So this is what happened.
While I was in Ouaga I offhandedly realized I had to pick up next month's money from the poste (think bank). There were rumors of a devaluation of our money and I didn't want to be caught empty handed. Also, I was running low on funds. I had to squeeze it in before I went home.
I walked in with my friend around 9 am. There was some confusion as to what we were supposed to do as usually you just walk up and see where to put your ID in the line on the counter. But after listening to someone explain, we took a number from the pull (which I had often thought silly before as no one used it) and sat down to wait. I saw I was 70. High, but it could be worse. Surely several other people had been in in the last hour. Ding! The number counter switched. To 1. Fourty-eight minutes, much cussing in English and one phone call to the PC money people later, we decided to leave... they were on 8.
Later that day I went to another poste on a rumor from the money people (and a hope) that they would be able to get me money. Instead I got laughed at. Some days it just gets to you and instead of fighting it, I just left and realized I wouldn't be getting my money... and therefore staying until the next day, Christmas Eve. I figured one day wouldn't matter much. I'd still be in village for Christmas and that was what counted.
Early Christmas Eve morning I called a cab and went to the poste. No one in line. Christmas miracles and all that. Afterward, I proceeded to go buy villager's some small gifts and get photos printed to hand out. A few hours later pulling up to my bus station, I saw at once that it was pandemonium. I lugged my things to the ticket counter and waited while a man in front of me yelled at the woman for about 5 straight minutes. Finally I edged my way in. Saying the name of my village, she responded with a tired "Sold out". Really. I responded somewhat amusedly. They had never been sold out before. But then again, I guess it was Christmas eve. OK, I said thinking quick, put me on the last bus. I could find something to do waiting two hours. "Sold out". All of them? Yep. Are you sure? Yes. I walked away, knowing it was a lost cause.
I called my friend and asked her to send the taxi back. Crying, I told her I guessed I would just be spending Christmas feeling guilty in Ouaga. Knowing how much I wanted to be back in village, she struck up a deal with the taxi driver. He could, for a somewhat extravagant amount (five times the price of a bus ticket), drive me back to village. Having the money I'd just got from the poste, I agreed. I slept grumpily most of the way back. They better be glad I'm back, I thought. I better have fun.
Right away I went to my friend Verro's house, asking about her plans and finding out that church, at 4 pm, had already started. I had missed going to the 3 hour long "real" Christmas service. Instead I went back to my house to get ready for the next day. The kids came over and watched How the Grinch Stole Christmas but mostly as a favor to me because I realized it doesn't translate cultures very well. A lot was lost on them: no idea of snow, Santa, wrapped presents or trees. I still enjoyed it, though it made me miss home.
Afterward they convinced me there was a nativity at one of the churches, and we set off under the stars, they wearing my rain jacket, pagnes and snowcap to keep off the cold, me huddling in a sweatshirt and headscarf. Right before we got there, they turned off the lights in the church. The three hour service was over; no nativity this year. The kids were disappointed, but as we walked back they told me how excited they were for Christmas. That, at least, stays the same.
Christmas morning, 6 am, I put on the tea and turned my computer on to set the mood in music. Snuggling in after a bowl of oatmeal, I got right to work tearing apart the two (!) boxes my parents sent as well as a box from my cousin Becky and my grandma and one from a family friend (THANK YOU!) It was worth the wait. I spent the next hour playing with my new toys and hiding the best food to be eaten later on. Then I set out around town, stopping at my adopted family's house first.
Though most of the women had been up cooking since 4, everyone was still running around. Naked children getting ready for baths before church, women sending girls to neighbors with food, people coming over to give greetings and eat. It was beautiful chaos. Everyone was excited. I was offered enough rice for 5 people but politely declined, as I had to stop by another place before going to church and it was already almost time fro church. They looked a tad confused, but I promised them I'd be back.
