I`ve been back in Burkina for over a week now. Posting to the blog or even answering an email is much harder here than it was in the middle of a forest in the USA. I didn`t have my internet connection reopened until this morning. I somehow couldn`t bear the thought of dial-up again...but the waiting list time for getting anything better here is over one month. So, I got hooked up again today to my old service... only to have a sudden rainshower knock out our phone line. I`m not sure why, but it happens frequently here. It wasn`t even a storm, I swear. I suspect that they make the cables out of sugar.
So, here I am, back at the internet cafe.
I have also been very, very busy, of course. I had to organize the kids for school, which involves buying and labeling hundreds of dollars worth of school supplies. Each thing down to the last pencil has to be tagged, god help me. Then I had to get back to work at Papiers du Sahel. And then the car was emitting alarming black smoke and the brakes went out, so that had to be dealt with.
And I also had to get the goat castrated.
I have had little time for frivolities around here.
NB:today`s pic is JP and the kids on Aug 31 in Paris waiting to get on the plane for Ouagadougou.

Today's blog entry comes to you from not-so-sunny California. Yes, we have finally reached our furthest point west of the journey and are currently camped out under the giant redwoods. JP says it's like camping in the "enchanted forest". It reminds me more of "Jurassic Park". Part of the movie was filmed here and I keep expecting a velociraptor to surge out from behind a fern and eviscerate me. But then, "Return of the Jedi" was also filmed here, so maybe I can hope that some kind Ewoks would come save me from any dinosaur attack.
The trees are astounding, though, even without dinsosaurs and aloien teddy bears.
The beach here is also lovely, if a little cold. I thought my Burkina acclimatised offspring would barely dip a toe in the frigid north Pacific waters, but they went right in.
Since the blog entry in Pocatello, we have been to Boise, Idaho and Portland Oregon. Many adventures were had, too many to recount today. We had a great time visiting family (in Boise) and friends (in Portland) and now are ready to head back east. Tomorrow we'll pack up the tent and head for Nevada.

I am blogging to you from, of all places, Pocatello, Idaho. We are spending two nights here, taking in the local ambiance. And there's a lot of ambiance to be had down at the local Walmart, I'm here to tell you. We had to stop in to get food and buy a towel for JP. He left his in Yellowstone. Right now, undoubtably, a lucky grizzy bear is enjoying the use of a light green pima cotton bath sheet. But that act of unintentional generosity towards wildlife left JP without a very necessary item. So, we did a little shopping and observation. Pocatello is just south of a large Shoshone reservation, so there were lots of Native Americans. Ditto cowboys. Even square dancing-type "cowboys" and their lady partners sporting huge, stiff skirts like enormous,, demented Chinet plates!
One gentleman in the bakery department gave us quite a show. He had a severe case of "plumber's pants": an unacceptable amount of rear cleavage going on. Mallory was aghast "LOOK MOM! That guy's gonna lose his PANTS! I quickly convinced her to discuss the matter more quietly and steered the kids in the opposite direction. But then I realized that we did need bread...I turned around and there was the full, panoramic view. It looked distressingly like two gigantic loaves of rising bread wereb trying to escape out of the back of his pants. I did an about face and decided to go to the packaged bread aisle instead. Wonder Bread makes whole wheat now, did you know that?
The BEST thing about Pocatello so far is the extremely great powwow that we went to last night. The Shoshone are having a big festival this week and the main attraction is the dancing. We got there just in time for the Grand Entrance. It was really spectacular, with dancers from tribes all over the central and western USA.
If you haven't checked the Photobucket album lately, do so. There are pics in the Camping subalbum. There are photos from South Dakota and Wyoming. Idaho will soon follow, with views of our trip to Craters of the Moon National Park.
Note: Today's pic is from Mamoth Hotsprings in Yellowstone.

I started this trip with rosy visions of me merrily blogging along as we drove and camped across the western USA. I guess I sort of neglected the fact that said trip would involve lots of, well, driving and camping. Both of these activities are amazingly time consuming. When you camp; the basics of living take on huge porportions. At home, when you take a shower, you just walk into the bathroom and the whole thing is pretty quickly over. When you camp, you have to do a scavenger hunt before you even get anywhere near the water. Where is your towel? The soap? Are clean clothes even a remote possibility? And when you add four kids into the mix, the fun really begins.
As for the driving aspect, we have been through Nebraska, Iowa, South Dakota, Wyoming and are now in Montana. That's a lot of roadtime. The kids are mostly happy just to listen to music and look out the windows of the van. Yes, we rented a big van to hold all of us and our huge volume of camping stuff. It's a "conversion van", I was told. So, you climb into the thing a Catholic and come out an hour later saying "Hey, now that I think about it, that Mohammad guy made a LOT of sense. Where do I sign up?"?
I am currently blogging from West Yellowstone, Montana. We just spent the day at Old Faithful. We watched the famous geyser erupt, along with about a thousand other tourists. ( No, the tourists didn't erupt, though that might have added a lot to the drama.)
Last week, we saw Mount Rushmore and visited Jewel Cave (second longest cave in the world, people.) Then we went on to camp at Devils Tower as featured in "Close Encounters of the Third Kind.
We will be here at Yellowstone until Friday. After that, we will head into Idaho. Famous potatos and all that.
So far we have seen: bison, moose, elk, deer, chipmunks (much beloved by the twins) and many, many, many bikers. Yes, it's Sturgis motorcycle rally time ( official sponsor: Jack Daniels) and the Harleys abound, as do their leather-clad owners. Bikers from all over the USA converge in the Black Hills region and rule the roads for a couple of weeks. Related story: One night, some bikers came into camp late, their engines roaring and thumping, as Harley engines have a tendency to do. We were all sleeping, but were woken by the racket. Severin yelled "Hey? Are you just 'too cool' to buy a car, or what?" The engines shut off abrubtly and Severin disappeare ddown into the bottom of his sleeping bag. He was sure that they'd heard him and were coming over to defend their honor.

