Forced Marriages

I hope this finds everyone in good spirtits and health. Another recent experience allowed me to see another facet of the Burkinabe culture. 2 weeks ago I went to a wedding in my village of two friends. My friend's sister, told me about 2 days before the ceremony that my friend, Aminata, was getting married. Surprised, i asked to whom, the little girl said to Harouna, another friend of mine. I smile, surprised, but gladdened that she was marrying someone nice. Considering the couple I assumed that it was consensual, I later found out the opposite.

I went to my friend's house to say hello and give congratulations, and ended up being invited back later that night to witness the event. I said, sure, and arrived back at their home around 8PM. Curious about the rituals being performed, I began asking what sequence and meaning behind the upcoming events. During this Q&A, I found out, that actually, she was being forced to marry him. She didn't want to, but the grandfather of the two families brokered the deal, and since her father was dead, no one could deny the decision. This was a shock. Especially when I found out that she would be the 3rd wife of my other friend. That status is about equivalent to the family dog in some families here. I was extremely dismayed. Beside the concept of being forced to marry someone, Aminata, was planning on continuing school and hopefully go to nursing school and become a functionaire. There were many women hoping the same thing for her also, and they were also concerned of the turn of events.

Watching the events unfold and witnessing the last moments of relative freedom this woman would have before being taken into another household for the rest of her life, both disgusted the feminist in me and fascinated the scientist. Witnessing the culture and the loss of hope of a woman made an indelible and lasting impression that will stay with me.

Throughout the day, she had been preparing for the ceremony by putting henna on both her feet and hands. A sort of organic dye that stains the skin for about a month. The design the make here tend to be very geometric. Pretty but simple. Her hair was braided intricately and her make up was strongly applied. Anyhoo, I arrived in the evening and she was patiently awaiting the women from the other family to come with her bridal outfit(as a gift) and dress her. We sat in patience and the air was somber. Here friends were present for support and sad along with her. Here grandmother was patient and expectant. Around 930, the women from the other cartier arrived with jewelry and the outfit for her to wear. They enter the bed chambre and crowded in like chickens clucking over here as they dressed her. About 10 were packed in the room with me and Aminata and her friends. They were more surprised to see me than the bride of course, but it's not everyday they have a whitey at their wedding. Finally they finished and she was prepared to leave. I was chosen as a support and I held her had as we walked through the neighborhoods heading to the grand cartier where she would live. The procession consisted of about 50 women singing and chanting songs of marriage. Banging potts and clanging bells, we meandered down the muddied paths to her new home.

We arrived and we situated in a chamber where she was to stay until the groom was ready for her at another cartier. I was invited out to witness all the women dancing themselves, in a grand circle. Singing broadly and dancing enthusiastically. Drums, bells, barrels, and hands kept the rhythm as the women danced for about an hour. Thinking that the night was over, I was led to the house of the husband to say hello. At his house there was a huge dance party going. 3 or 4 hundred people gyrating to popular music. Slightly surprised, but pleased, I enjoyed the scene and sense of celebration, in contrast to the previous 2 hours. Thinking I'd head home after saying hello, I went over without any expectation. Well, I arrived, said hello, and chatted for about 10 minutes until I decided to say goodnight. The groom said that I couldn't go home, that I need to stay and dance when Aminata came. I asked when that was and he said, 15 minutes. I said okay, i can wait. ugh
Well
15 minutes turned into an hour and the Aminata finally did arrive in a cacophony of noise produced by a revved motorcycle and another parade of women. After much confusion and rearrangement of seats that took another hour, for some Burkinabe reason. An open space was left on the dance floor. I figured we'd dance and I could leave soon after. NOPE.
The next hour and half was of some oddly choreagraphed selection 1 or 2 people dances that the rest of the crowd just watched. Some of the dancing was nice, but others were just repetitive and I was beginning to get extremely tired and agitated in wanting to go home. During the dancing, randome family members would walk around the couple throwing candy into the crowd or dropping it on the dancers heads, where the candy would drop on the ground and several people would scramble after it in the midst of the floor and gyrating dancing. Oddly enough were other family members with switches ready to hit kids retrieving the candy in order to keep them off the dance. For two hours they did this during the dancing, pour candy over somebodies head, the candy falls, the kids scramble to get it and then get chased and/or beaten with a switch to keep them from doing it again. A really odd game that seemed to play it self out.
After being there 3 hours(it being 2AM now, my bedtime is usually 8PM), not dancing or anything, I decided enough was enough, I'm leaving. They begged me to dance before I go (so that everyone would see the Nasara boogy and laugh), I said If I don't dance now, it's never. The signaled a new song, waved me over, I danced 30 seconds and that was enough monkey performance for me, I waved to everyone and left the dancefloor, saying goodbye quickly and walked home. A very long night and intense experience.

