If Nietzsche was right when he wrote "that which does not kill us makes us stronger", then why I am I not positively bulging with lady body-builder bulges?
That's what I'd like to know.

One recent event that I thought might be the death of me (or at least the source of amazing new triceps and quads) was the concert at the music conservatory last night.
Rehearsals have been frequent and crazy...some demanding six hours straight on my feet in VERY high heels.
Ouch!
And my voice teacher changed my solo song just two weeks before the show. I have to agree that the Purcell piece suited me better...but it still gave me very little time to get the bumps smoothed out!

And I was SO stressed at the last dress rehearsal...

But last night's show turned out SO well!!!
The only sad thing is that Tya took tons of pictures and even filmed my solo...but it seems that none of it is on the camera.
A mystery!
But there are a few photos that turned out, so you can at least get an idea of what the show looked like. And you can see my crazy costume! I 'm the one in the red 1950's dress and grey baroque wig!

Last night, "Radio France Boredom" turned into "Radio France Stardom"! JP came home from work and told me that an RFI journalist was doing a phone interview with him at 7pm. The reporter had been given JP's name as an authority on social issues in Burkina, so JP was to give his opinion on the latest unrest in Burkina.

I couldn't hang around and listen in, as our family had tickets to see the school musical (Grease!) over at the International School. So, I rushed the kids out the door and JP stayed to take his call. It will be broadcast on Monday morning.

The city is calm today. I didn't see any soldiers as I came into the center of town today.

No real news, so here's a bit more of the continuing saga of last weekends events. Warning- it's all about the Carnival, nothing about Nanou yet. Be patient.

Saturday’s Carnival experience didn’t turn out half bad. The advantage was that this was my NINTH one at St Ex. I’ll admit that in the early days I could get quite worked up at the bad behaviour of the parents as they stampeded to snatch a prime seat under the awning. And even more annoying were the ones who, in their quest for the best possible picture of their offspring would stand directly in front of the seated crowd, blocking others from seeing the show. In fact, for me, one of the “traditions” of the school Carnival was the part where I would decide to strike out in the cause of justice and yell at these anti-social morons, telling them that (and this is a quote from three years ago): “I am really not interested in viewing your butts. So why don’t you freaking move? Thank you.” This would get cheers from the crowd and the offenders would often slink off in shame. But fairly frequently they would just give me and the rest of the resentful crowd a bored glance that said “Oh. Roaches. And they talk. Whatever.” and not move. I guess sociopaths have kids, too.

Now, maybe it was my annual rage-fest that diminished the problem over time. But it was probably the letter that the principal of the school has sent to the parents for the last two years, warning them to back off, threatening that cameras would be banned at events if folks couldn’t control themselves. At any rate, that problem was greatly reduced this year. There was still lots of pushing and seat-snitching going on, but no blatant butt-blocking, so that was nice.

I really didn’t have much to complain about. As I was a classroom-helper mom, I got to go down before the huge crowd was allowed inside the gates, so I snagged a good seat in the second row. Why not the first row? Sure, those upholstered seats looked way more inviting than the rows of sharp-edged metal folding chairs lined up behind. But the comfy seats all sported big white signs saying “Reserved for Guests”.

Now, as I am not a student, teacher, administrator or part of the janitorial staff, I am a “guest” at that school, am I not? But I knew that the signs didn’t mean me. In the great French/Burkinabé tradition of elitism, the school always reserves the front row for the “important” parents. That means high-up government and embassy persons, and the owners/CEOs of big business concerns. That way, Mr. Big Deal, the CEO of a big cell-phone company here, can come in late, but still enjoy a perfect view of his child in the show from the vantage point of a fluffy cushion.