In my last post, I added 'Ebay' in the label section and then went on to write only about extinct mammals. I meant to add that part of what is keeping me busy, besides HGTV and numerous trips to Walmart ( I am so ashamed, but am helpless to resist the siren call of 'low prices..always') is that I am posting numerous items on Ebay. It's all stuff I brought over from Africa. One item gathering lots of interest is the five foot long Tuareg bag that's in the pic at right. The curious among you can search out all six items for sale by nebraskacc.

I hope to get more items up this week, but time is running out. JP arrives on Saturday (Yay!). By Tuesday, we will be on the road, starting our mega-fun (we hope, fervently) camping adventure across the western USA.

Nebraska boasts the largest mounted mammoth skeleton in the world. His name is 'Archie'
Here is a re-enactment of the mammoth's possible reponse to being given a lame nickname.
(Run away! Run away some more!)

Last summer I had a blog hiatus due to the fact that getting online in France involved, in my case, driving to another town and going to the area's only internet cafe. Now here I am in the USA with all the computing power of my tech-savy parents at my disposal and my posts are few and far between. My vacation has somehow expanded to fill all available time, which is fun, but not conducive to blogging.
What have we been doing? Museums, shopping, and movies, mainly. Though my parents and I did manage to intall no less than 12 new window blinds in their home (only four more to go). I'm also getting several African items ready to post on Ebay. So, I do feel productive, in a non-blog kind of way.
We are getting very excited about our upcoming camping trip in two weeks. My parents just bought us a huge new tent, which has built up a positive frenzy among the kids. I am just hoping they will like it just as much after three or four weeks of actually living in it.

Today's missions? Clearing up a huge bank-generated problem with my savings account, going to the used bookstore to buy enormous amounts of books to send back to Ouaga, posting items on Ebay and catching up on my emails. Not good photo ops. I'll no doubt have some good pics this week though, as we are going to a couple of good museums.

We had a great 4th of July. The only injuries were a scraped toe (Alexa) and two singed fingers (Severin). Considering the amount of fireworks that the kids lit, we got off lightly.

The last time I came to Lincoln, I was amazed at the amount of tattoo/piercing places that seem to have opened since my last visit. This time, I am struck by all the coffee shops. There's no Starbucks, but lots of fun little independant places. Tattoos scare me, but I am rather fond of fancy coffee, so it was a nice surprise.

We called JP today. He talked to each of the kids (except for Valentine, who is in Minnesota visiting the mega-mall up there) and asked each which he preferred: USA or Burkina. Mallory and Severin said USA, no hesitation. Alexa voted for Burkina. She misses her posse.


OMG! American Idol Rewind is on! I did not even know there was such a thing!! VERY exciting!!!!

I feel like I'm on the deck of the starship Enterprise. My mom's nice Dell PC is charging up Valentine's new Nano as I'm blogging and checking emails on her even nicer Mac. To my left, my laptop is busy doing all the downloading/upgrading that I never get to do in Africa. As I switch back and forth between the three machines, I get a very Uhura vibe, minus the mini skirt, of course.

Vacation. What can I say? The kids are having a great time- playing with my parents's dog, eating fast food, shopping, rolling in the uber-green grass, going to movies, etc.
We went to the Farmers' Market this morning for sweetcorn and other good stuff. There was someone there selling goatcheese and Mallory got a bit lonely for Aslan, her precious goatling. But mostly she is more than satisfied by the splendors of Bridget, my folks' Wheaten terrier.

Alexa has just dicovered the Beatles. She came up to me, headphones hanging down "I am the eggman'?? What's that all about? " she asked, completely mystified. Alas, I could not tell her.
"What do you think it means?" I cleverly asked.
"That he's weird?"

I can't believe we made it! Here I am, typing a blog entry on my mom's Mac. As I am so unused to USA-style keyboards, it's a real hunt-and-peck fiesta of frustration, but that is more than made up for by the sheer speed of the connection. My blog page loads in two seconds instead of five minutes. What a concept!
Our trip here was quite interesting. When we boarded in Burkina, security was good but not over the top. They open bags and wave the wand and on you go. Paris was another matter. They were in full pat-down mode. Not a sort of desultory, symbolic tap about the ribs and ankles, but a top to botttom touchy-feely that was frankly not nice. As I stood in line and watched a nice elderly lady get 'the treatment' I thought: 'The terrorists won. Thanks George. We are all doomed." I guess I knew that already, but this really drove it home.
At least they weren't subjecting the children to it, thank God for small favors.
Anyway, we flew from Ouaga to Niamey and then sat on the runway there for two and a half hours, waiting for lightening storms to abate.
Then on to Paris, where we rode their delightful little shuttle buses around and around and around. We left about an hour late and were worried about our connection in Detroit. There are only a couple of flights per week between Detroit and Lincoln. But the security in Detroit, despite being strict, went really, really quickly. They processed a huge amount of people in a fraction of the time it took in Paris. They were saving time by not feeling people up, which was nice.
But the connection ended up being a non-issue. Thunderstorms kept us on the ground and the flight left late. We easily amused ourselves visiting the airport shops and being amazed by all the stuff. We bought a People magazine (Special Wedding Edition) and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. God Bless America!
Now here we are, in the Heartland of America. (I wonder which state is the Bileductland of America? They sure keep quiet about it.)

More soon, hopefully with pictures!

Not like I have a lot of spare time these days, but I somehow recently found myself sitting on the terrace leafing through a collection of old (« classic » as they term it these days. Nothing is just old anymore) Doonesbury cartoons. I vaguely remember reading the strip back in the 1970’s and finally understanding about 30% of the humor by the end of the decade.
This time around, it struck a nerve, as you could just replace the word “Vietnam” with Iraq and have a completely 21^st century twist on all the black humor.

What also struck me was the house plants. Yeah, Zonker and his talking plants. What a 70’s thing. In the 1960’s, plants grew outside. The yard was their natural habitat and they pretty much stayed there. With the notable exception of Christmas, when you got to kill a tree, drag it indoors to give off that delicious piney fragrance and create a major fire hazard that could turn your joyous holiday home into a tragic inferno. But I digress.

