small lunch I managed to  finish the three entries by 3:30.

-vc

From Liz:

Happy Thanksgiving! I hope whether you are working or spending the day with friends and family, your day is filled with good food and fun.

From Me:

I am with friends and we R cooking! My  3C GIRLS are having a practical.  Creme caramel,kabab, saffron rice, fruit salad, fruit punch, yam balls. Happy turkey day 2 u. 143

This term has been so busy and I have neglected my blogging. I promise to catch up during the Christmas Holiday. Why was this term so busy? I, being a crazy person, said I would like to teach both Form 2 and Form 3 (sophomore and junior) ICT. My heart would not let go of the students I had last year and I knew there was no one to teach the practical end of computers to the new Form 2s so I said give me both. I only have ten 80 minute periods a week. I have no classes on thursday so why am I so busy. Sounds like a dream job in America! Ah but I am teaching 235 Form 2s and 218 Form 3s. When I am not making lesson plans and planning homework I am marking homework.

This term I also had my first visit from a family member. Melanie, my sister-in-law came to visit in October. I will write all about her visit and I am hoping she will do a guest post sharing her impressions of Ghana with you all as well.

Last I had to go to Accra for medical reasons for a week and a half this month. I am fine. I will also write about that in more detail.

Like they do in the movies I will tell you of coming attractions. Pictures of Anala, my cat,
and a story about him. Our visit to a slave camp. Problems with my girl. My first extended case of the blues. And eating locally. These and I hope so many more coming soon.

-vc

August 2008, at the end of training, Lenore and I roomed together. The end of training made us think about the end of our service. We mentioned many things we thought we might like to do when we finished our service. At 50 and close to 60 it was exciting to have options about the future. It is usually the young who have a future full of options.

During that talk Lenore coined the phrase “Pot of Possibilities”. I liked it very much. We put all our ideas for what we want to do after our Peace Corps service in this pot. At the time we didn’t know how we would change as a result of our service so we didn’t think it’s wise to commit ourselves to anything. We will put things in our Pot of Possibilities during our service and when we are near to the end our service we can pull them out and see what we want to do.

Today I want to write about my Pot of Possibilities. I don’t want to evaluate the options just yet. I have changed so much in my first year here in Ghana I just don’t know how I will feel after my second year. However I do want to write them down for the record, for me, and for my family and friends. I don’t want the people back in America to be surprised if I don’t come back to America in the fall of 2010. Probably most of my family and friends are prepared for me to stay longer in Ghana. I want to write for me as well. I have learned in the past couple of years of blogging that writing it an act of discovery and helps me to clarify my thoughts. I write for the record so the ideas in my figurative pot will have some form and substance.

First my librarian brain wanted to categorize them in to subject areas. My American mind wanted to list them in order of possibility. But my new go with the flow Ghana attitude has won out. I will just pull ideas out of the pot and write about them as they come.

Extending my service

Voila! The first one I pull out of the pot is also the one that has been in the pot the longest! Lenore and I talked about this possibility the night we started our pots. There are plenty of variations to this possibility. I could extend for one year and stay at my site. I could extend for one year and change sites even to another country. I could extend for two years and go to another country and go through training again. I could extend for less than a year.

The first time this possibility came up was when I was traveling back from my Vision Quest. I met Mike Simpson, the PCVL(Pece Corps Volunteer Leader) at KSO(Kumasi Sub Office), he had been here 5 years.. It was the first time I had heard that you could extend your service. As training went on I found out more about extending. Some people extend for less than a year to finish a project but most extend for a year. There are two benefits to that. If you extend for a full year Peace Corps will send you home for a month. Also a year is a short commitment after you have already been away from America for 2 years. You can always extend again. I am not sure PC will send you home after every extension. At Close of Service conference you can make the decision to extend your service.

I would want to extend for one year. The chance to go home and see family and friends certainly influences that decision. I have considered applying for PCVL. Mike will be leaving in May. The PCVL at the Tamale sub office changes often. I have considered staying in Sandema. I have also considered doing computer training with the staff at Ghana Education Service.. I could combine some of these options, as well.

Around the world flight

This is a wild and crazy dream. Yes even more crazy than joining the Peace Corps. While I was eating and having a mineral at the Street View Spot in Bolga with some other PCVs, Sheri and Ira, two omnibus PCVs, met up with us. They told me about the around the world flights. They will fly around the world for their close of service trip. It costs from $1500 to $5000. The flights usually start in London. You can stop in many cities on five continents but you must keep going in the same direction. You can stay in one place as long as you like. The itinerary is flexible.

The cost of this flight would be almost covered by my ticket home. Peace Corps will give us money in lieu of the ticket if we request it. I will have some readjustment allowance to cover some of the costs of living. I would have to figure out about work visas etc if I wanted to work while I stayed in some countries.

I have pulled one possibility out of the hat that is very likely – extending my service. I have also pulled one out of my hat that is almost a fantasy. What will I pull out next?

Semester at Sea

At that same lunch in Bolga Sherri told me that her aunt was a librarian. She then told me that her aunt was applying to be a librarian for Semester at Sea. Semester at Sea would be another way to travel around the world. The ship travels around the world and stops in various ports. Accra would be one stop! Students attend classes while the ship is at sea then when the ship lands in port they take field trips. Students are also allowed time to explore on their own.

This would be a fun way to travel around the world. I assume room and board would be part of my pay. My readjustment allowance would go much further if i didn’t have to worry about housing and food.

Return to America and Couch Surf

I could return to the States and visit family and friends. After being away for so long it would be good to visit people, to get back in touch with everyone. My family and friends have already asked me to speak at some of their clubs and local libraries. I am would love to show photographs and tell stories of my time in Ghana. I would like to encourage other people over 50 to join the Peace Corps. It would be a good way for me to see more of the USA. So maybe I could make some money small small to make a contribution to my hosts.

9-5 Job

How did this get in here. I NEVER want to work 9-5 again. I am sure I burned that possibility paper. Well I’ll burn it now!

Live with Beth

My best friend in the world has said when I return to the USA I can live with her, however long I want. We have been living at least two states apart since the 80s. It would be very wonderful to live with her and be in daily contact instead of phone calls and emails. Her sofa would be the perfect place to catch up on all the movies I have missed while I was away, to read my favorite authors’ new books and to write my memoir. Oh but Houston might feel cold after Ghana! I am sure this will happen when I finish my travels but at this point I am not sure when my travels will finish.

Write a memoir

If I can find an agent. If I can find a publisher. If I will be disciplined enough to take these blog ramblings and turn them into a book. I would like to write a memoir. There is so much good about the life here and in the people here. One short year has changed me. I want to share that with the rest of the world.

This project is starting small small while I am here. I have found an editor, my sister in law. And my favorite author, Stewart O’Nan, wants a signed copy when it is finished. At the very least my friends and family would read it.