Now, I’m used to this, and all the anger has yielded to mild bemusement. But my pal C? That’s a whole different story. This is only her second year here, so she got pretty riled up. C. is French, but raised in the USA. She looks like the stereotypical Frenchwoman: small and delicate and so well-groomed it looks like it hurts. You’d think she has nothing in common with an amiable slob like myself, but we are actually spiritual sisters. Her years in the States (and subsequent life working with other Anglophone people) have made her very anti-elitist and very ready to express her opinion when things are unfair. While not building up the US as a paradise, she clearly has some issues with how the French (and French Africans) do things. The French motto is: Liberty, Fraternity , Equality. But at school it’s: “all parents are equal, but some are more equal than others”. And this got C. quite angry. She had the very American sentiment that the so-called “elites” should be treated just like all the other parents. And she’s right, of course. But that’s not how they do things here. The VIPs are entitled to their perks, even if they’re not all that VI.

C. and I chatted. Well, she ranted and I nodded sypathetically. She even got some of the French couples behind us involved in the discussion. They were very nice folks who all completely agreed with her. Or they were scared of her - I’m not sure.

We were further entertained by the fact that the “reserved” seats began filling up, but not all of the people were VIPs. Many were just folks that thought the seats looked good. They’d come in late, notice a couple of empty chairs in the center of the very front row and head straight for them. “Wow! Perfect seats left empty! I guess the people sitting behind are so moronic that they didn’t notice them. How lucky I am!” and they’d sit down right on top of the “reserved” signs taped to the seats. And when the Principal would come to make them move, they looked deeply shocked.

The show was pretty cute, so I watched quite happily, despite the fact that I had no kids of my own performing in the first few scenes. They start with the preschoolers, which makes sense.

Soon, I started getting nervous that Tony wasn’t going to show at all. C. kindly offered to lend me her camera during the scenes that the twins would perform in. So, I was sitting there holding C’s camera when Tony squeezed in beside me, handed me his digital camera and disappeared again, like some kind of audiovisual superhero.

Alexa’s strange little vignette was up next. As I reported previously in my blog, it was the story of a President being kidnapped and then rescued by some MIB-like secret agents. Alexa had snagged the very small, yet vital (well ok-not vital, just small) part of one of the three evil waitresses that serves drugged drinks to the bodyguards of the imperilled President. She looked very stylish and carried off her role with aplomb. It seemed very plausible that she could persuade a young man to accept a nice glass of spiked fruit punch from her. (Check out the photo at top of this post for proof.)

Her moment in the spotlight was very short and she watched the rest of the show from the sidelines with her two fellow waitresses. After the poisoning and kidnapping, the storyline became less clear. The whole thing was mimed to music, with no narration or dialogue, so the comings and goings of the different groups of armed and sinister looking persons were a complete mystery. In the end, the President was rescued, though, and waved to the crowd with his proud wife (mistress? bodyguard? cleaning lady?) beside him.

Next, it was time for Mal’s show. First, big easels were brought out. Then the groups of subjects arranged themselves. Finally, the painters trooped out. And it just so happened that Mal’s group set up at the back of the stage area, as far from me as possible. Even worse, my view was completely blocked by the kids on bicycles posing for one of the other artists. And the crowded audience meant that there was no hope of moving and jockeying for a better vantage point. By the time I made my way to another place, the show would be over. So, I watched the show. It went like this: kids posed, other kids pretended to paint them. Then, each group paraded around with a big poster of the famous painting that they had just “created”. Each was labelled with the title of the work and name of the artist. But as I wrote in my previous blog entry on the subject, I am an Art Dolt and hadn’t heard of any of the paintings.

Anyway, all this meant that I got no pictures of Mal at all- which was a shame, as it’s her last Carnival here in Ouagadougou.

That was the last scene. The show was over and I rushed over to the school library. That’s where the ticket sales windows were set up. I had volunteered yet again to sell refreshment tickets, which isn’t as altruistic as it sounds. Yes, it’s lots of work and you don’t get to enjoy the eating and socializing that follow the event. But there are many, many advantages: 1. You stand in an air-conditioned room, selling tickets through the window. This is less important at the Xmas Market, but gains in importance as the school year wears on and the weather heats up 2. You see all of your friends and acquaintances. In fact, you see everyone , because everybody needs tickets if they want to drink or eat anything. 3. There’s also a nice ‘esprit de corps’ among the ticket-sellers 4. Plus there’s the fun of being an ‘insider’, rather than one of the milling crowd. 5. Add to that the fact that I really hate wandering around in a huge crowd, trying to ‘socialize’. Quelle horreur! It’s SO much nicer to have a useful job and not be out there trying to have ‘fun’.