I distinctly remember that until 1970, I grew up in an entirely houseplant-free home. Then, suddenly, everybody was lugging big pots of dirt into their living rooms. You’d have ferns and possibly philodendrons. These were the aspidistra of the era. They'd sit in a place of honor. A wrought iron plant stand was considered nice, but the style benchmark was, of course, the macramé plant hanger. For those of you young enough and lucky enough to have missed that whole macramé thing, think knotted rope and wooden beads. The macramé aspect is logical, of course, as the entire houseplant movement was a complete hippie conspiracy. They were known as very dirt-oriented persons. Woodstock was not talked about for decades afterwards because of the clean restrooms and excellent shower facilities. So, it was definitely the hippie movement that was behind the “lets bring large quantities of dirt into our homes” concept.

I am an adult now and have my very own houseplant-free home. The idea of having containers of dirt sitting around in my clean house is distinctly disturbing. My attitude towards this issue is no doubt somewhat influenced by an incident from the spring of 1978, when my junior high Spanish teacher invited the class over to her home for dinner. I went into the bathroom to wash my hands pre-paella, and was confronted by one million (possibly more, I didn’t count) tiny baby crickets bursting out of the dirt around the “attractive” houseplant sitting on the vanity. Since that night, I have hated both crickets and houseplants. And I’m not all that keen on paella, either.

I don’t know why I wrote all that. I should be packing, for pete’s sake.
I guess it’s been festering. All these years, I have been wondering: What’s the deal with houseplants? The 70’s are over. Throw the damn things out, people. They’re just havens for bacteria and cricket eggs. Ish.

Maybe some of you have been concerned that the long blog-silence was caused by my kidnapping and subsequent murder at the hands of Sofitex agents? Ok, Norbert Zongo, I am not. It would have made for an exciting story, though. But the explanation is far more banal.

The 13th through the 16th, I spent any free time I had editing another short film. ( It’s alarmingly addictive) Then on Saturday night, there was a rainstorm, as happens so frequently in the rainy season and it knocked out the phone lines in our neighbourhood. Now, this “rainy season” happens every year, at exactly the same time. And every year the phones go down several times because of it. And the phone company seemingly is oblivious to the fact. You’d think that, even if they couldn’t improve the equipment ( by not making the cables out of cystallized sugar, for example), they would at least hire extra repair techs for the period. It took four days of near-constant begging to get somebody to come and fix our line.
Then, when phone service was finally back on, the internet server was having trouble, kicking me off every five minutes. So, I found other, non-internet things to keep busy with.

The weekend was also occupied by guiding Severin through the intricacies of Powerpoint so that he could do a presentation at school. He chose “garbage”, which is kind of cool, in a strange way. Here are some of the pictures we took . I thought I’d share them. How many people know much about trash in Ouagadougou?

Most of the trash in Ouaga is collected by women that drive donkey carts. It is supposed to go to intermediate collection sites like the one above. But it often ends up dumped elsewhere.

The sign reads: "It is forbidden by law to dump trash on this site, punishable by fines." I'd say most of the trash in Ouaga ends up at places like this.

Now you know.

I can’t promise good blogging in the near-future. Or even bad blogging, full of pictures of trash. We are heading to the USA, people! We leave on Tuesday.

Mallory’s thoughts on the subject, as confided to me recently: “When I talk to Grampy on the phone , he asks me if I’m excited to come see them and I say “yes” like this, all calm. But I really want to yell like this “YES! YES! YES!” because I’m so happy!!! But I might scare him.”

I am excited, too. But hopefully not in a scary way.

Cotton is what makes Burkina go. It is the country's main source of foreign currency and contributes 5-10 per cent to the gross domestic product. More importantly, over two million people depend on it as their primary cash crop. People here can grow their own food, weave their own cloth and do without luxuries like motorbikes. But without cash in hand you can’t buy tires for your bicycle, send your children to school or pay for medical care.
Since 2004, the price of cotton has been going steadily down. In 2003, a farmer could get 210 fcfa (about 42 cents) for a kilo of cotton. Right now, it has reached a low of 145 fcfa. It’s a 31% drop that affects more than two million people in a country with a total population of under 14, 000, 000 ! Just imagine if 15% of all Americans, for example, had to accept a 31% drop in wages this year. That would affect about 45 million people! Needless to say, this is going to have a major affect on the quality of life of the average Burkinabé person. We’ll see even fewer kids in school in the fall, less food on the tables and even more deaths due to preventable and curable diseases.

They just had an article on the subject of cotton in my favourite newspaper, “l’Evenement”; It documents the unrest of the desperate farmers, plans for a possible boycott and searches for alternative buyers. And the answer to the problems, according to Sofitex, the main buyer of Burkinabé cotton? In a brilliant move, they have dispatched agents to the villages to “encourage” the farmers. Yes, they have sent out guys to tell the farmers to cheer up! Very helpful, I’m sure. “Gee, we never thought of it that way” the farmers will say to themselves. “We just need to brighten our days with a smile and all will be well. Thanks, Sofitex!“
Funny how the Sofitex, that had to be recently bailed out financially by the government, has plenty of money to pay for the salaries, vehicles and gasoline to make this silliness possible, but very little to pay the farmers.

Here is a helpful hint that I will share with all my blog-land friends out there: Don't try to download a six minute film onto YouTube using dial-up in Africa.
I worked for hours yesterday editing my first-ever video, but have spent a long, frustrating Wednesday trying to get it downloaded. My only hope now is to find an internet café that has adsl.

Hopefully tomorrow will bring success and a new video posted to my blog!!
This one is guaranteed 100% goat-free.

Here's the reason why Valentine was recently condemned to "Nun Boot Camp": The Profession of Faith ceremony at our church on Sunday morning. Valentine's class had to prepare for this special ceremony where the young people get up in front of the congregation to commit to Christ and to "renounce the works of Satan". The latter being, I feel, always a good policy.

It was a reasonably nice day for the ceremony. It was only about 100°F and a bit breezy. Valentine was lovely in her long white robe and seed pearl headband. We'd had to have the robe sewn specially for her, as the church didn't have any that were long enough.