Public Speaking

I could speak to a variety of audiences about my Peace Corps experience. The experience has so many facets. Carlene Peterson, Lucy Robbins Welles Librarian, Newington, CT, has asked me to do a cooking program of American Ghanaian foods. Pat at Library Connection, Windsor, CT, has said she would like me to speak to her Lions Club group. I think there would be a good pool of 50+ people for me to inspire to volunteer with the Peace Corps. My sister-in-law, Bette Sevison, Brigham City, Utah, has said I could speak to at least two of her clubs.

I have many photographs that I could use to illustrate my presentation. I could talk about customs, the Peace Corps experience, the Ghana educational system, Ghanaian daily life, or food.

Teach English in Japan, China or South Korea

This would be a great way to see Asia, to continue to use my improved teaching skills and to make some money. I have researched at a couple of programs recommended by other PCVs. The school or the government that hires you will pay round trip airfare, give you housing and pay a nice salary. They may even give you board as well as room.

Some slips have just been thrown in the pot with very little thought or research. The following are just seeds possibilities that haven’t even been sown yet.

Live in a small village in France.

Go to Kenya

Take a cruise across the Atlantic

Extend to another country for two more years.

Sing the national anthem at a Red Sox home game.

Build a house in Ghana and live there part time.

I would like to reiterate that the most exciting thing about this Pot of Possibilities is that I have it at all. I feel so lucky that I don’t have a mortgage to worry about, that I couldn’t take a leave of absence at my job and that I am healthy enough to persue one or more of these possibilities. As I said at the beginning of this entry it’s usually the young who have so many roads to choose from and we mid-lifers are on a road we have been traveling for many years. I am so happy that joining the Peace Corps has given me the chance to get off that road and to explore some forks in the road after I finish my service. 

-vc

..

Yesterday I was caught outside in an African Thunderstorm. Today it’s raining again but I am sitting inside. I am dry. I am warm so I can recall being caught in the storm yesterday with out too much unpleasantness. Wait let me get a hot cup of tea. That will make it perfect.

Ok I’m back.

Yesterday was Sandema market day. I didn’t send Cantuace on the bike. I decided to go because I have a school uniform and a dress for Cantuace and a skirt for me at the seamstress’s.

Transport was a problem. We waited for almost 1.5 hours for transport into town. We arrived around 12:15. We finished our marketing and sat to wait for the bus back. It was 1:30. There is a 2:00 pm bus so I figured we were all set. Geesh you guys have only read about transportation here in Ghana an you already know that my optimism about getting the bus at 2:00 is ill founded. . Why did I, who lives here, think it would come on time!? Surprise it didn’t.

While we were waiting we ate kabobs and cosi I bought for us. Cosi is a cake made of millet flour and deep fried. Yum. Kabobs, in Sandema, not so yum. They are made with intestines and fat. Then the girls that were with me chipped in and bought use each a bowfruit. A Ghana donut.

As we waited the air began to cool. A nice breeze came up and it felt good. Then I remembered my Ghanaian meteorology. This means rain will come. I looked at the sky at 2:00 pm. A few dark clouds were gathering. Oh We will be fine “the bus will come soon”. I assured myself. Please Please remind me NEVER TO THINK THAT AGAIN! Remember last time?

I sat. I listened to the girls talk. I played snake on my phone. I sent a few text messages. The breeze was even cooler. It was now 2:30. I looked at the sky again. More dark clouds. I applied more of my waiting strategies. Standing up and stretching. Walking around a little. Playing more snake. It was 3:00 pm now and no bus. And more dark clouds in the sky.

Three fifteen and at last the bus has come. I forgot the rain then and concentrated on keeping my place in line. Getting a good spot to stand and making sure the 4 girls who were with me are also on the bus. 3:45 we at last leave the station.

I am standing in the front of the bus beside one of the Mass Metro employees. We get close to SecTech and he points. I anticipate him and I say “Yes we are getting off at Sandema Senior High Technical School. That ’s where I will get off” He says ” Oh you are.” and he adds “Look It’s raining.” And I could see the line of rain up ahead. It ended almost at the junction to SecTech. Then it comes in all it’s glory. Hard, drenching rain.

Options?

Go to Navarongo.

Get out at my junction and run the mile to my bungalow.

Get out and stand under the open sided tin roofed bus shelter.

Get out and run a few hundred yards to Abigail’s grandmother’s house.

I had 4 others with me. Navarongo was not an option.

It was pouring and the wind was blowing. Not gonna run for it.

We all headed for the bus shelter. The girls decided to run to Abigail’s grandmother’s house but it was raining too hard for me. I decided to stay in the shelter.

One man had his moto in the very center of the shelter. We all crowded around it, facing away from the wind. The back of my dress was soaked through in less than 2.5 minutes. My feet and legs were being pelted by rain bullets. One woman was facing the rain. What could make a person face that awful rain. I peeked around her back to see. Yes she had a baby on her back and the baby was sleeping.

The wind blew my skirt around my legs. I looked at the fields of grass and they were bent in the direction of the wind with a fine mist being blown off them. The road looked like a river with waves rolling down it. The leaves on the trees and shrubs were flipped over pointing in the direction of the wind. Every where I looked there was mist being blown up from the ground, the grasses, and the bushes. It was beautiful.

Oh then the thunder began. It’s crazy but even after my house was hit by lightening I am not afraid in a thunderstorm like I was in America. Lightening hit a mile or so behind us and there was a huge crack of thunder. I checked the baby. it was still sleeping. Then about ½ a mile down the road I saw a streak of lightening and it hit the electric wires. Ginormic crash of thunder. I was more than awake now. All my senses were at red alert. Every one else had very wide eyes and then we laughed. I checked the baby again. Still sleeping.

It had rained about 20 minutes and I was beginning to think “I could be standing here all night waiting for this rain to stop.” Should I call someone? But I didn’t know who so I just kept waiting.

In about 30 minutes the rain began to slow down. One of my neighbors was under the shelter with me she said “Madam Vicky we better go now or we could be here all night. This rain is not going to stop.” So we picked up our bags and headed out into the drizzle.

The road into the school was no longer a road it was a brown muddy river. “My feet will get wet!” I thought to myself. Then laughed and thought “They can’t be any wetter!”. So I waded home. Thank goodness no big cloudburst but I was soaked to the skin when I got in the house.

An African thunderstorm is much better in the house than out.

This is a good place to share this poem again.

An African Thunderstorm

I  am home with no plans to travel further than Bolga for a month. I came home on Tuesday. I have been to market but other than that I have stayed pretty close to home. I have slept in my own bed for 4 nights. I have washed my clothes in my own bucket and hung them to dry on my own line. I have been able to use the toilet in my house at night. And am catching up with my friends here. Its good to be home.

Before I went to sleep last night there was lightening. I unplugged everything. If I could have I would have removed my new electric meter from the outside of the house. My last experience with lightening has made me cautious.

