Finally!! Here’s one of the hundreds of photos of the big day last Saturday night.

And it should be a snap to blog about it, right? The details are VERY fresh in my mind, as I spent yesterday seeing every single moment of it over and over and over and OVER again.

You see, though we spent good money to have someone ‘professional’ actually film and edit the event, it just wasn’t shaping up into something viewable. I went over to the Studio Magic/Magix Photo Plus place yesterday to approve the final cut of the proposed dvd.

It’s a simple, rather run-down little building. As I got out of the car, a fat white hen ran across my foot. Maybe the "Plus" in the name of the place meant plus poultry?

Almost immediately, a small group of curious neighbourhood children showed up. They were pretty shy, but very polite- each shaking my hand, the girls adding a little bouncy mini-curtsey. None of them had pants on.
But then, it was pretty darn hot. I kind of envied them.

I sat in a plastic garden chair (best seat in the house) and watched the film. TWO hours long. Nothing was left out. I think that Pierre (the proud owner of the SMPP) is used to clients that are happy with sheer volume. If you pay 100 dollars, you want a BIG film! But I am one of those ADD adults you hear so much about, I guess. Just can’t sit through a two-hour long Burkina-style dvd. Too much Sesame Street as a tot, perhaps. All those catchy songs and changes of scenery.

But honestly- there were three adult baptisms right in the middle of the service. It was ALL in our film and I don’t even know any of the people.

“Do you have some time?” I asked Pierre. “We need to sit down and change a few little things…”

We worked for two hours and then broke for lunch.

“Have you ever had a client do this before?” I asked. “Edit the film with you?”

“No.”

But he’s a great guy and seems to be taking it very well. Maybe he calls me The Client from Hell behind my back, but that would only be just and well-deserved.

He seems to want us to be happy with the film. And we almost are.

We’ve spent fours hours on it so far. But just a bit more work tomorrow morning and it should be done.

Valentine stood behind Alexa, touching up her sister's blonde ringlets with the curling iron. Pierre the Photographer and his trusty young assistant crowded into the bedroom doorway, filming and snapping pictures.

For the next seven hours on that Saturday the Jacob family would make no move not documented by our own personal paparazzi. I hired these fellows on recommendation from a Burkinabé friend.

Studio Magix Photo Plus, it’s called. “Plus what?” you may be asking. Well, let me tell you - Pierre gave me a sample film to watch and it was “plus” every single special effect in his editing software. The image of the newlyweds exchanging vows went heart-shaped, folded over into a box and then turned into a butterfly and fluttered off into an aquarium full of virtual fish. And that was just the first 30 seconds.

Our whole family watched, completely enthralled. It was fascinatingly bad. JP remarked that it should be aired at Cannes and then said, quite seriously, that we HAD to buy a copy of it to show to a film-making pal of ours in Switzerland.

Strange coincidence: the film featured a marriage that JP and I were invited to last February! It was the wedding of a young French researcher where JP works and a Burkinabé student. As we were pretty busy and I didn’t even know Elodie to say “Bonjour” to in the street, we declined. But if we had made a bit of effort, we too could have been in the amazing wedding video!

There was no question about it. We NEEDED a cool Burkina-style video of the twins’ big day!

Digital, 35mm and video. The guys juggled cameras and followed us gamely into the garden for some portraits. Then it was time to get the twins to the church.

Have I mentioned yet that it was hot? It was hot. I think my confident citing of predictions for cooler weather for the weekend jinxed the whole thing. It was especially hot if you happened to be wearing a floor-length, long sleeved, high-necked robe, as in the case of the twins and their little friends.

Our church members include people of very different economic means. There are very wealthy families alongside people that don’t even own a bicycle. That means that some of the girls can fly to Paris and buy magnificent dresses for their First Communion. Others are not so lucky. So, the tradition at our church is that all the children wear white robes lent out by the church. If you have a fancy dress, you have to save it for your party afterwards. I think it’s a great rule, even though the robes are hot in the Burkina spring temperatures.

Was this nun being mean to me? I would swear she was being mean.

“It is not possible. We serve lunch until 3:30. Then we rest. Then we clean up and set up the tables at 6pm.” That was her story and she was sticking to it, but it meant bad news for me.

“But Mass starts at six, Sister R. That means I won’t be able to see the ceremony. I’ll have to be here arranging things”. This was the third time I’d said it - don’t know why I bothered.