Here's the big moment: Valentine makes her speech. Beside her is Abbé Anicet. He's the third priest we've had in eight years. Some of the other Catechism teachers complain that he is too authoritarian, but they haven't been around as long as I have. Father Anicet is a beacon of democracy compared to past incumbents.
Crowd of pals all there to support Valentine. I'm there in the purple shirt.

I hope to have a short film of the ceremony up soon!!

Here are a few pictures from the Talent show on Saturday night. I will post more in the Photobucket album soon.
Here are the girls all ready to go dance. Are they cute, or what?
Opening moves

Alexa's solo

One more, just because they are so freaking adorable.

I have been getting emails from concerned Burkinamom fans. They all say pretty much the same thing, ie: “Hey B- What’s the matter? The film is great, but I’ve watched it about 20 times now. WRITE something, dammit!”
It’s true that I have been resting on the cinematic laurels of FAVL. Which was not a good idea, as they are comfy, but not my own. Michael K at FAVL did all the work and all I did was paste in a link. But I was VERY happy that all my family and pals could finally see Aslan, Midnight and all the gang.
What have I been doing? Well, last week was spent getting ready for the weekend. Mallory, Alexa and their twin pals E and S were in serious training for a show. We had the dance teacher at the house every afternoon, the furniture all pushed against one wall. Alexandra is Russian and trained as a dancer back when it was called the Soviet Union and they did not kid around. She had to train for hours every day, she tells the kids, and if her posture was less than perfect, her mattress was confiscated, forcing her to sleep on the wooden bed frame. Ah, the good old days.
Anyway, the girls worked a lot with her, getting ready to perform at the ISO Talent show. And I have to say that they were wonderful on Saturday night! I will have pics to post soon. Sorry, no film.
Sunday night was the concert for the small choral group I sing with, so there were a few extra rehearsals for that, as well. One of the highlights was two piano pieces played by Valentine. She has only had four lessons and has mostly just been teaching herself. She played a couple of minuets and sounded great.
There was also the Saint Ex school fun fair on Saturday morning. And there was also the rehearsal for the “Profession de foi” ceremony for Valentine that is happening on the 3 of June. Along with teaching catechism, going to the gym daily and working at Papiers du Sahel, I managed to be too busy to turn on my computer for several days.
This week promises to be a bit calmer. I am working a lot at Papiers, though. Some of the women are taking an accounting course, so I am filling in for them, running the shop from 8am to 2pm each day. I mostly keep very busy, but do take a short break at about noon. I drink a diet Coke and read a bit. Or try to. This morning, I grabbed a paperback on my way out the door. When I settled down to read it a few hours later, I knew I was in trouble from the first page. The writing was pedestrian, but I can live with that. All I ask for is a decent story that will make me forget how hot I am for a little while. But the stupid details were killing me. For example, the main character is supposed to be a hard-hitting criminal lawyer. Her name? Betsy Korn. Her name is actually Elizabeth, but she thinks it’s too dignified for a “frazzled” scatter-brain like herself. (It’s common knowledge how those high-class lawyers hate to have a dignified image.) That’s really the best name he could come up with? Sounds like she’s going to cook food with possums in it and then marry her first cousin.
Also, within the first twenty pages we already had two lawyers named “Alfred”. You’ll be surprised to know that they were not called “Alfie” or even “Al”. I guess guy lawyers don’t mind being dignified.
I will restrain myself from further ranting. Just be assured that it was all really stupid. If you are tempted to read something by Phillip Margolin, don’t. I’m saying this as a friend.

Late breaking news!!!! Yesterday afternoon, Al and Mal polled their money and bought a air of little “mange-mil” birds. They are cute, tiny, little yellow things. Well, they were. The girls have just discovered the bamboo and wire cage laying on the tile out on the terrace. The bars are all bent and nothing left of the birds but tiny yellow and grey tufts of feathers. The cat is sitting nearby, looking pleased with herself. This looks pretty incriminating….

I got a very entertaining free sample at the supermarket recently. It was instant coffee packaged in Singapore. I'm not in advertising, but I just can't think that making your ad look like a sticky old piece of paper that has been used as an impromptu coaster is the way to go.
Worst of all, the manufacturer makes the rather alarming promise that it “leaves you drooling”. Perhaps it contains a mild neurotoxin that makes you salivate excessively and loose facial muscle control? Kind of scary.

So, not surprisingly, on Sunday morning I drank my usual, non drool-inducing coffee and went on to have a great day. The highlight was almost certainly the goat racing. You can have your Kentucky Derby and Ascot - the Ouagadougou Goat Races have them all beat.
Of course, the only way to get the goats to run is to have their owners run in front of them all the way. If horse racing operated on the same principle, I’m guessing it would be way less popular. But for goat racing, it works pretty well.
Of course, this meant that usually the fastest child, rather than the fastest goat, won. But it was still very good fun.
We all got together over at the house of my Friends of African Village Libraries pals: Leslie and Michael, plus their two children who are the keepers of Minnie. Gina (the goat wedding photographer) and her husband were there with their twin girls and Midnight. Our neighbours Tony and Kirsten came by with their two kids as well, so it was a good crowd. None of the other neighbours came out to watch, though. It was 4pm and still very, very hot. Mad dogs, Englishmen and crazy American goat racers, I guess…..
When the kids and pets got tired of running down the road, we all went in for a rest. There were snacks and drinks provided by our gracious hosts. There was no champagne like at Ascot, but we didn’t have to wear silly hats, so I considered it a fair trade. I noticed that Mallory just grabbed a handful of cookies and headed right back out into the heat, though. I peeked out the door and saw her feeding Goaty(aka Aslan) the treats and making much of him. She does love that goat.
After the break, a couple of the kids hopped on behind Leslie’s motor scooter. So then we got more of a high-speed thrill ambiance going. She raced down the dirt road, the goats in hot pursuit. It was one of the more unusual things I have ever seen in Burkina.
The winner? Well, it was kind of like the Special Olympics for goats. We wanted them all to go home with good self-esteem. They each won a few races and then after that, I don’t think we really kept track. As no money was changing hands and there was plenty of beer, the process seemed more important than the results.
Stay tuned for the film!!