Early in the morning it began to pour. The rain beat on the roof. The curtains fluttered in the wind, even after I closed the window louvers. Somehow I managed to go back to sleep in the midst of an African thunderstorm.

When I awoke in the the morning it was still raining. I read in bed for an hour. Then got up. It was raining so hard I didn’t expect Cantuace any time soon. I made tea. I had cinnamon mocha and bread with the last of my tasty almond butter. I bet you are wondering why I said I had tea when I really had mocha and bread. Here in Ghana tea is a type of meal. Anytime you have a hot drink and bread even an egg sandwich it’s called having tea. I most often have tea in the morning.

Writing this has reminded me there are scrids of almond butter in the jar. I will interrupt this post to go clean out the jar. In Ghana it’s ok to eat with your hands so I will us my fingers to clean out the jar.

mmmm Thanks Mel!

Ok so where was I oh having tea. I sat in my hall and had tea and did a kakuro puzzle. After my tea I settled down to write about he Burkina Faso trip. I wanted to rewrite some entries I had done in long hand. I started the computer but the battery was low so I decided to write more entries in long hand.

As I wrote it rained. After about an hour I thought it was over but then in 30 minutes it would start up again. During one of the lulls Cantuace came. She ate then decided to do her laundry in the rain. Go figure. She sheltered against the house under the awning.

About 10:30 I had enough. Oh Stewart how do you write for 8 hours a day? I am beat after 3-4. I decided to wash dishes so i could use my hands instead of my brain. When I finished dishes I was hungry. I boiled some spiral pasta. I sauted the carrots, string beans, onions, green peppers and cabbage in palm nut oil and added salt, pepper and basil. I tossed in the cooked pasta and let it all simmer for about 10 minutes.

When I served my portion I added pepperoni. Thank you brother Jack for the pepperoni. Cantuace does not like pepperoni so I didn’t cook it in with the other food. A small price to pay to have the pepperoni all to myself.

I did a kakuro while I ate. After I ate I tried to write but I just couldn’t get back into it. The sun was coming out so I decided to walk to Kampusi’s to get some units, more palm oil, t-roll and a mineral for Cantuace and me. When I got outside it was so beautiful I went back in to get my camera.

I took a few photos around the house then met Richard, Nathanial and Mandella. They told me to come see the new baby goats. Oh they were so small. They were also slow enough i could catch them. I picked one up and started talking to it. You know the way we crazy obruni do with cute baby animals. The boys just laughed and laughed. My attitude towards animals always amuses them but this time it was over the top. A small white one was named miracle. So last night in that wild storm two goats were giving birth. I asked if they did it all alone or did one of the boys come help. More laughter. It’s a natural process why should they help?

Then I went to Kampusi’s to do my shopping. I thought I might visit but Perpetua was in Navarongo. So I went home.

Back at the house I took my new local stool out under the summer hut. Maybe changing my location will make it easier to write. I was stuck on the Burkina Faso story so I decided to write about today. As I was writing the clouds came again. I decided to take down Cantuace’s laundry. It started to sprinkle just as I finished. I am inside again writing in my hall.

As I write I wonder if it is exciting enough to post. I don’t write everyday because life seems ordinary now and yet what’s ordinary about three goats born in a thunderstorm?

-vc

This was the worst day and not because we were leaving the land of cheese and croissants either. No in any other story that might have been so. This day may have even been my worst day in West Africa. Worst than the day i had a fever so high I had to wrap myself in a wet two yard. Worst than the day I lost my keys and had to kick my bedroom door in at 9:30pm so I could go to bed. Worst than the day I saw the two buses crossing as I was walking to the junction which meant no means for another 2 hours at least. Worst than the day I had been sitting in a meeting 3 hrs and we had only gotten to the third item, Matters arising from the minutes, of a twelve item agenda. You get the picture it was a horrible day!

The day began bad enough. We were leaving Burkina Faso. Cheese and croissants were not the only thing we would miss. We had enjoyed the familiarity of the French language. We would miss people we had met; Ibrahim was at the top of that list. We would miss the variety of foods available. I was going to miss Lenore’s company. The day already had a black mark against it.

We decided to get an early start so we could get to Sandema between 3 and 5 pm. C’est possible! Oh be first we must have one more croissant. We hail a taxi. I said in very understandable French that we were going to Sonnapost. (Lenore and I were both quite proud of ourselves for being able to communicate in French.) From Sonnapost it was only a couple of blocks to Le Bonbonnerie. Croissants here I come! We entered and two waiters greeted us remembering us from our last visit.

My last meal in Francophone Africa consisted of one croissant with unsalted butter, a ham, cheese, tomato, onion and green pepper omelet, mango juice, baguette and tea. The croissant was perfect. The outside was brown and crispy. Inside I could see the rolled layers of dough and it was light and fluffy. The butter added to the perfection. If Johnny Depp were there and I had to choose. …. Oh so I’d choose Johnny Depp but he wasn’t there and that croissant was a pretty close second. The rest of the petite dejune lived up to my expectation except the tea. Yellow label lipton tea just didn’t cut it. I will bring tea from America next time I am at Le Bonbonnerie.

Lenore and I are talking and then we hear other American voices. In come three RPCVs, Sarah, Carley and Allison. They have just finished their service in Ghana and doing their COS trip. They will travel across West Africa to Morocco then fly to India to spend two months. They will study yoga in India. If we were going to meet other PCVs in Ouaga I guess Le Bonbonnerie would be the place! We visited with them for a while. They asked me to take their picture.

We decided we needed to get moving. We said goodbye and left them to their croissants. I have to admit I was envious. On Kwame Nkrumah Avenue we hail another cab and asked to go to the Rakieta station for Po. While talking with the driver he discovered we wanted to go to Ghana. He talked some rapid French. I told him I didn’t understand but he kept right on talking. Whatever. At the end of the ride we were not at a Rakieta station but in another bus station. The driver said that we could get a tro to Bolgatanga. Lenore and I consulted. We guessed it was ok. Lenore said she was just trying to think what could go wrong. I laughed and said Well everything of course! The taxi driver helped us find the Bolga cars and buy a ticket.

The wait began. After only 6 days we were spoiled by on time departures. We had quickly lost tolerance for waiting for transport. As we sat there no one else seemed to be buying tickets to Bolga. I went in search of water sachets. When I returned it seemed that still we were the only ones waiting for transport. It had been about 45 minutes. We passed the time but after 1 hour and 15 minutes waiting I was getting worried. In front of us were two tros. One was in a state of disrepair and a man had been working under the body, the hood and fiddling with various things. I could no longer quelle the fears that this was going to be our tro. So I went over and asked. Whew! thank goodness the other tro was the one headed to Bolga. That was a close call.