It was Thursday night and we were ironing out the final details of the post-communion dinner to be held at the locally famous Eau Vive restaurant. It’s run by a small group of nuns and is famous for its good food and the “Ave Maria” sung at 9pm every night in the dining room. It’s the prime venue for a nice party after a Catholic event and through clever planning ( being organized months ahead of time, anyway-which is pretty clever, IMHO) I managed to reserve the main dining room for our big event.

It was going to be a big, formal dinner for about 60 people and there would be a lot to organize. I had been hoping to be able to come help set up the tables at 3pm on Saturday, but Sister R, the woman in charge, was having none of it. If I missed my twin daughters’ First Communion ceremony, it was strictly NOT her problem.

A mean nun. Who knew? I’m not Catholic and only started hanging around nuns since I moved to Africa. Most of them have fulfilled every stereotype I had in my head concerning them. (Hey-I’ve seen The Sound of Music approximately one billion times. I know from nuns). Invariably, the nuns I’ve met and worked with here are so darn kind, nice and spiritual that it doesn’t seem possible. But Sister R was a different matter.

“Well, could I at least drop a few things off in the afternoon?” I ventured, trying for a compromise position.

Well- ok. As long as I didn’t disturb the other clients.
????
Well, normally I go around with a tame ocelot on a leash, singing songs from Okalahoma! at the top of my lungs. But I'd make and effort and leave my pet at home on Saturday. Also, I would try only humming the showtunes under my breath.

See? I can do non-disturbing.

In the end , I got her to agree that I could not only come at 3:30 and drop things off (in a non-disturbing way), but I could ALSO have a small table so that I could set up the cake! This would be quite a process, as the cake would be transported unassembled and then the four layers would have to be put back up with their pillars and the decorations re-attached. Maybe this is no big deal for a caterer, but I’m strictly amateur and this was my biggest cake ever. Over five pounds of frosting and five boxes of cake mix.

I would still have to leave the ceremony to set up place cards, flowers, etc, but it wouldn’t take more than an hour at most. At least I’d be able to see the beginning and end of the big event at the church.

So, at 3pm on Saturday afternoon, Mallory and Valentine helped me load up the car and just before 3:30 we arrived at the restaurant. I carried the bottom two tiers of the cake like they were highly explosive, sure that I was going to drop the whole thing. I had vivid visions of the dramatic fall, the shattered cake and fondant roses rolling around in the dirt like tiny albino severed heads.

And I almost did drop the thing out of sheer shock as I entered the dining room. There was no sign of Sister R. Instead, there was a very energetic Vietnamese sister bustling about the deserted room, removing plates and linens from the tables - tables that were ALREADY set in position for our party! She told me that Sister R was off-duty until 6 and that she herself was in charge of the afternoon shift. And she preferred to Get Things Done, rather than wait around. I imagine she had a lot of other stuff she could have been doing, like resting or praying, for example, but she chose to start getting our party venue organised! This woman was my new best friend! And it turned out to be fun working with her. Valentuine, Mallory and I helped put away clean dishes and cutlery, take dirty linens to the laundry and put away clean ones. We got to see the inside of their kitchen, which is one of the largest, best-equipped and certainly cleanest in the whole country. My girls and I marvelled at the big walk-in refrigerator rooms- one for meat, one for drinks, one for fruit and veg! It was fun getting an insiders view of the place.

Soon, another sister came to help and the five of us quickly had everything done. White linens on the tables, place settings for 60, place cards arranged, flowers in place, cake set up and positioned near and air-conditioner and everything was finished. I wouldn’t need to come back during the ceremony! Everything was ready for the guests to arrive and all I had to do was get home and get the girls dressed. They needed to be at the church by 5pm and it was already past 4:00!

More tomorrow, if the internet isn't down again. It's off and on, depending on the day, as is the electricity. I am SO ready to live in France again!

Well, it's 8:30 on Sunday morning and here I am already with the report on last night's festivities. It really is amazing, considering that it involved a two-hour long ceremony in an nice warm (ok, stifling hot) church followed by a formal dinner for 60 people. The fact that I did it and lived to blog the tale this morning probably owes a lot to the fact that while I served lots of wine and VERY nice French champagne to other people, I didn't drink any myself.

As for the ceremony- it was pretty much as depicted at left, right down to the angels. OK- there weren't actual angels. But my adorable twin daughters DID look positively ethereal. I hope to have some pictures to post tomorrow and then I'll let you be the judge.

Yesterday began before seven am, as I had to drive Severin to a church youth group event. The kids were going out to a village to distribute the grain purchased with the funds they raised last month. They bought in bulk and had to bag the corn themselves. It was a long, hot morning of work for all the teenagers, but they were really proud to have raised nearly 10,000 US dollars!!! They helped out a lot of needy families with this huge sum!!