The Queen of Sweden visited a travel agency recently with her dog.
Well, it was actually Mallory, dressed up in a long white robe. Did you know that Swedish aristocrats dress remarkably like Galadriel in Lord of the Rings? I didn’t either.
As for the dog, that was Alexa on all fours, panting daintily and looking vaguely like an afghan hound, if you squinted.
Valentine was the travel agent, seated at the coffee table in the middle of our living room. She helped Her Majesty plan an exciting trip to Switzerland.

Today’s dress-up involved some friends, as Valentine is away at “nun-boot camp”. (More on that later. ). Here’s a picture of the girls dressed up for a game. You can see that Goaty is not left out of the fun.
The forces of good are clearly represented on the left by a fairy and an elf. The two on the right are evil witches. Apparently some witches are far more fashion-savvy than others.

Now for the bad news. My jaunty comment yesterday that the chickens are all well must have jinxed the bunnies. The first thing I heard this morning was Mallory shouting “Mom! Alexa’s bunny is GONE!” I ran outside and found that indeed, one was missing. The driver was nearby, waiting to take Valentine to the convent (Nun boot camp, right?) so I asked him if he knew anything about the matter. Mahama told me that the guardian had found that the little guy had managed to get out of the cage and had gotten caught by the cat. Yes, the same cat that was the cause of so much misery not too long ago. At that point, Old Moussa came walking up “I’ve got it, boss!” he said, dangling the little fluffy head by the ears. The body was hanging quite a bit lower, swinging on a long, red thread. I put my hands over Mallory’s eyes and explained to Moussa that we REALLY didn’t need to examine the poor little guy.
There have been a few tears and nobody is talking to the cat today.

As for Valentine, no, she is not taking the veil. Her catechism class is having a retreat at a convent down at Koubri, one hour to the south of Ouaga. She wasn't really keen to go (hence the "nun boot camp" comment) as it is very hot right now. Also, she would have liked to be home to see her dad. JP was scheduled to come home today after ten days out doing research. But she packed her Bible, mosquito repellant, etc and took off this morning at about 7:30. The kids were supposed to all go on a chartered bus. But when the bus showed up at the rendezvous point, a problem became evident. It was a nine seat bus, not a 19 seater, as the organizers had understood. I guess somebody messed up. Anyway, I was asked to volunteer the use of our Land Cruiser, as it has nine places. I was very nervous that it wouldn’t make the trip, but the driver said that it went fine. And hopefully it will do as well on the trip tomorrow night to fetch them back.

We have started a trend, it seems. Goats are the new "in" pet for the fashionable expat home in Ouaga. Our friends that run the Friends of African Village Libraries organization also bought a little goat for their children. Minnie was a little skittish at first, so our friends asked my girls to come over a few times and help out with the goat-taming. The twins brought Goaty over and a good time was had by all, mostly. The twins have determined that Goaty loves Midnight but she's not too keen on him. Considering that they've only been married a few weeks, it's rather sad. And Minnie thinks Goaty is All That, but he's not terribly interested in her. It's kind of like "Days of Our Lives", but with goats.
Minnie has calmed down over the last two weeks and has become a very fine pet, if a little demanding. Yesterday, I was walking down the road when I heard an urgent flurry of bleating from across the intersection. I looked over towards my friends' house and saw that Minnie had stuck her head under the gap beneath their gate. She recognized me and was calling me over! I went over and scratched her head a bit. No one was at home with her and she was lonely, poor thing. She's used to lots of attention.
I haven't mentioned our chickens in a while. They are all fine, all four of them. Yes, Jaguar and Snowball have been joined by two little chicks. The twins are having lots of fun with the babies. Their favorite activity is turning over rocks and letting the chicks loose on the bugs.

I had a really excellent Mother’s Day. Probably a much better one than I deserved.

I woke up Sunday morning to a rustling sound in my bedroom. I thought it was the cat, which would have meant a very, very bad start to the holiday. The cat has been banished to sleep outdoors ever since a very unfortunate recent incident in which she used my bed as a litter box. It was very horrible, made even worse by the fact that the twins were sleeping in the bed at the time. I won’t go into graphic detail here, but trust me, it was a nightmare, if your nightmares involve cleaning cat poop off two nine year old girls at three in the morning, changing all bedding involved, airing out the room, running for the heavy-duty air-freshener when the open window doesn’t help, yelling at the cat and throwing her out the door and then making up beds for three people somewhere else because the gross-out quotient is too much for you in the end.

So, you can understand that the idea of the cat in my room woke me right up out of a sound sleep. But happily, it was Valentine. She was bringing something into my room. She told me that no one else was up yet, so I went right back to sleep and didn’t wake up until later when Mallory peeked into my room. She stage whispered “She’s awake.” to the other three waiting in the hallway. I sat up and saw what Valentine had been up to. She had installed a small table in the center of the room and piled it with flowers, cards and gifts.
I was treated to a song written by Valentine and performed by all four kids. I knew she was a writer, but a songwriter? It was really good!
The cards and gifts were wonderful, too, in that Mother’s Day gift kind of way. I got no less than two teddy bears, a jewel box and a big bunch of white silk flowers.
They even made me a coupon book offering various services, such as dish washing and table setting. One coupon even says I can redeem it for a pedicure from Severin, which is beyond sweet, if a bit strange. I’d bet that most 11 year old boys don’t even know what a pedicure is, let alone offer to do one. I think that’s one coupon I’ll have to keep and frame, rather than use.

Last night we were sorting through stuff to sell at the jumble sale at the International School. Valentine came into my room with a pile of clothes.
"That's the stuff you want to sell, sweetie?"
"Yeah"
I took the top item of the pile- a red, white and black striped shirt that had been a gift.
"You don't like this?" I asked innocently.
"It's fine, " she responded. "if you enjoy wearing loser-ific clown suits."
Ouch. Deadly, searing, venomous sarcasm. Guess I do have a teenager on my hands. Valentine is usually very sweet, but she has occasional bouts of extreme puberty.
I have to say that I laughed like mad and wrote on the price tag "Loser-ific clown suit: 300 fcfa".

