I’ve spent the last few months on and off trying to get an AIDS mural in my community. I spent January running the idea by my Major (numerous times), getting a wall approved, buying primary materials in other villages, and doing research and sketches of what HIV prevention methods I thought would be appropriate to portray. I spent most of February begging the Major to find someone to cement the wall.
The one part of the project I couldn’t do myself was the cementing, and the wall is a stucco type thing that you just can’t paint. Well, the guy who did the cement did a terrible job. My Major paid him anyway, but since his payment was the only contribution I asked from my CSPS, I figured it was up to them to decide what he deserved. Besides that, the guy tried to rip me off by saying he needed more cement. Instead of just handing him money (I have learned a thing or two) I went and bought the cement itself and had it sent over. It was sent back. “He didn’t really need it, he said” the kid told me. Great. So here I am with another half a bag of cement no one needs.
The one part of the project I couldn’t do myself was the cementing, and the wall is a stucco type thing that you just can’t paint. Well, the guy who did the cement did a terrible job. My Major paid him anyway, but since his payment was the only contribution I asked from my CSPS, I figured it was up to them to decide what he deserved. Besides that, the guy tried to rip me off by saying he needed more cement. Instead of just handing him money (I have learned a thing or two) I went and bought the cement itself and had it sent over. It was sent back. “He didn’t really need it, he said” the kid told me. Great. So here I am with another half a bag of cement no one needs.
Whatever. The guy did a bad job, but I can paint it and try to fix the cement drips and it’ll work out, I thought. I did the first white coat with my nurses. I was excited they wanted to help though they are still asking me for payment… which is getting old. I spent the end of February drawing out all of the grids on the wall and on my sketches. Last week I finished the pencil drawings on the grids and was decently satisfied. There was one place the cement had fallen off but I was sure my nurse could fix it if he decided to.
I started the painting today. I walked to the CSPS with the paint in my backpack. As I laid out all the supplies I’d gathered I realized I’d forgotten the pop bottles to mix paints in. I didn’t feel like walking all the way back to my house to get them so I decided but that I could bring them tomorrow. I looked at the penciled in drawings and sighed. I suppose, I thought, I can just do the outlines today.
So I went to get water. Of course, we were out. My CSPS never has water because none of the nurses go get it. I made a similar comment to the Pharmacist. This isn’t America, she replied. No, I said, my friend works at a CSPS here and they have water. It’s just because none of the nurses wants to get it. I was getting in a bad mood. I took a breath.
Is that pump working? I asked. I’d noticed no one was using it today. Nope, she replied. You should fix it for us. That’s your job, to help us. So you should give us money to fix the pump. No, I replied. you know that’s not my job. I’ve explained my job to you before. It is not my job to fix your pump and it’s not my job to give out money. She laughed at me.
Go to robinet (a kind of pump you pay for) right behind the CSPS then. Yeah, and who’s gonna pay for that? You can, she tells me. No, I think, I really can’t. I really don’t have money to spare this month. I don’t have the money, I say. She laughs again. If you’re going to be like that go away from me. I’m tired. I’m just joking she said. Am I laughing? I say. She leaves.
I walk the 10 minutes to another pump, wait my turn,pump the water and carry it back 10 minutes on my head. All of this to wash some brushes.
Is that pump working? I asked. I’d noticed no one was using it today. Nope, she replied. You should fix it for us. That’s your job, to help us. So you should give us money to fix the pump. No, I replied. you know that’s not my job. I’ve explained my job to you before. It is not my job to fix your pump and it’s not my job to give out money. She laughed at me.
Go to robinet (a kind of pump you pay for) right behind the CSPS then. Yeah, and who’s gonna pay for that? You can, she tells me. No, I think, I really can’t. I really don’t have money to spare this month. I don’t have the money, I say. She laughs again. If you’re going to be like that go away from me. I’m tired. I’m just joking she said. Am I laughing? I say. She leaves.
I walk the 10 minutes to another pump, wait my turn,pump the water and carry it back 10 minutes on my head. All of this to wash some brushes.