Next, I got the girls and we headed off to the beauty salon. I had made appointments for the four of us two weeks ago. But somehow they managed to overschedule their morning at Ananda Beauty and I felt more frazzled than beautiful as the minusule salon filled up with NINE other clients, most of them looking rather of annoyed as service was so slow and spoadic, with only two stylists on duty.
But the Jacobs had precedence and Alexa had her heart set on a head full of curls. Mallory went for curls as well, but it was no use. We tried lots of hairspray, but what we needed was an Act of God. The second we got home, those corkscrew curls went as flat as....well, something that is REALLY flat. Whatever else Mallory may have gotten from me (stubborness? Warped sense of humour?) she did NOT get my hair. Of course, no one would actually want my hair, but it does hold a curl and mostly does what it is told, if told authoritatively enough.
So, it was with a sliver of actual hope in my heart that I gave the hairstylist a small picture of Marilyn Monroe. (Once, years ago in Chicago, a modeling agent told me I had the look of "a young Marilyn Monroe". I think it was a polite way of telling me to brush my hair and get my eyebrows professionally waxed )
Anyway, I thought the older, polished Marilyn look could work-big, loose curls up off the forehead. It was an idea, anyway. Gael (my hair guy) peered at the little picture and got to work.

He pulled on my hair and brushed on it and my three girls (who were all done and looking gorgeous) stood there looking at me with very concerned, frowny expressions.
"Maybe you're flattening out the top too much" I ventured.
"No! Trust me! It's going to be great!"
More brushing.
More frowning on the part of the Jacob Style Patrol. Slight head shake from Valentine- the JSP commander.
"Maybe you're flattening out the sides too much?" I said, vainly trying to push it all back up into a semblance of Marilyn-ishness.
"No! It's looking great!" he insisted.
I tried squinting. Nope. Still didn't look great. In fact, although I would swear that I'd shown him a picture of Marilyn Monroe, he'd apparently modelled my hairstyle on that of Bozo the Clown instead. Now, he is a style icon in his own way, but not one that I, personally, wanted to ressemble.

Instead of saucy, smooth, face-framing curls, my hair was flattened down over the top and down the sides. Then at ear-level it exploded into a bunch of fuzz.
It was the Anti-Marilyn of all hairdos and it was all mine.


'Yikes!' didn't quite cover it. And the more Gael touched it, the worse it got.
I finally just told him to Leave It Alone.
I considered using the blue plastic cape across my shoulders as a makeshift hood so I could get out to the car without anyone seeing me. In fact, maybe I'd wear it for the actual event that evening. It figured it would be easier to explain why I had a beauty-salon cape on my head than it would be to explain why I had Circus Hair.

Once I was safely at home, I pushed, prodded and pinned my hair until it looked like something that a female human might possibly want on top of her head. In fact, it looked kind of nice. It didn't have anything even vaguely Marilyn-ish about it, but at that point I was just glad not to be a hideous freak.

Mallory decided to quit fighting a hopeless battle and opt for a straight-haired look. Pulled back with a blingy tiara, it looked really sweet.

But we didn't have much time to fuss over hair. It was soon time to head over to the restaurant to assemble the cake, set up the tables, arrange the flowers, etc. Valentine and Mallory were a huge help. It would have taken me all afternoon without them and instead it was done in less than one hour!

More tomorrow!

I'm back online! The pain-in-the-neck server problem over at Liptinfor is fixed, so I once again have internet and email, effectively rejoining the 21st century.

Not like I have lots of time to blog- For example, I spent the morning making this cake for tomorrow's big party. In case you were wondering: yes, it does take huge amounts of time and patience to make 50 roses out of icing.

Now I'm dealing with other tasks- placecards, seating chart, etc.

I probably won't post again here until the big event is over.
Wish us luck!

Ouaga weather has been great lately- unusually cool. By that I mean that some days it doesn't go up over the 100°F mark, so it's all relative. But the hottest month is behind us and May is feeling pretty good. Plus the forecasts call for a pretty cool weekend, just in time for the twins' First Communion festivities this Saturday!
Thrillingly, the relatively cooler weather has meant less stress on the electric plant in Ouaga- which has meant fewer blackouts for us! In the last two weeks, we only had three power cuts, which was brilliant! And I'm expecting even fewer with the advent of the rainy season.