("Loserific"? Where does she get this stuff? She never watches TV. On the weekends she gets to watch a couple of dvds, parentally approved. Her friends are ALL non-english-speaking. Maybe hormones alone can cause you to invent completely new words.)

The sale was this morning. It's not actually a sale, but more of a junk re-distribution program for the expat community. Your kids sell their old Polly Pockets, then promptly go buy somebody else's old Polly Pockets. It's dead clever, really.

This year I managed to actually make money, which is ostensibly the point of the whole excercise. Looks like we'll be going out to lunch for Mother's Day tomorrow!

BTW- The shirt is still with us. Apparently no loser-ific clowns came to the sale this year.

I finally have pictures of the goat wedding! But the bad news is that Blogger is being difficult about letting me load pics today. So, I leave you with a single photo of the the lovely bride, Midnight:
For the rest of the pics (and they are well-worth seeing) check out the photo album at right. Click the link and then choose the "Goat Wedding" sub-album. Enjoy.

I've been really sick. I would have sworn it was Ebola, but as I didn't hemorrhage out of every bodily orifice and die, I guess it wasn't that. It was more of a sinus infection - bronchitis- fever thing. I had completely lost the will to live by Monday and Tuesday, but rallied on Wednesday, as I regained the ability to read. My headache had been so bad that I couldn't pick a book for days, which is horrible for me. But yesterday I got all the way through "The African Queen". Like most people, I've seen the old Hepburn movie, but I had no idea that it was orinially a novel. It's a funny old relic, well-worth a read. It's very different from the film- much better, as is usually the case.
But enough of that. How about some pictures? Everybody likes pictures? Right?
Last Friday, just before I got ill, we had some friends visiting from Chad. They were on vacation in Ouaga, to relax and do some shopping, which tells you just how bad N'Djamena must be. Anyplace that makes Ouaga in the hot season look good has to be pretty scary. In fact, they had been evacuated to France just before Christmas, as rebel forces approached the city. They're back now, but not exactly at ease. So, they came back to Burkina for a break to see their old friends. One thing on their to-do list was shopping. So, I took them to the local mall.

Hey, you can't get great shopping like THIS back in Chad! Anne was looking for buckets made out of old tin cans. The twins helped her hunt around.

Nearby the recycled metal goods was a huge area of the market devoted to "traditional medicine". The practioners are people who get called "witch doctors" in old novels like "The African Queen". The stands are piled with stringy bones, ashy powders, dried animal parts and skins, and all kinds of indescribable stuff. I managed to take one picture in one of the more quiet corners of the market. It's not one of the more impressive stands, but it gives an idea.

The thought now occurs to me that I was seen taking that picture and the owner of the stand put some kind of wack on me as punishment.

I just stumbled onto this out there on the internet. It's an unauthorized version of me, pasted together out of bits and pieces of myself that I've left scattered around the web. I found it a tad creepy at first. It was definitely unexpected. But then I thought "Hey! This person likes me enough to spend time tracking me down, cutting and pasting. I have a ........fan! And as I live in an obscure African nation, there is only a very slim chance that this person will fly here, break into my home and rearrange my underclothing drawer. So, there is no downside, as far as I can see. Cool !"
So, go have a look around the site. There's only one page of Burkinamom, the rest is collected bits and pieces from elsewhere in the world. Some of it is quite interesting.

Daytime temperatures here are consistantly 104°F or above, but the early mornings are still somewhat cool. It would seem to be a nice time to go out on the terrace and enjoy a coffee before the day starts. Unfortunately, it's hard to find a good place to sit. Goaty seems to have decided that the table is a cosy spot to spend his mornings. Great minds think alike, I guess.
As I don't relish having my breakfast in such close proximity to Mallory's pet, I move further down the terrace to another seat, only to find:
Nowhere is safe.

And then there's these guys:
They are often napping in the middle of the living room, so you have to be alert and nimble to avoid a tragic accident. There's actually seven of them total: Crystal, Lucky, Bronwen, Darwin, and three others that have not yet displayed enough personality to earn a name.
Lucky got his name by being found drowned in his mum's water dish. Mallory rescued and, amazingly, recussitated him. Thankfully, it did not involve mouth to mouth. She rubbed him with a towel and he began to breathe again. It took him a while to recover, but he seems quite well now.

And now for something completely different: I have some friends here that have an amazing non-profit org devoted to opening libraries in villages. These libraries mean the world to the people in these villages, who often have no access to books at all. This is a great project!
Read the blog here!

Now (finally!) a change from mildly amusing anecdotes about my strange home life. Unfortunately, this is all about death. Here's another excerpt from my favorite local newspaper.

Meningitis Epidemic : Getting rich off the misery of the Burkinabé people.

By Ramata Soré from “L’Evenement” April 10, 2007

“What’s happening with meningitis? There seems to be a general feeling of powerlessness that condemns us to die in silence, because we can do almost nothing. The vaccines are very expensive and almost impossible to find. Even if we had the money, there aren’t enough laboratories making the vaccines quickly enough to help us. We here are more vulnerable to meningitis than to HIV/AIDS. Why? Because in the latter pandemic, even though it’s not curable, we know how to avoid it and how to live as long as possible with the illness. There is none of this for meningitis. Every year, without fail, meningitis kills thousands of us. We cannot prevent and often cannot even treat it. There are questions of money and knowledge involved….But there are also criminal elements in this story that we must find the courage to confront. We have discovered a hideous illegal business built upon vaccines. It is completely unacceptable, but tragically very common.”

The article goes on to cite several major problems:
1) The proper storage of vaccines: The article claims that vaccines are often stored at incorrect temperatures. Specifically- the “chain of cold” is being broken, often multiple times. So, the potency of the vaccines used is questionable. Why isn’t it kept cold? In part ignorance and in part due to item number two:

2) The Bidding Mafia: The need for refrigerators, appropriate vaccine transport containers, etc has led to a big business, not much of it aboveboard. The contracts don’t go to the lowest bidder. The representative of one company that bid and lost claims: “We offered the exact same items for 50 million cfa (100, 000 dollars US) less than the winning bid. It’s not right.”
And once the contract is granted, lots of the material paid for and much needed never shows up. In one case, 15 electric generators were sent, instead of 25. These are desperately needed in the rural areas that have no way to power fridges for vaccines.