I headed back to my friend Verro's and after making me eat rice (with meat) she said she wasn't ready to go yet. Not wanting to be late as everyone had repeatedly told me both churches started services at nine, I walked the 15 minutes to the tiny building that holds Catholic mass. Two women, bundled head to toe, sat on the benches out side. I said hello followed another litany of greetings and well-wishings. Eventually I asked them if I'd missed it. Is church finished? I asked. Accidentally implying I thought the church was finished, not just the service. Oops. Smiling they said no. In a little bit people would come. I sat down. I got up and gave the children who'd come candy. I said: how soon? They said: A little bit. Who knows how long a little bit is in old Mossi woman time? Thank you, I'll be back, I told them.
I headed past the other church just to be sure they hadn't started earlier. I looked at my cell phone, 9:30. Huh.
I headed back to my adopted family's house where they were all doing the same as before. Catching up with my "husband" a 9 month old tubby angel named David, I was having a good time. All the sudden I looked up and everybody was gone. Where is everybody? Church, came the reply. Unbelieving, I caught another woman in the courtyard. Are you all going to church? No she responded, they left. Confused, I headed back to the church. Sure enough, I was late. I took a seat outside on a rock that I ended up having to share. Just close enough to the door I could see when to stand up and when to sit down. The music was beautiful, the message a little hard to understand. There was a bit about Jesus and God and child in there. Something, I'm assuming having to do with Christmas ;) I also danced some with the women after church and then Verro called me away to greet her family on the way back. I was glad to have her take me under her wing because I think she made the difference.
We ate and drank our way back to her house where I ate and drank and danced and chatted for 3 hours. Exhausted, I headed home for a nap, but instead ended up wrapping small presents and talking to my family, just home from a morning of church. Then I headed over to my co-worker's party. I was late but they were happy to see me when they saw I'd brought photos to give them. I took a few more with my camera (after eating some more) and then went back to my adopted family's. All things for the most part over there, I spent the rest of the evening back at Verro's watching people drink and enjoying her friendship. It was all very welcoming and fun. And, boy, was I full!
The next day I woke up red and itchy. Sunburned by the dancing, but I didn't care. I got up and played Santa Claus to the kids in my adopted family's courtyard. On second thought, maybe not the best idea, but I thought it worth a try, especially since some Americans had sent me some toys to give away. After the fighting and crying and mothers coming up and knocking on my door for presents for all their kids... it all ended OK. I don't advise this to other volunteers though, even if you think you're doing it for a good reason.
Then, my friend who's a third year called to tell me she and her brother were coming a day earlier to stay at my house as a stopping point after seeing her old village. I was sweeping my latrine with my phone in my shirt-pocket in case she called when, mid-sweep, I heard the sound. A deep plunk. No way. I looked and my phone was gone. I looked into the latrine. No shit (or lots of shit, depending on how you look at it) there it was. My phone had fallen into my latrine. A hole a good 6 feet down covered by concrete, full of cockroaches and at least 3 years of poop. Embarrassing doesn't even begin to cover it. To do that in my family is to make for too easy jokes. To do that in my village is not just silly, it's irresponsible and stupid.
Anyway, the kids ran to get someone who with a string and a tin can either pocketed the phone or made it unfindable, because after he left it wasn't there anymore. It's a story that's not funny yet, as Burkina is on holiday until the 4th-- including, apparently, its phone companies-- and I am still phoneless.
The volunteer and her brother had a pretty uneventful visit and it was fun to see my village through their eyes. I tried to be a good host, though my house isn't the best for hosting. We stepped around each other a lot and eventually they headed off to see more markets and old friends. After that I slept and worked and ate and went to market.
I had been expecting a few friends for New Year's eve, but without a phone there was no way to verify plans. I had given up on the idea when late in the afternoon there was a knock at my courtyard door. One of then had shown up anyway! I was so relieved I must have told her a million times how glad I was she'd come. She got sick though, so mostly we just talked. I went to Verro's just before midnight by myself to say hello and ring in the new year with cheek kisses (the Burkinabe equivalent of a hug) even though the party was far over. It was great to see her again and I feel even more now that she is like family.
I left village today to see what could be done about my phone, but an odd thing happened when I was leaving. I love those people. I said to my friend randomly as we were saying good-bye and going to wait on our bus. And the thing is, I really do.
(Happy 2o12. May God give us next year.)
