That night, I had planned to go over to Stephane and Julie’s house for a party but that was contingent on Zouratie’s arrival from Bobo with the moto to take me there. Unfortunately, with African time, Zouratie was a few hours late and I wasn’t able to go. I stayed up until about 1:00AM and then headed to bed, feeling like a slight cold was coming on. That night though, all hell broke lose. I woke up three hours later with the room spinning around me, reminiscent of the worst hangover I’ve ever had. My stomach was gurgling so loud that it trumped even the late night rooster crowing and the Muslim call to prayer. I couldn’t sit up but didn’t want to continue laying down. Oh shit. This is it. I knew exactly what had happened to me: the salad! My doctor had, of course, warned me about the side-effects of eating fresh vegetables in Africa, but Salif and his family had constantly assured me that it was safe, so I believed them. However, I can say now that eating locally prepared salad in Burkina Faso is a BAD idea. A bad, bad, bad, bad BAD idea. For the next few hours, I was in and out of the bathroom, not knowing which end my sickness was going to come out but knowing I was very, very sick! The hangover feeling kept me from sleeping for a few hours until I finally got to bed at about 7:00AM, after taking the anti-diarrhea pills my doctor had given me.
It was a restless sleep that I drifted in and out of all of the next day. I got up for a few minutes at a time, but was too weak to walk around and still too queasy to eat. In fact, the thought of food seemed to have the same effect on me that alcohol would the day after drinking excessively- it made me want to vomit out everything I’d ever eaten! Even the mention of salad made my head spin and all I was able to eat was a small cup of yogurt. That night, Stephane and Julie invited me and Zouratie to join them at the same restaurant once again, Baratapas. I thought I was feeling better and happily accepted. Zouratie took me on the moto and I was feeling good until about half way there when the queasy feeling rushed suddenly back. I tried to look straight ahead, take deep breaths, do anything to make the feeling subside, but it was no use. Finally, in order to make sure I didn’t throw up all over him, I made Zouratie stop the moto and I rested on the side of a busy, Ouaga road until I finally felt better. Because of that, we were a little late to Barapatas, but just on time in African time. The thought of food still turned my stomach, so I kept to the French bread served with the others’ meal. I slept soundly that night after the physically taxing events.
On Sunday, I met Stephane at the swimming pool in one of the nicest hotels in Ouaga, the same place I’d met him and Julie. It felt so good to finally do laps. I miss physical activity I vowed that I would start making swimming a weekly outing for myself, as not to lose ALL of my muscle while I’m here. That night, Zouratie and I went back into the city to meet Julie at the Jardin de L’Amitie where Salif and Zouratie’s cousins were playing a concert. When we were driving there and during the concert, I finally felt like I belonged here. I was happy, almost completely happy, except for the constant, dull pain of missing my family, friends and boyfriend. The weather was perfect: clear, night sky at about 75-80 degrees. Even being the capital, Ouaga is a dark enough city for the stars to be visible on clear nights. The music and dancing at the Jardin de l’Amitie was, for me, the pinnacle of great African music. They played all of the songs that Justin, Grace and I had learned in our classes and I noticed similar dances as well. The atmosphere was fantastic: a good sized, relaxed crowd enjoying the music and talking amongst themselves. I met even more of the Kone family, which seems to dominate the population of Ouagadougou and ever-expanding. The core group of musicians would occasionally invite other members of their family to come on stage and play with the group, including Zouratie, who jammed on his talking drum. That night I went home rejuvenated and relaxed, ready for the next day of work.
Since then, I’ve had a very monotonous yet familiar schedule: work at the Red Cross from 9-12, come home for lunch and a nap, work from 3-6 and then either staying home or meeting up with the Europeans. I’ve been driving the moto (with Zouratie on the back telling me to “SLOW DOWN!” and “NO! WRONG WAY!”) and hope to be proficient enough to ride it myself soon. On Monday night, I ate dinner at Stephane’s house: spaghetti with tomatoes and onions. It tasted amazing! Real European food! (well… kind of) I realized that with the very below-average food here, I’ve never appreciated the things I eat more. Every day, eating is a struggle. I find flies in the rice, or there is no rice at all. I often eat cold, canned beans for multiple meals a day. However, when there is good food, I savor it like I never have before. Each bite is a gift and I know that even when I’m back in the states, I will NEVER take food for granted again. The crazy thing is that compared to most people here, I have it good- I at least get something to eat for every meal, which is a lot more that most people here can say. I feel like with the situation of food here, I’m suffering a lot, but I feel guilty thinking that when there are so many people that are worse off than me. Yes, I know the feeling of hunger well, but I know I’m going to survive. I know if I get too hungry, I can walk to the store and buy something to curb my hunger. Some people here don’t know where their next meal will come from.
Last night, Zouratie’s, well, bébé-mama, as he calls her in French, or in proper English, the mother of his child, brought their baby, Valerie, here from Bobo to playing with Novi, Mandjou’s daughter. Usually, little Burkinabe babies are TERRIFIED of me because I look so different from them. I’ve even made one cry before just by trying to shake his hand! But Valerie came right up to me with outstretched hands as if she wanted me to pick her up. This morning, too, when I came out of my room, she ran over to me, chirping happily and wanting me to pick her up. Like most African babies I’ve seen here, she is absolutely adorable, and MUCH better behaved than Novi. Unfortunately, I was not surprised to see that even though she is only two months younger than Novi, she is considerably smaller and less developed. Although they are cousins and both Zouratie and his “bébé-mama” are much taller than Mandjou and her husband, Novi is at least four inches taller than Valerie. Novi speaks in complete sentences and is very conversational, curious and vibrant, while Valerie only says a few words at a time and doesn’t understand the concept of games as Novi does. If she were an American baby, I would have guessed that she were less than two years old instead of the three years and two months that she is. It makes me sad, in one way, but at least she is alive and somewhat healthy.
Slowly but surely, I am becoming more accustomed to life in Burkina Faso. When there was another adorable little goat tied up to the tree yesterday, I hardly flinched, though I also made sure I wasn’t home when its time came stop being a goat and start being dinner. I feel somewhat at home here and at least feel very welcomed by the Kone family in their house. I am learning the city a little more each day and know where, when, and how to get those things that I need. My modest living situation becomes more and more familiar every day. I feel better about being here and am starting not just to be happy about Burkina Faso as an adventure for me but something reminiscent of a home, complete with friends and family. That being said, home will always be where Nick and my family are. With each passing day, I’m more excited to really be home again, to enjoy all of the small but important comforts of Eugene, the food, the people, the university. Each time I leave, I realize more and more the wonderful things about home and take it for granted a little bit less. I know that I won’t stay in Eugene forever, but I couldn’t be more excited for it to be my home once again. For now though, I’ll keep plugging away half-way across the world, dreaming of pedicures, Café Yummm, snuggling on a comfy couch, American movies (in English!) and girls’ nights.