It felt like we waited another 35 or 40 minutes then the driver called us. There seemed to be no discernible reason why NOW was the time to go. No one bought tickets since we arrived. The tro was in the same condition it had been when we arrived. Ah-FREE-Ka! We boarded with a few other passengers. As we were trying to find a place to stow our gear and settling our selves in the tro driver yelled at us to Assiet Assiet. Sit sit. Lenore replied quietly “Assiet assiet yourself we have been waiting and waiting for you now you want to rush us!” You go girl!

At last we are off. We turn on to the main road traveling moderately fast. I was pretty sure it was a straight shot on this road down to the frontier (border) but we turned into a new development full of dirt roads and pot holes. Here the driver decides this is the time to speed up. I turn around are we racing someone? No. Then Lenore and I and the rest the passengers are tossed into the air miraculously landing back in our own seats. I make unhappy noises. We were so busy grabbing on to anything to keep us down and upright I lost count after I was airborne for the 4th time. I have now experienced breakneck speed. We could have broken our necks by hitting the roof of the tro.

Why didn’t we say anything. Oh there were moans and gasps and my goodness’s but before we could get anything else out we were going over another pothole or swerving to avoid another car on the road. As I was considering bailing out the window because I figured I was in no more danger of breaking something if I jumped out of this speeding vehicle than if I stayed we turned on to the main road again. We were still driving fast but the potholes were gone. We also stayed on the correct side of the road so there was no longer a reason to swerve out of another car’s way.

I was just feeling relaxed. I looked out the window and saw a policeman on a moto. That’s interesting because I had never seen police on the road in Ghana unless they were at a barrier collecting “fees”. Wonder if they have traffic patrols in Burkina Faso. Then the policeman signaled that the tro should pull over. Oh my goodness I thought are they actually going to get this guy for speeding?! I have never seen that.

The mate and the tro driver get out. This is interesting. In Ghana and Burkina Faso when you are stopped by the police at a barrier the driver gets out of the car and approaches the policeman. Do Ghanaian and Burkinaian drivers get in trouble in the US because they don’t understand our custom of waiting in the car for the police? Ok back to the horrible day. Afer talking to the police the driver and mate get back in the car. We turn around and drive a short ways back to a police barrier. Ah the light dawned on Lenore. The tro driver was trying to avoid that police barrier. That’s why we went off the main road. Then he tried to out run the cop.

We sit and wait. I got my kakuro puzzles out, employing one of my waiting strategies. While we wait I can’t help but notice tros and buses going by us on the way to the border. But we paid and I don’t want to lose my money. Some of the passengers get off the tro and stretch their legs. Another bus goes by on the way to the border. A woman who was on our tro flagged it down and got on. We wait some more. I notice another bus with seats goes by. Lenore asked if the man in the blue shirt was our driver. I said I thought so. She said she would go talk to him. I watch her go to him and have a conversation. I am not sure what news she came back with but the driver and the mate return shortly thereafter.

They get in the tro. If they have explained any of this to the passengers neither Lenore or I could understand what was going on. I think Lenore’s assumption was correct the driver had tried to avoid the police barrier and the accompanying ‘fee’ and then tried to out run the police when the saw him emerge from the side road.

We started to drive but in the wrong direction. My heart sank. I figured that the police had also condemned the tro as well as collecting their “fee” so we were going back to the station. Oh drats I thought we would have to start the whole process of getting a tro again. Some distance down the road we turned and pulled over on the other side of the road. The driver parked under a tree and there was a woman selling water and a few toffees. Well at least we are headed in the right direction. The driver and mate leave the tro again. And we wait. looked at my phone for the time it was 11:30 am. Well at least we are headed in the right direction again.

We began to question other passengers. Someone showed us a piece of paper asking if we understand French. We toke the paper. At the bottom there is a figure 30,000 CFAs. The mate points to this and says “The police took all our money. We will wait here for more passengers.”

Lenore and I look at each other with eyes wide open. What here? In the middle of nowhere? On the side of the road on the outskirts of Ouaga? We wait for someone to decide to go to Bolga from here? We agree this is not going to happen. We decide to wait a little longer to see what the tro driver does.

Will we get home today? How can we find a place to stay if we are stranded here? Do I even want to travel anymore with this jerk? Can we get a taxi back into Ouaga? What if we can’t leave Ouaga today? What will they say at the border if we overstay our visas? I began to feel trapped. I was hot. I felt like the sides of the tro were moving in. I said to Lenore “I think I am going to explode. I have to get out of this tro.” When I got out I walked away from the tro to the tree and shade. I bought some water and then stood in the shade. The woman selling the water brought a bench for me to sit on. I smiled and so did she.

I sat for awhile. I did some yoga breathing. I thought pleasant thoughts. I finally began to be able to enjoy the moment again. I was ready to talk to Lenore about our options. I headed back to the tro. Lenore was inside I joined her. We discussed options. We agreed that we would not be able to get our money back and should count it a loss. We thought we would try to get a tro from here.

I got out of the tro and stood by the side of the road. I flagged down the first tro that came by. It looked pretty good. No rust on the outside. It was pretty full but maybe there was room for us. I started to negotiate with the driver. I thought he said he could take both of us so I went to get Lenore. Lenore and I return. There was still some negotiaiting to be done it seemed. I asked the driver again if he had room then all of a sudden there are many people around me yelling and shouting at each other and me. Lenore pulled me aside. She pointed to a total stranger, not even someone who was on the tro with us, and said that he said the driver of the new tro is not a safe driver. Lenore does not want to go with this tro. My first thought is can this new guy be any worse than the one we have just ridden with? But I didn’t like the yelling and shouting. So we don’t go.

After this I talked to the driver. I made it very clear in French, English and with body language that we needed to start moving to the border now or we would not get home today. I think they agreed to get a tro for us. I went back into the tro to sit down and do kakuro. Now it is not a strategy to help me wait it’s a strategy to help me keep my sanity!

While we waited Lenore told me she had asked the driver to take us back to the station. She said he reacted like she was asking to be taken to the moon! It was out of the question.

The driver and the guy who recommended that we don’t take the tro I had flagged down came into the tro and said they have a tro for us. This tro is the equivalent of the taxi we rode in the first day we were in Burkina Faso. The last two rows of seats are unattached and kitty corner in the back. Two thirds of the seats are just metal frames with no padding and a big hole where there should be a pad. On the remaining third the pads are not attached to the seat they are just laying there on top of the metal frames. The body of the tro looks like ti has come out of a junk yard. Holes in the floor. Rust ever where. I didn’t even want to look at the dashboard. But I get on and we pay for a ride to the border again.

It was close to 1:30 when we finally got on the road again. I was in a foul mood. I was hungry. I was tired. I was stressed. I wanted to be home and had very little control over if and when iI would get there. Because I was worried what would come out of my mouth I shut up and did my kakuro. (Just writing about this is making me tense and miserable. Maybe I’ll join Alexander in Australia!)

During this part of the ride Lenore told me that the brother in her house in Ghana had told her never to take a tro from the side of the ro ad. They will cheat you. Rather you should go to station and take a tro there. I said I had never heard that. Ah but it explains some of her reluctance to take the tro I had flagged down.