That's it for now. I'll post again on Monday with an account of the big birthday bash scheduled for this afternoon. Should be fun!

Here I am, back from amazing adventures in Nanou. We returned at six last night, somewhat sunburned and tired, and very happy to be back. It was a great trip and I’m glad we got to do it. It almost got cancelled. It’s a long story:

Eldest Daughter went to a birthday party Friday night, which was nice. Nice for her, I mean. I had the unenviable task of staying up until midnight to go fetch her. And my days of staying up late for fun are long past, thank you very much.

Sev and I put on a new Film Crew movie that we just got from the USA (Thanks, Mom and Dad!), but even that wasn’t enough to keep me awake.
By 10:30, I quit fighting it and went to lay down in bed. I set the alarm and drifted off for an hour. At 11:30, I jumped into the station wagon, feeling much better. But soon, I felt a lot worse. The car, bought at so much expense and with such great hopes only a few months back, was making a noise. A weird noise. A bad, weird noise that was VERY unwelcome, as I had a busy day ahead on Saturday and a big trip to the bush planned for Sunday.

I listened intently as I drove, trying to figure out what it could be. It wasn’t an engine-y thing. It was definitely a sound from underneath the car. A steering-y thing? I soon gave up, as I am completely useless with cars. May as well ask Aslan the Wonder Goat what was wrong with it.

I was pretty concerned, but kept driving. I figured that if it broke down completely, I could use my cell phone and call for a rescue.
Luckily, it wasn’t very far to the party. Eldest Daughter was glad to see me and expressed amazement that I hadn’t gotten lost trying to find the place in the dark - which (sadly) would not have been beyond the realm of possibility, but I had had that all covered. I’d cleverly brought along the invitation, which had the phone number written on it, so that I could call for further directions if I went astray. Well, it would have been a clever plan…but as my daughter spoke, I realised that I’d left my cell phone at home. Typical. It certainly made the drive home more stressful, as getting help would be quite complicated. There are no phone booths in Burkina Faso.

As we drove, she told me all about the party. She also told me about the huge porn movie scare at her school! Short version: some 6^th grade boys(11-12 years old) were joking around a couple of weeks ago and said that they were going to make a pornographic film. Which is very scary. I don’t know what kind of lives they have that, at their age, they 1. know what a porn film is and 2. think it sounds funny. Anyway, some of the girls heard about it and apparently thought it was for real. Rumours flew around the school. Finally, it ended with upset parents calling the school. One parent reported that she’d heard the boys had made up a list of girls that were going to be in the film. The already huge scandal swelled and became gigantic.
The boys were called in and said it was “just a joke”. They have been suspended from school for a few days. And I guess they had a good talking to.
The Superintendent (Proviseur) had the teachers read a letter to every class in the school about “respect for human dignity, the psychological health of children, etc”.

So, Eldest Daughter told me all this, then she also mentioned that they’d be having a “sex education” talk at the school at the end of the year.
“I heard about it. They show you how to put a condom on a banana;” she said. “I didn’t know fresh fruits were so dangerous that you need protection. I’m going to be more careful at breakfast from now on!”
She’s a funny girl, even at midnight, long after my brain has shut down.

The car got us home just fine, but I knew I’d have to get someone to look at it right away if I wanted to be ready for the trip to Nanou early Sunday morning. I woke up early and got the twins ready for school. Yes, they had to be at school on Saturday morning- it was the day of the big Carnival show!. Like usual, I had volunteered to be one of the “helper moms”- getting kids into their costumes and makeup. As I’m lucky enough to have a driver, I had him drop us off at the school and then he continued on to the mechanic. I was really hoping that the weird noise would turn out to be a simple, inexpensive weird noise. If the car couldn’t be fixed quickly, Sunday’s village trip would have to be cancelled. And there would be no re-scheduling. This was the last weekend that JP would have free, as he would be travelling and wouldn’t be back in Burkina until May 3. By then, it would be too late, as contacting the sprits is a dry season activity. May is too late.