Not so brilliant is the fact that my internet connection at home once again has serious problems. I haven't been able to get online for over two days (since my last blog post). To add to my problems, there seems to be a further problem with my email. I'm posting this from an internet café after attempting to open my mailbox. It seems to be a problem with Liptinfor. It's very frustrating as I know there are emails from lots of you. I am trying to fix this problem. But if it's really important, please call me. Moderately important stuff can go to the comments section of this blog. As I have an "approval before posting" system, I can read the messages and then delete them.

Ouaga is on the last day of a three day long general strike. Maybe it sounds impressive, but it hasn't been that big of a deal -which is sort of NOT the point of a strike, people! But most people say that they can't afford to stop working for even one day. So, the only things closed have been a few public services like the post office and the courthouse. The buses are running, supermarkets open and schools in session. Somehow, I don't think this strike is going to make the government cave in to the demand for 25% salary increases.

Our household is curently focused on the upcoming party this Saturday. Valentine is making the calligraphy placecards for the 60 guests. JP and I puzzle over the seating arrangements (ie: where to seat the US Ambassador, the Vice-President of the Burkina Faso legislature, the ex-Minister of the Interior of Burkina, and a priest. They all need to go at the head table, but in what order???) I am also starting the cake today, which I have big plans for.

As for my friend S. from yesterday's post. She believed me (and the pharmacist) and will stick with her generic supplements. But she (like me!) was pretty bewildered at why a doctor would try to make her spend nearly half her monthly income on a medication that can be bought at a fraction of the price.
Also- thanks to my kind neighbors T. and K., I was able to give S. a bag full of lovely and practical baby clothes!

I’ve puzzled over what to call this blog entry. “Could Anyone Explain This, Please?”, “What’s WRONG With These People?” and “WTF” (short, to the point and my current favourite) were all candidates.

But I’ll just tell the story as I see it and let you figure it out.

This morning I faced a situation that I’ve dealt with hundreds of time here in Burkina Faso. A Burkinabé of modest means came to me for help buying a medication prescribed after a recent medical visit. S. is pregnant with her third child (she has two girls, but her husband wants a boy. Don’t even get me started on that one). She is following her well-baby visits and has been taking her iron/folic acid supplement regularly. A month’s worth of generic tablets costs a little over one US dollar. It’s affordable (barely) for someone like S. that works at odd jobs and makes about 16 dollars in cash each month, on average.

But the doctor at the clinic recently gave S. a new prescription to replace her generic iron tablets. It was for a brand-name iron supplement made by a big pharmaceutical company. S. was quite worried as she spoke to me and asked if I knew any way to get her this important medication that the had doctor said she needed. She’d just been to the pharmacy and seen how expensive it is- over TEN times the price of her current iron pills! And it’s just that. Iron. Nothing fancy. No secret ingredient. It’s just iron like she’s already taking. But it’s super-expensive iron in a pretty box.

Sadly- frustratingly- crazy-makingly, this is not a rare situation here in Burkina. Doctors working in clinics that serve poor people here in the second poorest country in the entire world frequently prescribe expensive brand-name medications rather than affordable generics. And most patients haven’t the knowledge to question this. They think that the doctor has their best interest at heart and the families scramble to find the money, borrowing, if they can, or quite simply doing without other things like food or clean water.

I was recently talking with a pharmacist here in our neighbourhood, trying to figure out what the hell these doctors are thinking. (I did, about five years back, try to talk to a Burkinabé doctor about this issue, which was a big mistake. I’d asked my question in the politest possible terms, but he still took it as an unforgivable presumption on my part in questioning the Doctor-God.)
This pharmacist, though, is a lovely person and just as mystified and frustrated as I am. He pointed out that people often won’t even listen to him when he suggests that they substitute a generic for a name-brand. (I run into this, too. But as I’m not a health-care professional, it makes more sense that people might discount my input) He sees very poor families that have obviously scraped up their last few resources to buy, for example, the frequently prescribed effervescent medication called Efferalgan. All it is is a fancy delivery system for paracetamol, which can be bought for a few cents in generic form. But most people just ignore his kindly meant advice with polite smiles and trust their doctor. They pay for the over-priced brand-name product and then often don’t have enough left to buy any of the other medications on the prescription. So, they go home with a pain killer/fever reducer but don’t have the antibiotic to treat the infection or the chloroquinine to treat the malaria, or whatever… This is not a trivial problem- these doctors are indirectly causing many needless deaths.

Why are doctors doing this? Are they really that addicted to the gifts and incentives of the pharmaceutical companies. I just don’t understand.