I return to kakuro. At a stop light I see the nice tro we didn’t take a ride on. Through the rest of this part of the journey we raced with this tro. He would go ahead of us out of sight then later on we would catch up and pass him. Every time he passed us I tried very hard not to wish I were on that tro. Not to wish I were sitting on a seat with a seat that was not tipping forward every time we slowed down. Not to wish I were on a seat where the pad stayed in place when we swerved. But when we passed it I consoled myself that at least we would be home before them. I kept my head down, my mouth shut and solved my kakuro puzzles.

After we were on the road for an hour and a half we stopped at a small town. Lenore asked for a toilet. A fellow passenger led her to one. It had been hours since we urinated but I am not leaving that tro. I didn’t trust that it would be there when I returned. Then another tro stopped next to ours. Our driver talked to their driver; we transfer to this new tro. It is marginally better than the one we were on. I toke our bags and made sure to tell the driver that my friend was coming. Finally Lenore and her guide return. I think we got some food here but I don’t really remember. I do know we ate something in some tro on the way to the border. Then we are off.

As we drove we were still playing tag with that other, nicer, tro. We arrived at another town.I don’t know how long we had been driving because I was blessedly absorbed in my puzzles. Lenore has been keeping busy updating Bernard by text on the progress of our journey. She has shared some of his responses and at least he has made us laugh a little.

Our tro stopped and unloaded a multitude of plastic three gallon containers. We then drove a small bit and pulled over into parking lot. The nice tro we had been playing tag with stopped beside us. Yeah! We are going to get to ride in that nice tro after all. But no not even that could go right today. The passengers in THAT tro came and got into our tro.

When I apologized to Lenore for being such a bitch queen she laughs and recounts our journey. We have been yelled at by a tro driver after waiting one and a half hours for a ride. Then we raced over potholes to avoid a police barrier then we were in a contest to try to out run the police. We were stranded on the side of the road in the middle of no where. We have had to pay twice to go to the border and have changed tro two times. You bitchy?!

Well maybe the worst was behind us.

We passed through Po about 3:30. If all goes well we should be home by dark. I began to discuss dinner plans with Lenore. I have always liked to cook when there was someone else to enjoy it.

At last we arrived at the border. The tro stops at the border office. I think I made a big scene with the tro driver. I asked him if he was going to wait for us and he kept saying leave your bags we will drive. This was all in French. I kept asking over and over if they would wait and he kept nodding assuringly and saying leave your bags and we will drive. Well everything had gone so badly that the topper would be them driving off with our bags. I just wanted to hear him say OUI we will wait. But I never heard it. So finally we both took our bags and schlepped them into the border office with us.

As we were walking across the yard some boy asked us if we wanted help. I pretty much shouted NO. The guard laughed at me and said something in French about me being ready to fight a war. Actually I felt like I had been in a war zone that day. Luckily it was finished and would be home soon.

Quick hello. A stamp on our passport and we are out of the Burkina Faso border office. When we got back to the road our tro driver was waiting for us. I apologized to him. Tried to explain that I didn’t understand that they would wait for us. Then we drove through no man’s land t the Ghana border office where they left us. When we drop from the tro a man on a bike came up to us and says he will help us. I say NO THANK YOU. WE KNOW WHAT WE ARE DOING. Then we left him behind to go into the office. We saw Coco sitting outside and he called to us. “Remember me?” he asks. “What’s my name?” I hate that game because I am terrible with names. I am still amazed I didn’t bite his head off instead I waved and smiled and said “Hello Coco!” It was nice to see a friendly face and chat with someone nice today. We finished and left with promises to see Coco again.

The man with the bike was there. He had arranged a car for us to Bolga. I told him we were not going to Bolga. We knew where the taxis were and where we wanted to go. We didn’t want his help. He went off on a rif about how everyone needs help. I turned my upper body away from him and talked to Lenore. I didn’t answer him. I didn’t respond to him. Yet he still stayed with us.

He was really getting on my nerves. He didn’t stop talking. He was demanding my attention. I was finally out right rude and shouted at him “Leave me alone. We just want to be left alone.” Then he started philosophizing about how no man can do it alone.

Then on the other side of the street from the taxi station we see a white woman with a Ghanaian counterpart. I felt salvation was coming. I wondered if she was a new PCV but she didn’t look familiar. I figured we could talk to her and the guy would leave us alone. I also think she might be trying to help us ditch this guy. She greeted us. We exchanged vital information. I am sorry to say I was so stressed that all I remembered from that meeting is that she was from Toronto and volunteering here for a few months.

Oh but bicycle man did not go away. He waited! When we finished talking to the woman. He call This way this way. We ignored him and walked to the taxi station. When we go there the boy who refused Lenore’s money at the start of the trip greeted us like we were old friends. I was not in the mood to let bygones be bygones so I curtly said hi and moved on.

A driver asked us where we were going. I said to Sandema. He offered to take us for 25 GH Cedis. I refused saying that we wanted to go to Navarongo in a share taxi for 1.40 GH Cedis. The manager called us over and chastised us because he had a car ready to go to Bolga for us then we are going to Sandema. At this point I am livid but I do not speak. I have done enough this day to reinforce the ugly American image.

I calmed down and told him I wanted to go to Sandema but not for 25 GH Cedis. He asked me how much I would pay. I told him 1.40 GH Cedis for a share taxi to Navarongo. Ok he said and then he called over the same guy who wanted to charge us 25 GH Cedis to go to Sandema!

In the taxi I tell Lenore that I will pay for us to drop from Navarongo. She starts to say she will pay half and I snap NO. In ½ a second I apologized. Later Lenore said to me she wasn’t going to argue with me right then!

We reached Sandema station in Navarongo. It is 12 Cedis not 10 but I don’t care. We ride. Even in a taxi the 18 kms seemed like forever that late afternoon. At last, just as the sun was setting we arrived home.

The reception received wiped out all the ugliness of that day. Kantuace was there hugging me. Pat came shouting Madam Vicky is home. Mandela and Nathaniel said tia (welcome) and waved. Even Anala sat on the step and acted like he didn’t care that I was home. Home. Home at last.

-vc

We did not want to leave Banfora but our visa were for only 7 days and expired on the 25th. I was pretty sure I didn’t want to mess with expired visa’s in a developing country. I figure that can at the best mean money at the worst ….. So we needed to move. I had hoped we could travel from Banfora East into the Upper Western Region of Ghana. I discussed the possibility with Daniel, APCD Burkina, and he said yes it looks like that on the map but you might get stranded between Banfora and the Ghana border. Stranding almost as bad as staying beyond my visa. So we had to head back to Bobo. We had enough time to overnight in Bobo to get a feel for the city then on to Ouaga and Ghana.