Anyway, the car went off and I went into Mal’s class, where the kids were getting dressed like painters and as the subjects of Great Paintings. Well, I guess they were Great Paintings. I hadn’t heard of any of them, and I am an art fan. Not like I regularly haul out big piles of art and stand around admiring it, but I have been to the Louvre, like, five times. (NB- If my blog were associated with the AFN, I'd make that "The French Louvre", so you wouldn't get it mixed up with the Louvre of, say, Northern Indiana). I didn’t recognise the paintings.

So, there were kids with big white shirts on, straw hats and lots of paint stains- that was the artists. The others were dressed like card players, cyclists, African women carrying gourds, baskets, babies, etc. and one girl wore a white plastic rice sack. Whatever.

I would have liked to be taking pictures already- lots of candids of the kids getting ready, but as I wrote in my last post, all our cameras were out with JP in the field. However, our kind neighbour Tony was supposed to come to the show and he’s quite a good photographer. So, I was counting on him for pictures of my girls performing.

Soon the kids were all dressed and it was time for me to go out and find a seat, which is always a big deal. The nice parents tend to stay nice, but the merely tolerable ones become horrible- pushing, shoving, blocking, and acting, in general, like they are the only people on earth that count. And the mean parents become absolute monsters. The seemingly benign world of school pageants brings out the worst in many. Scary.

Tomorrow: On With The Show!

(This is what they call a “cliff-hanger”- a cheap device to get you to come back tomorrow. Will the car get repaired in time for the trip? Will Beth get a good seat at the school program? Will Tony show up and take pictures? Stay tuned…)

The weekend ahead is looking extremely busy, full of strange activities that will, no doubt, be fertile grounds for future blogging:
Saturday morning, the twins will be performing their annual school “Carnival”. As in previous years, each class offers a skit or dance in a show that takes the whole of a morning, but seems to occupy an entire geological era. Over the years here in Ouaga, I’ve seen my kids perform as: roses, lions, Roman soldiers, geishas, Paleolithic hunters, Chinese coolies, bubbles, disco dancers, clowns, playing cards and the colour blue. SO, in keeping with a long tradition of bizarreness, Mallory is going to be a painter. (Hey! Nothing says “Showtime!” like watching someone paint -don’t you think? ) Alexa will be a waitress - an evil waitress that poisons the body guards of the President by bringing them a tray full of doctored drinks. Then the bad guys will come in their cardboard cars, but the secret agents arrive…is this making sense to you? Anyway, the real problem is that JP has our digital camera and the movie camera (see yesterday’s post for details) out in the bush with him. So, I won’t have any pictures to post unless I figure out a solution soon…

The second big event is a trip back out to the village of Nanou on Sunday. Long-time readers of my blog will remember that the twins underwent a traditional Winyé twin “baptism” ceremony there back in 2006. Well, that’s not the end of the story. We have to go back to complete the process and “thank” the spirits. So, we’ll be taking off at 7am on Sunday morning. We’re just going for the day, but I have no doubt it will be one chock-full of interesting, if not frankly freaky, incidents.

Add to this menu of delights the fact that tonight Eldest Daughter will be attending a birthday party. A real, 14-year-old kind of party: boys and girls, music and snacks, 7 pm until midnight. Now, I don’t have a good track record in this matter (see this post), but I’m hoping to do better this time around and not fall asleep, stranding my daughter with no transportation, leaving her to depend on the kindness of strangers. Well, not actual starngers. But still. .. Anyway, Severin has kindly promised to stay awake with me, watching stupid movies. I'm thinking Strange Brew. Or would that be considered child abuse?