That's so Burkina

A few snapshots of moments that capture life in Burkina for me:

* On the bush taxi to Ouaga, with Ninja Turtle driving (real name: Rasmané). He has a playlist of music popular in Burkina, including a selection of Akon, Lucky Dube (a South African reggae singer), Bob Marley, Shakira, and a bunch of West African singers who I can't name, that he likes to blast for the whole ride. The volume is loud enough that it sometimes gets quite painful. Notable among his musical choices are some of Lucky Dube's songs that are "dubbed" into French by some guy with a deep voice, who repeats whatever was just said in translation in a deep whisper. The translator starts to take liberties toward the ends of songs, though, and he starts singing along, but not well. When we get into Ouaga, sometimes Ninja Turtle starts singing along with Lucky too, except he doesn't speak English so he doesn't know what the words are, and also he is extremely tone deaf. That does not stop him from belting it out. Only the back of his Bob Marley hat and the gesticulation of his large, grimy hands are visible from behind the driver's seat. It's not easy to understand it son, but I hope you'll make it...

Goofy Smile hands a moto down to Ninja Turtle and 2 other guys who haven't distinguished themselves enough to have secret nicknames yet; photo credit to my mom

* At the village market. Anytime I go around the village, there are sure to be bands of small children wandering around, and what could be more exciting for a little village kid than to see the white person biking by? They like to wave and shout "nasaara!" which is Mooré for "white person." Other things that they like to shout to me are "ça va?" (French for "how are you?", though they generally pronounce it "ça ba" and don't appear to know what it means, since they keep repeating it even after I answer), "bye bye!" (which I think they think is a greeting), and "mam data bombom" ("I want candy"). Some kids last year started saying "nasaara, berebé!", which confused me because it means nothing in English, French or Mooré; one of the other teachers helpfully suggested that I had misheard them and that they were actually saying "fat white person" in Mooré (no thank you). We eventually concluded that they were trying to say "bien reveillé?" meaning "did you wake up well?" (a common part of greetings in the morning; that did not stop the kids from saying it in the afternoon and evening as well). Most recently, they've started saying "nasaara, koumba?" I'm still stumped about that one. Koumbas are the local bitter eggplant. Who knows. Anyway, anytime I go to the market, the toddler children of the female vendors are sure to stare at me. They walk out on wobbly legs and wave at me wide-eyed; as I approach them, their enthusiasm transforms into fright (omg what if she's a ghost??), and they run behind their mothers and start crying. The mothers find this uniformly hilarious, and tell their babies they're going to send them to America with me, which further increases their terror. Never have I caused someone so much fear before. Never have I wielded so much power!

* At school, talking to the English teacher. The English teacher, Yacouba, is vaguely reminiscent of a large frog both in appearance and in voice. He has a tendency to talk very slowly and over-enunciate all of his words in both English and French, which is probably good for his students, and is slightly infuriating when I'm in a hurry. He only speaks to me in English, and even if I try to speak to him in French to make him talk faster, he determinedly forges on in English. Mild social awkwardness on his part is greatly compounded by odd English word choices, whose origin is explained you see the weird phrasings printed in the national textbooks. His earnestness in improving his English and in encouraging his students more than make up for any awkwardness, though, and you have to forgive him. Sometimes when I get bored, I bake cornbread or banana bread, things foreign to the Burkinabe diet, and bring them to share with the teachers. Each time I bring in a loaf, he takes a first bite, then sits thoughtfully for a moment, and then brightens and says "well, it seems to be delicious!"