Doada, at the Hotel de Comoe, told us today was Banfora market day. He said we should go it was a very big market. We hailed a taxi into town . We dropped at the bus station and purchased tickets for Boboduilasso on the 10:30 bus. Then we asked directions to the market.

Banfora is a mid-sized town with a city sized market. We walked through bicycle parts, automobile parts, wooden furniture, household good, hardware, beauty product it was all there up and down the streets of Banfora. Unlike the Grande Marche we were not harassed by the traders. They did not ignore “les blancs” but greeted us in a friendly not predatory manner. They gave up pretty easy when we said we were just window shopping. I think perhaps the multitude of shoppers kept them busy enough not to have to chase a sale.

Then the food section. It was packed. I mean like the bus going to Bolga on Bolga market day. There were sections where Lenore and I sucked in our guts, ok I sucked in my gut Lenore does not have one, and flattened our bodies like a cartoon to get between people. It is at times like these that I wish I had a small pocket digital camera. My camera is too big and noticeable to use in a crowded place like that. Oh but the scene was calling out to be photographed. The royal purple eggplants, the dark green zucchini, the bright orange carrots, the pale green lettuce and the way the traders had laid them out on their tables or ground cloths. The color started on the ground with women who didn’t have tables to sell their produce. It moved to hip level on the tables with other produce and even was above our heads with colorful plastic sacks.

We bought some fried cakes made with millet. They were very similar to cosi in Ghana but lacking the peppe. I didn’t mind. Oh if I were living there or even if I access tosomewhere to cook I would have bought an eggplant just to have that deep purple in my possession. I would have bought a zucchini because I haven’t seen one in over 14.

Lenore tried to take a photo of some veggies laid out on a cloth. The purple eggplant, the green zucchini and the red tomatoes were beautiful. The trader had displayed her wares to an advantage. Alerted to the photo by a fellow trader the woman held out her hand and said “L’argent”. Lenore refused and walked away. I agreed with Lenore.

It was time to catch our bus. We got on without incident. By now the ontime departure was routine. We were in Boboduilasso for lunch. A PCV who live in Bobo had recommended the Casa Africa as a good place to stay. We headed there. It was a good choice price wise 4,000 CFAs but they didn’t have a room with toilet or even a shower. But since it was 1/3 the price we had been paying at other hotels we decided it was fine.

We ate lunch. something yummy I am sure but since I am writing this more than a week later I have forgotten. While we were waiting for lunch to be served Morgan Freedman stopped by our table to greet us. Honestly I swear it was him. Lenore even thought he looked like Morgan Freedman. But he wasn’t. His name was Jamile. He was a very pleasant man. Well traveled. He shared his photo album with us and he had traveled to many other countries.

He left and returned with wood carvings. They were made of ebony. At least I think it was ebony. I didn’t know ebony had lighter streaks in it. This wood was black with tan/yellow streaks in it. His carvings were fluid. I saw the life in the people he carved. My favorite was a woman emerging out of a piece of wood. It made me feel transformed to look at it. It spoke to me of possibilities and new beginnings. She was graceful and elegant but not fully human. Jamile of course wanted us to buy his work but he was not pushy. He recognized our appreciation of his artistry. I am sure he could tell how wonderful we thought they were.

When lunch arrived he removed his carvings from our table. When he came out again he had a cora, like a guitar. He sat down with some friends to play and sing. We enjoyed the music as we ate.

After lunch Lenore wanted to go explore the old mosque and walk around. I considered going to the music museum but there were live musicians right out side my hotel room. Why not stay here and learn something about Burkina music. I could also rest and read. I needed some down time. So Lenore went on her way to town and I stayed behind.

Jamile was playing the cora with his friends. I walked over and sat down with them. The cora is like a guitar because it has a neck, a body and strings. But the strings are not flat against the body instead they rise in two rows above the body. They are held apart by a piece of wood. It has 8 strings. There are no frets on the neck. The body is have a globe; made from a calabash.

He played it very differently than you play a guitar. He put the body in his lap with the strings facing him. The neck was pointing to the sky and tipped slightly away from him. He placed his fingers on two bars. They were attached to the neck and body near the base of the neck. The instrument is played by plucking the strings with the thumbs.

I wanted to play. When I made my wishes known he gestured that we should move away from the group and sit under a tree in the courtyard. He then played the scale and handed the instrument to me. He helped me place my fingers on the bars then illustrated the movements I should do with my thumbs. I then played the scale.

Then took the cora and played a short phrase. He gave it back to me and moved closer to watch as I tried to repeat the phrase. He is a very patient teacher. I would try. He would play it again. As I played he hummed the phrase softly by my ear. I think one reason the music was hard for me to play is because of it’s foreignness. Later on when we took turns playing tunes his sounded very African but mine sounded western. I need to get an ear for the tunes and rhythms that make African music. Another reason was he was very close to me. Very close. I was sure he was just being helpful but with the Morgan Freedman look alike dis ting and the French language dis ting my heart was beating just a little too fast.

With both of those problems I managed to play the phrase two or three times correctly. I was proud of myself. I gave him the cora and he played another short phrase. I tried and tried to copy it but was failing miserably. I finally just handed the cora over to him. He began to play the phrase and added more until it was a tune. Then he began to sing. He was smiling at me and then I thought I heard Vicky and tres belle. Oh there it was again! I was blushing.

I remembered I had a colimba in my room and wanted to know how to play that as well. Diversion to the rescue! I rose and said “Excuse moi une moment” and rushed to my room. I Shut the door. Got the colimba and told myself to stop imaging things. We were just playing some African musical instruments. That’s all.

When I returned I asked “Savez vous?” Do you know? “Oui” he replied in the affirmative and took it out of my hands. It is made out of a gourd. Half a globe with a hole in the center of the flat side. There are 7 metal teeth you pluck to make the music. Jamile checked to see if it was in tune. It wasn’t so he showed me how to tune it. He played almost the same phrase on the colimba as I had learned on the cora. I was a quick study this time. As I got comfortable with playing he picked up the cora and we played together. I played the phrase I knew and he improvised on the cora.

Then he taught me another simple progression on the guitar like instrument and he took the colimba and improvised as I played the progression on the cora.

Then it was his turn to leave and say he would be back in a minute. He returned carrying a white bead necklace. Oh oh he’s going to give that to me I worried. Oh he’s going to give that to me I joyed. Yes. He sat down and quickly put it around my neck then leaned in and tied the string of beads in a knot at my neck. “Por vous Vicky vous et tres belle”. I thought there was electricity when the lightening storm hit my house! I moved back small small. I protested that he could not give this to me. I couldn’t take it. But he decided he couldn’t understand my English. He said he wanted me to have it as a memento of the afternoon. I protested again. He explained a lot I understood little. I think he was trying to say that because I enjoyed his art and music so much he wanted to give me something.

I took it. We played the cora and colimba some more. Then he asked me if I would go hear some True African Music at the Coconut tonight. I said if my friend wants to then we will come. I was full of so many silly emotions. It was time for me to go rest and read. I made my excuses.