3) Underestimating the problem: “One source, close to an internatonal health organisation, believes that the official figures for meningitis in Burkina are seriously off-target. Our source says that in the 11^th week of the epidemic, there were already 200, 000 cases, rather than the 10, 796 claimed by the government. With a mortality rate of 20%, that means about 4000 deaths attributable to meningitis, rather than the official figure of 801.”

4) Lack of medical training: “The government claims that all health structures in country have personnel that are qualified to diagnose and treat meningitis. Nevertheless, the reality is that there are serious problems. Many healthcare personnel can’t recognise meningitis. It’s often the case that sick people have to return several times to the clinic, insisting that they have a serious problem. Sadly, many people here die because the symptoms of malaria and meningitis are often confused. This has been documented by us at several clinics in Ouagadougou” The situation in rural areas can only be worse.

5) Improper use of vaccines: Vaccination campaigns have been going on since March, but no records are being kept. This means that some people are getting vaccinated every year. The meningitis vaccines are meant to be administered only every three years. It’s both dangerous to health and wasteful not to keep immunization records. Considering that the vaccines are in such short supply, it is particularly terrible to waste them.

6) Stolen Vaccines: “In 2003, 1000 doses of vaccine “disappeared from a Health Ministry cold room in Ouaga. A manager in charge of vaccines (Etienne Kyendrégeogo) was found to be at the origin of the theft. He and his accomplices still work at the Ministry. Some of them boast that they have even been promoted, despite their wrongdoing.

The fact that these people have gone unpunished has prompted others to imitate them. Double books are kept and the “surplus” vaccines are sold for a profit. In one district, the manager took 26, 000 doses and sold them for a profit of 3,900, 000 cfa (about 8,000 $ US). This is not uncommon. The PEV (which manages vaccines in Burkina) has no internal monitoring and misconduct is not punished.

Right now, someone who is responsible for stealing
millions from the vaccination effort is a top employee at an International health organisation.”

And I just received this in my inbox a minute ago:

U.S. Embassy, Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso Warden Message

April 19, 2006
The U.S. Embassy is issuing this Warden Message to alert you to the meningitis in
Burkina Faso.  As you may already know, this year's cyclical meningitis outbreak
has been particularly severe.  According to the Ministry of Health of the
Government of Burkina Faso, as of April 4, there already have been 19,549
cases of meningitis, 1,337 of which have resulted in death.  These totals
significantly exceed those of the last major outbreak in 1996.  The World Heath
Organization estimates that an average of 4,000 new cases of meningitis and 200
related deaths will occur weekly until the end of the forecast epidemic in late May.   
American Citizens should confirm that their meningitis A, C, Y, and W135
inoculations are up to date.  Further information on meningitis can be found on
the World Health Organization site:
http://www.who.int/mediacentre/factsheets/2003/fs141/en/

I have a friend here that has no children, but she claims that she loves to hear about mine “Your kids are a riot!” she says. “There’s always some crazy thing going on over at your house!” And I am proud to say that it’s true.
They are a pretty creative, funny bunch. And their tendencies have only been enhanced by living in Africa and not being very exposed to modern media. We do have a TV, but it’s only for dvds and videos. And their viewing is limited to the weekends and then just for a couple of hours. As a result, my children don’t depend much on outside entertainment. But on the other hand, it can leave certain gaps in their knowledge. Severin, for example, has seen “Spy Kids”, but hasn’t seen James Bond, or anything of that type. So, he ran into trouble recently while playing some elaborate game with his two good American pals.

The boys ran across the living room, Severin shouting “ The enemy has been…..fertilized!”
His friends just looked at him, nonplussed.

Valentine helpfully whispered from the corner where she was reading, “Neutralized, Severin. It's Neutralized”.

I felt kind of bad. Maybe I should let him watch Rambo, or something….

At last! The picture of the historic meeting between Goaty and my long-suffering kitty.
And here is a portrait of the little stinker. He does have a cute little face.....

Anyway, as you can see, I finally got JP's camera figured out. Mine is, sadly, officially dead. But at least I can use his until I can get to the US this summer and get another one.
BTW- pics of the goat wedding should be available soon - whenever my pal G. gets a chance to burn a disk for me.

The wedding on Sunday was everything a person could ask for in terms of a goat wedding. The girls had rigged up a veil for Midnight out of some white fabric, a pink plastic flower and a pipe cleaner. There were two holes for her horns.
Goaty sported a ribbon around his neck and had been recently bathed. Not that it helped in the aroma department. But he looked pretty sharp, for a goat.
Alexa, dressed in her nicest gown, walked down the garden path, scattering bougainvilia petals. Mallory was Goaty’s “best man”. Their friend S. was the presiding religious official. S’s sister was in charge of the bride, who was intent on eating the cushions on the garden lounge chairs and showed little interest in marching down the aisle. We tried coaxing her with dried peanut leaves, to no avail. I finally grabbed her . My friend Gina, the photographer for the event, said something about forced marriages in West Africa. “Ha ha!” I said, wrestling the goat up to the altar.
Our Goaty was very thrilled by his intended bride. You know how at some weddings you get 'tears of joy'? Well, we got the 'urine of happiness', which did somewhat take away from the decorum of the event. It resulted in four nine year old girls running around saying “EWW! GR--OSS!” for several minutes while a bucket of water was fetched and all was made clean again.
The witnesses all signed the register and then we went inside to enjoy the wedding cake. Yes, I made a goat wedding cake. It had pink icing, sprinkles and two small plastic goats graced the top of it. I quite fancy myself the Martha Stewart of Burkina Faso, minus the financial shenanigans and stint in prison, of course.
After the goats enjoyed their snack of grass in the garden, the girls put them on leashes and took them for a walk around the neighbourhood. Mallory later reported that during the outing, Goaty had seemed to like Midnight and was showing a certain enthusiasm for his conjugal duties. But Midnight was not interested at all.
I figure she wants to concentrate on her career before starting a family.