I get all set with the paint and realize I can’t see the picture I’m painting if I’m painting. Tape, I think. I can tape it to the wall. I ask my new Major for tape. Nope. Don’t have any. Well, what do you put the posters and papers on the wall up with? I reply. We’re out, he says, ask at the Pharmacy. I go ask. I’m out, she says, ask the Major. Are you kidding me? I just asked the Major, I tell her. Oh, well I have some, but tell him he’s got to pay me back. I take the tape back to the Major’s office. She gave me some, but says you’ll have to pay her back, I say. What? he says. Whatever, I think, I’m tired. I just need a little bit, I say. Do you have any scissors to cut it with? No. he says. You should buy me some.
I am so pissed at this point I leave the room. I have asked little in general from my CSPS staff because they’re not that inclined to help. Imagine trying to work as a secretary with no access to supplies except what you buy yourself, you sit down to work and can't... it felt like that.
All of the money for this project has come from a grant I applied for, and I only asked the community contribution of the labor for the cement because the grant stipulated there had to be SOME kind of community contribution. All I want is a fucking pair of scissors, but I settle for the knife on my pocketknife I’ve been using to open paint cans. I tape up the picture, wondering if it was worth all that and start painting a black outline.
All of the money for this project has come from a grant I applied for, and I only asked the community contribution of the labor for the cement because the grant stipulated there had to be SOME kind of community contribution. All I want is a fucking pair of scissors, but I settle for the knife on my pocketknife I’ve been using to open paint cans. I tape up the picture, wondering if it was worth all that and start painting a black outline.
As I’m finishing the first picture, more chunks of the cement fall off. A particularly large chunk, the woman’s nose, was what set me off. It’s getting ruined, I say sadly in Moore to the crowd of women who’ve been watching me paint. Mam suur pas noom ye: My heart is unhappy.
A man I know who happens to be visiting someone at the CSPS and another man come to look at what has made me so unhappy: the cement. He cheated you, one says, there’s too much sand in here. He stole your cement. Who is it? asked the other. I told him I didn’t know, the old Major found the person to do it. You should have asked me for help, the one I knew said, I would have just sanded down the wall for you. There isn’t anything you can do now. Well thanks. That’s really fuckin helpful to tell me now, I think loudly. It's not like you have found time to help me with anything I have asked you for before. But I keep my mouth shut.
A man I know who happens to be visiting someone at the CSPS and another man come to look at what has made me so unhappy: the cement. He cheated you, one says, there’s too much sand in here. He stole your cement. Who is it? asked the other. I told him I didn’t know, the old Major found the person to do it. You should have asked me for help, the one I knew said, I would have just sanded down the wall for you. There isn’t anything you can do now. Well thanks. That’s really fuckin helpful to tell me now, I think loudly. It's not like you have found time to help me with anything I have asked you for before. But I keep my mouth shut.
I was pissed at the guy who cheated me and did a bad job on the cement; I was pissed at my old Major for not making sure it was good, or telling me I had other options, or really just being helpful at all; I was pissed at myself for not knowing, for asking my Major and trusting who he picked, for being cheated… again.
What can you do though? I have learned here that when things are bad, you must keep going, you must move on, you must make it work. Because what other option do you have? To quit is not an option. My woman may be missing her nose, my mural may suck, I may not get the awesome project I wanted… but what can I do about it now?
I’m tired of being cheated. I’m tired of being told I should "fix" Burkina by Burkinabe. I’m tired of my work not being supported or valued. Today, for one day, I am very tired of my life here.
Thank God, tomorrow is a new day. Bark Wendnam beeogo na n wa.
Update: After a week of asking two different masons, I finally got the cement patched. I have only gotten one of the pictures (out of 3) painted, but I’m pretty happy with it. There was some minor graffiti scratched into the paint, I’m pretty sure it was a kid. But luckily it didn’t do that much damage and you can’t tell that much after I painted over it, looking at the picture from straight ahead.
HIV AIDS prevention 3:
Soaking things contaminated with blood in bleach water (also to note HIV can be transmitted by blood)
p.s. I was going to wait until it was finished to post pictures but my mom really wanted to see it now. Love ya, mom!