When Lenore came back to told her about the necklace and the invitation to go hear some music. She said she would like to. It was time to go to dinner. We ordered our meals. Morgan stopped by the table to ask if we were going. We said yes. It took a very long time for dinner to arrive. It was after 7:30 by the time it came. I think we both were thinking about the fact that we were still going out. I know I was a little worried about getting there then getting home in the dark etc. Lenore said I only want to stay a little while then go. I agreed. At last dinner arrived and we ate.

We finished. Lenore went to pay. When I got up from the table I had a very bad cramp at the top of my left thigh. I almost fell down. Lenore and Jamile both came to me. He was very attentive. They decided I should sit down and rest for a short while. Jamile went back and sat with his friends. Sitting for a bit did not help so I asked Lenore to help me back to the room. I hobbled with an arm around her shoulder and her arm around my back. At the room I lay down. I could feel a tight knot in my groin. I did some stretching and small movements of my leg. I wasn’t walking or dancing that night. As I was apologizing to Lenore someone knocked on our door. Lenore answered it was Jamile. He asked about my leg then asked to come in. Lenore looked at me I shook my head. She said i was laying down resting.

I was sure I would see Jamile in the morning before we left. It seemed like he worked there or was at least very good friends with the owners. I wanted to thank him again for the music lessons and the necklace. I did not see him again.

