People People People

As my time in Burkina comes to a close, I've been reflecting on everything that I'll soon have to leave behind (somethings more willingly than others...). More than anything else, I'll miss walking to school every morning. I usually leave my house at about 6:45, and every few steps there is another person on the road to greet. My neighbor, giving her baby a bath; her husband setting the chairs out at his maquis. He greets me almost everyday in a huge, booming voice, saying "ne y yibeoogo" (good morning in moore), after which we exchange asking if the other person slept well and is in good health (it's cultural). Then when I get on the main road I walk with a cluster of students to the school. They move along the road in khaki-colored packs (they all wear khaki uniforms), saying how hard the last test was and asking, "will you please please please give us bonus points this trimester Madame?". If I'm lucky I'll get to greet the security guard at my village's caisse populaire (it's a credit union where people can keep their money), and I'll pass by the commisariat (police station) before they do the flag raising ceremony. If they blow whistle while you're passing on the road alongside the building you have to stop until they're done raising the flag. Even people riding bikes and motos stop. Then it's a straight shot up a gentle slope to my school. Usually I greet my collegues if they're at the administration building and then walk to the classroom where I'm supposed to teach. One of the students usually runs out to carry my bag for me (a sign of respect), and those walking behind me start running to get into class before me (you can't go in after the teacher). I try to pause for a few moments to let the running students get into the classroom. When I walk in all of the students stand up (a sign of respect-this one was really hard for me to adjust to at first) and then sit down after I say "bonjour, assiez vous". This is what I'll miss more than anything else when I leave here: seeing every student in the classroom and hearing their responses when I ask how they are doing. Some of them are unforgettable and feel like old friends, simply because we've spent so much time together. There's Abdoulaye and Abel, who, though they ALWAYS talk in class (I occasionally kick them out), ask the best questions and push the class's discussion forward. There's the "smart kid", Inoussa, who knows every answer to every question because he's already learned all of the day's material before coming to class. There's Lilli-Estelle, who repeated a grade last year, but is now motivated and empowered, raising her hand to answer almost every question (I think she just might pass her national exam last year after looking like she'd rather be anywhere else at the beginning of last year).

So, to everyone who will ask, "What is Africa like?", there's your answer. Africa is people.