But soon after the honeymoon, Midnight was whisked away in the back of a car. Goaty is once more alone, with just the chickens, cats, turtles, guinea pigs and rabbits to bear him company. Not to mention Mallory, who almost constantly reeks of billygoat these days In church on Easter Sunday, she looked like an angel, but smelled more like her beloved pet. I asked her if anyone at her school has remarked on her new eau de parfum à la chevre. She claims that nobody has said a word.

Just now Mallory came in and asked me, “Mom? Have you ever heard of a house goat? Like, living inside? With people?”

“Umm…no. Why?”

“No reason. Just asking.”

Hmmmm…..

At 7am this Easter morning, I woke to the sound of Mallory’s urgent whisper : « Severin ! Severin! What’s a ….’Peep’???”
I heard his sleepy, patient reply: “It’s a small marshmallow candy, typically in the shape of a chick or bunny. Can I sleep now?”
The Easter Bunny passed by this morning, with help from my parents in the US, so there were a few exotic candies unknown to my younger kids. Mallory wasn't sure if Peeps were a food or brightly colored plastic toys. The candies were just left out on the dining room table, as we did all of our egg hunting yesterday at a US Embassy sponsored event. I had thought about opting out, as last year’s egg hunt had been decidedly miserable. The candies melted in the scorching heat, there was no coffee and the drinking water ran out early on. Imagine 40 young kids that have been eating jelly beans in 44°C heat with no water and tremble, my friends. I finally decided to risk going again this year, but wisely brought my own water supply, plus I had a coffee before I left home. And I was completely justified in my distrust. The only thing that saved them running out of water again this time was the cooler temperature. And there was no coffee. Because of the US Congress. It goes like this: The Congress slashes the State Department budget. The State Department takes it out of the Embassy operating budgets. The Embassy then gets a budget cut of 30% and has to figure out where to cut corners. The first things to get hit are the salaries of the local Burkinabé employees and the amenities of the little community events the Embassy hosts. Hence, no coffee and little water. Thanks Congress.

The good news? The mango rain came on Thursday, none too soon. For the week leading up to it, Ouaga had been suffering the most terrible dust storms ever. A yellow fog of grit covered the city, reducing visibility to just a couple of blocks, sometimes even less. It was very unpleasant. Even Goaty got sick. He was coughing. Have you ever heard a goat cough? Very disturbing. Also, he had a runny nose, which the twins lovingly kept clean with the better part of a box of Kleenex. That was also pretty strange. He’s better now, though. Which is good, as Goaty is getting married today. Yes, the twins found him a bride: Miss Midnight. She is dainty, with a glossy coat and she smells like a veritable rose. My girls were having such a good time with Goaty, that their friends’ mom was inspired to get her girls a goat as well, but she had the wisdom to opt for a female. So, as soon as Alexa has finished her homework, I have to drive over to pick up the stench-free Midnight and her lucky, lucky owners. The girls have been planning the wedding for a week. Once again, I am very, very sorry that my camera doesn’t work.

Last night, I drove to church with the car packed full. Ten people, plus hotdish casseroles for the supper afterwards. Severin’s two best friends were with us. I heard Daniel ask Valentine how old she is. “13, going on 14” she said.
Severin burst into song:
“You are thirteen going on fourteen
Baby, it's time to think
Better beware, be canny and careful
Baby, you're on the brink”, he sang in a very nice tenor.
He even knew the second verse!
”You are thirteen going on fourteen
Fellows will fall in line
Eager young lads and rogues and cads
Will offer you food and wine”
His friends just looked at him tolerantly. I was just grateful that they are both sweet MK’s (missionary kids, for those of you who don’t know the expat lingo). More typical 11 year old boys would no doubt be harsh on a pal that bursts into show tunes at the slightest provocation.

On the bright side, maybe we can get him to sing "One Hand, One Heart" from 'West Side Story' for the upcoming goat wedding.

I just got home from my second trip over to the school already today. I had dropped off the kids just before 7:30, but then had to rush home and grab Severin’s school bag, which languished, forgotten, under the coffee table.
When I got out of the car after my frantic to-ing and fro-ing,, there was Goaty to greet me. Now, he and I haven’t really spent any quality time together. The reasons are as follows: A). He reeks like a giant, terrifying, slightly rancid goat cheese, and B) I don’t want anybody getting the mistaken impression that this goat is my responsibility. Feeding him peanut plant leaves, washing him with lemon-scented soap and telling him he’s adorable are all strictly Mallory’s burden to bear. So, as he followed me up on to the terrace, I didn’t really pay him too much attention…..until he came over and started rubbing his little head against my knee and raising up a tiny, supplicating hoof. He was really just like a dog wanting to be petted. So, I sat down, patted him and, ahem, told him how adorable he is. He gets lonely, poor thing, without Mallory around. The chickens he shares his cage with are pretty good company, it seems, but not soul-mates.
Now , all this was observed by my cat, tail switching and little kitty brow furrowed. She wasn’t pleased. And she was even less pleased when Goaty came over to see her. “I’m cute! Pet me!” he seemed to be saying, sticking his face right down into hers. She hissed and snarled something that sounded remarkably like “ The hell I will, goat-boy.” Goaty retreated to the back of the house and I went inside to get JP’s camera. I thought he had taken it on his trip, but I discovered yesterday that he’d left it here at home. So, I figured I’d try to use it to get a picture of our newest pet. I went to the back yard and sweet-talked the goat, trying to coax him to look at me for a photo. The cat came to investigate, looking very pissed off that I was speaking to the reeking, ill-mannered pest in the same tone of voice I use to talk to her. Poor Goaty, clueless as he is, caught none of the nuances and ambled over, sure that the cat had changed her mind about petting him. She hadn’t.
The thing is, I got a picture of their second encounter. Which is amazing, as I invariably miss “the moment” when I am trying to take pics. But, sadly, I cannot find any cables that can hook up my computer to his camera, or any other way of downloading the pics. I’ll be able to get them eventually…in about two more weeks.