-vc

Today was the best day in Burkina Faso. Everything was great, the company, the locations, and the food. Even though the day started with a scare it did not mar the greatness of the day. Ibriham, our guide, arrived at 9:00 am, right on time. Our car and chauffeur awaited us at the door of the hotel. He pointed the way to the car and shrugged as he said “The true African car” Oh but we had seen much worse on this trip. Lenore and I entered. We did the inspection. Dashboard with all the instruments and a radio. The windows rolled up and down. All the doors had panels. The seats were clean and not torn. No holes in the floor. The trunk closed. It was not just car it was a chariot! We were on our way. We turned the corner from our hotel and stopped at the next intersection. Here the scare began. The car would not go forwards only in reverse. At first we were not sure why. I actually had images of us driving through the African bush backwards. I quickly erased it from my mind. The driver got back in the car. Then Lenore and I saw that the car would not go into gear. Even Lenore and I, two non mechanical women, knew the transmission was shot. but the men, men being the same everywhere it seems, must look under the hood and fiddle with stuff. This went on for about 10 minutes. I was dejected sure this is the end of our trip. My usual optimism was no where to be found but Lenore to the rescue. She was positive our guide would find a way. After about 20 minutes another car appeared. Ibriham opened Lenore’s door. He smiled, raised his arms, elbows bent, palms to the sky and says Ah-FREE-Ka! Then he escorted us to our new car. Ibriham was now more than a guide he was a knight in shining armor. The only problem with this car was that the back windows would not roll down. There was plenty of ventilation from the front windows. And Voila we were off again! We stopped at a small store to buy lunch. Ibriham picked two big avocats. Then he held up an onion; said something in French. Lenore and I both replied “Oui” in stereo, assuming that the something in French was the word for onion. The same procedure bought us oil and salt. But there was no guessing on our parts when he asked if we wanted pain. We dredged the word word for bread from our storage banks the first day in Burkina Faso. While Ibrahim got two plates and a knife from the proprietor, I went to see what was cooking over the wood fire. “Qu’est ca sai” I asked but it didn’t work any better than the other times I thought I asking “What is it?” Maybe I’ve got it wrong or was messing up the pronunciation. I finally said “Je m’appellle Vicky” and pointed to the soup “Il appelle?” The cook replied “Arachide something French” Ah peanut soup! The brown oily base that is so familiar in Ghana but with chunks of onion, and garlic bubbling around in it. She was cooking in a large metal pot about 2 feet in diameter. I assume she was going to sell it at the store. Then she tossed in about 8 local garden eggs. It looked so good I wanted some right then. Ibrahim was ready so we all got back in our chariot. “Avon nous du l’eau?” when we replied “non” he had the drive stop again for bottled water. “I am glad he thought to ask us” said Lenore with a smile. “He seems to know his business.” “Yes” I smiled back and then settled into the joy of private transport. I was getting hungry already. I had only bread and milo for breakfast at 7:30 and it was wearing off. I asked Ibrahim for arachide. He stops the car again and popped out to get 1,000 CFAs of arachide, about 4 hands full. * The plan was les cascades, les dome and then lac ter with the hippos. As we were heading out of town we saw an orderly procession of about 50 people carrying signs. I could not see what was on the signs. I asked Ibrahim in English what is this since my French What is this was not working. “la protest” “L’argent por travail tres petite” were the words I understood in his answer. The workers complaint from all times and places. Not enough pay. We turned onto the road out of town to find it was barricaded by the police. I assume it was due to the protest. Ibrahim turned to the back seat and with a smile and hands raised to the sky said “Ah-FREE-Ka! Our plans changed. We would go to the hippo lake first. * We changed direction and headed out of town by another road. Daniel, APCD Burkina Faso, said that we might not see hippos. Ibrahim raised his eyes and tipped his head when we asked him if we would see hippos. So we had low expectations and both had decided a ride on a lake would still be a good way to start the day. The road to the lake went through tall unknown, to us, crops and by a small village. Since Susie and Benjamin came to visit I have been aware of the differences in the construction of the local houses. I wanted photos. Ibrahim was very obliging and stopped the car for us. We got out of the car. Pointed to our cameras, the universal sign for can I take a photo. The people agreed. At the lake Ibrahim handed us over to the canoeist. They offered extended hands to assist us across a wooden plank and an upturned metal row boat. Our feet stayed dry the whole time. Lenore and I settled on the middle plank. We paddled well not we but the gentleman at the helm. paddled out on to the lake. The sun was warm and bright. The lake was dotted with clusters of lily pads. The white flowers a sharp contrast to the deep green of the lily pad and the dark blue of the lake. The only sounds were the call of birds, the paddle murmuring through the water and an occasional moan of cattle. As we paddles I looked below the surface of the water. The stems of the lily pads looked like evergreen branches. When we went near shore I could see small stones on the bottom, some fish and small plants. Near the shore the canoeist banged his oar on the bottom of the wooden canoe. We sat, eyes scanning the area but no hippos. We paddled around the lake some more and he pounded on the bottom of the canoe at three different places. Each time no hippos. Lenore and I discussed how long can a hippo stay under water? Do the breath under there? Are they on the shore in the trees? We had been on the lake at least 30 minutes probably 45. There were no answers to these questions simply because we could not ask them in French. The canoeist tried to explain and perhaps apologize but his French was beyond our limited vocab. So we headed back to shore But not before one more stop and a try to arouse the hippos. As we looked he picked two lilys from the water and with some quick snaps of the stems had made two necklaces for us. Ah the French! On the way out Lenore asked what the tall crop was. “Canne de sucre” was Ibrahim’s reply. Ah sugar cane. Since she had never seen sugar cane before Lenore wanted to get out and look. Of course our knight would do want ever we wanted. The car stopped and we got out to look at the cane. The plant was at least 2 feet over my head. The sugar bearing stalk started at the base and continued just up over my head. The height came from slender, long leaves pointed towards the sky like maize leaves. Lenore and I discussed how the cane was cut. Where on the stalk they might chop with the machete? We talked about how long it would take to clear this huge field? Was the harvest mechanized? Then Ibrahim came and saying”Vite Vite”. Put his hands behind our backs and gently pushed in the universal move sign. In his hands was a portion of a sugar cane stalk. I think our guide stole some sugar cane for us! When we got in the car he requested a small knife from us. Lenore and I, ever ready travelers both had our Swiss Army knives. As we drove he peeled the cane and broke it into pieces. He demonstrated mashing it between our teeth to get the sweet juice out. we were not to swallow the fibers. We followed his example and had our first taste of raw sugar cane. I expected a burst of sweetness like eating raw sugar but it was subtly sweet. Lenore and I agreed it would take a lot of cane to make sugar. As I write this I now remember that Ibrahim said that the cane is harvested in November so maybe it will get sweeter as it matures. The next stop was * The Cascades. We drove for about 30 minutes. In a previous post I know I have expounded upon the joys of a private vehicle but I must reiterate. We had the whole back seat to ourselves. In a share taxi you sometimes have 4 people in a back seat made for 3 very small bottomed people. I have sat on my hip squished between a person and the door and have prayed the door would not pop open on the next bump. With 4 in a compact car back seat you are cuddled up with at least one total stranger. I did not cuddle with Lenore at all. In fact we had to text each other to communicate. So I will say again we had the whole back seat to ourselves. We could stop the car whenever we wanted. The car went where we wanted. We had the whole trunk where we could put our bags. We didn’t have to sit with our backpacks or bags on our laps. I am emphasizing these joys of private transport because it was something I took for granted in the US. Since I got my license, at 16, I have always had access to a car. Public transport in America will look so much better when I return from Ghana! We arrived at the * Cascades. There was a summer hut at the beginning of the trail. It sold pain and sardines and a few other items. There was also a latrine that we didn’t see until we came back down the hill. Along the trail we came to an open grove of trees with benches. A local chief had planted the trees and put the benches there many years ago. Here is where I found the ant hill. It was an easy climb up the hill to the top of the waterfall. Ibrahim was very helpful. He waited at tough spots to give a hand up. Lenore was as agile as a mountain goat. She put me to shame climbing. Most of the time Ibrahim was helping me while Lenore happily made her own way. When we reached the top there were two summer huts with green tin roofs. At one summer hut a man was selling cold drinks. I felt sorry for him because he had to lug a full igloo cooler up the hill. But this is another example of the customer service here in Burkina Faso. We passed the summer huts and walked to the edge of the falls. Ibrahim stood on the very edge. Spread his arms and shouted Ah-FREE-Ka! I snapped him. From the top I saw the stream make a squiggly path through the tiles of crops. The sky was cobalt blue and it looked as if the clouds were hung with picture taking in mind. The day was made for us. I wanted to sing “Who will buy this beautiful morning” from the musical Oliver! Ibrahim let us explore the falls on our own. We set off in different directions. We sat. We climbed. We walked. We looked. We photographed. But alas we did not swim. No swimming in fresh water. PC Rules. Exploring was very nostalgic for me. When I was in High School our gang would go to Houston Trail Falls in Bingham at least twice a month during the summer. Weird how a new place can be nostalgic. I thought of my High School buddies often that morning. Ibrahim was sitting on a large flat rock in the shade. When I saw him begin to peel and chop our lunch I got hungry and headed over, He chopped the avocado and onion then added the oil and salt and mixed. While he was putting the mixture between the two halves of a baguette Lenore went to get minerals. We ate. They were delicious. I think the setting added to the taste of the food. The brook was behind us. It went through a small gap between the rock and the bank then opened up again before it cascaded down over the rocks. We were serenaded by a duet of the brook and the birds. After eating I stretched out on the rock, Ibrahim did the same and Lenore sat. We were all quiet, thinking or resting. After resting a bit I sat up. When I am at a place taking photos I sometimes just like to sit and look around. Sometimes a good shot shows itself too you. The sun moved into the open sky. The water lit up. The grasses and trees cast shadows. Voila! une photo! While we were sitting I had to urinate. I knew the trip back down the hill would be a little uncomfortable if I didn’t. I l didn’t see a toilet so I asked Ibrahim if there was a toilet or did we have to go to the bush to urinate. It was the bush. So off to the bush I go. Lenore did the same. Too bad we hadn’t seen the toilets (latrines) when we were starting up the hill. Lenore got up from her spot she said “I think I just solved all my problems!” It was time to go to Les Domes. Back down the hill and into our chariot. Ibrahim’s armor was shining pretty brightly after making us that meal and assisting us up and down the hill. It took us less than an hour to get to * Les Domes. We parked the car and ascended another hill. This time it was a road. I wished I had brought my hat. The sun was hot after the coolness of the cascades. As we walked up the hill Ibrahim told us the —-dougou was his mother’s home. He said he moved to Banfora for work. And told us a little about taking the test to get a license at a guide. By now the communicating by English, French and pantomime seemed natural. Les Domes were awesome. When I turned right off the road I only saw two at first. Then as I expanded my view I saw a row behind them and another row and another. When I walked into them I felt like Alice in Wonderland when she was small small. The Domes looked like someone had upturned pails of sand then poured water over them to round them off. But they were rougher than that. They were layers of rock and colors varying from black to sandy brown to white. We started to climb onto one of them. We climbed and climbed. I was nervous. (I never went to the top of the Eiffel Tower because I was afraid. I still regret it.)So I bucked up and followed Ibrahim. I don’t think I would have tried to climb without a guide. He knew the path well. We reached the top. Ah-FREE-Ka! It reminded me of the scene in “Out of Africa” where they are flying over Kenya. Only this was better because I was surprisingly, amazingly, there. Ibrahim again gave us time to explore and take photos. African time is not always a bad thing. On the trip back down I showed all my gracefulness. Tripping. Sliding down some parts on my fanny. I may have even shown my pants(undies). I think I left some of my dignity on Les Domes. As I write this I am trying to decide which of the three places was the best. I loved to be on the water. The smooth motion of a boat being paddled was very restful. The scenery was beautiful. It was quiet and full of things to look at. I must thank my travel companion for not complaining once that we had not seen any Hippos. Lenore’s ability to enjoy the moment makes her an excellent travel companion. The cascades reminded me of many happy times with friends. The avocado sandwich was delicious with a coke. Les Domes inspired me with the beauty and diversity of creation. I can’t choose. I won’t choose. -vc