The next day many people came up to me and thanked me for attending. Saying it meant a lot that I participated and danced. I said no problem and ended up taking a long nap that afternoon. Next post, I explain what is supposed to happen to Aminata.

Letter to the Hedlund's - 7/14/06

It's been a little over a week since I've been back in Burkina and I've resolved to try to paint a better picture of my current home so as to dissuade anymore inquiries of my early return. My practice and resolve to see the positive things around has helped and here are some moments I'd like to share.

If there was one thing I did miss of Burkina more than the other volunteers and local friends, it was the music. The utterly regional unique rhythms of Burkina, Ivory Coast, Mali, Niger, and Senegal. The beating rhythms that pervade the daily lives that are forgetably absent in the U.S. Much of the music is in local tongues for which I don't comprehend, except for the insistence to move and follow.

I consider music here so utterly danceable, I'm quite confused as to why other volunteers, ready to dance at the drop of "Usher", are unwilling to dance to "Yoni." Regardless, the music has become a sublime balm to my soujour here. A moment of pure joy I experienced as I was visiting the telecenter of my friend, Kader. Visiting also was one of the local tradi-practitioners, of whom I'm friends with. Kader, pronounced Kay-dare, is of the "Wala" ethnic group. The tradi-practitioner (or local medicine man) is of the Dioulla (jew-la) ethnic group. It was nighttime and they both were listening to a Dioulla group on a cassette player. The medicine man was translating as they both danced to the music. Kader sat down after a bit, but the medicine man was invigorated listening to the music of his people and continued.

There we were, in the darkness of the night, no lights except the flashlight held in the hands of the medicine man. His forty-something year old body gyrating and spinning, dancing with the spotlight on the ground given by his flashlight. His enjoyment became mine as my head bobbed to the stacatto rhythm and my face creased into an unrelenting , but unseen smile. I loved Africa in that moment despite some of it's people.

After a short while the relentless song ended and the breathless healer headed home. Off in the short distance a different stereo was playing a more popular catchy African tune and another impromptu shuffle began. I enjoyed my perch and the chance to watch again as the shadows mixed with the black silhouetted forms of local villagers against the lights of small yellow lanterns.

That's it for now! Hope to talk to you soon.
Laura

The good, the bad, and the, well, ugly

Hey kids, the letters are coming, slow, but coming. Hopefully some of you will be recieving some shortly. In the meantime, I'd like to sumarize the last couple weeks in village as the above title entry will note.

The Good:
1. The Maringa trees are doing great. I've begun working with corn groups to introduce them as good trees to plant around their crops to help prevent soil erosion and revitalization. Moringa are a nitrogen fixing tree. They also have hardly any shade so won't prevent needed sun exposure.
People in my village are talking about the trees and they want them for themselves. It's very exciting to see my work actually having some positive measurable results. So my work satisfaction in that regard is really high.
2. I'm also, making new working relationships in my village via the Moringa and garden and opening up new possibilities to do both health and environmental activities in the future. Yeah! Good times.
3. Also, my garden is coming along quite nicely, slow, but nice. I can't wait til the watermelons are ripe. Yummy!

I actually liked being in village for the past month, who knew.

The Bad:
1. Still not getting along with my chief nurse or the president of the health committee, because of various petty reasons. One, for the president, I didn't bring him a computer from the states after my vacation, thus, he's annoyed. Nevermind he never offered to pay for it. For the Major, he's what I would describe as a young paranoid Napaleon. We're just not gonna get along, and that's the only thing we agree on anymore. Anyhoooo, I've taken the hint after the last few meetings with the health committee and major, that my input is unwanted and disregarded, so those meetings are now off my schedule. The don't need me, and if they don't want me, there's no reason to be there.
2. My house is in threat of crumbling. Well it's rainy season and the way the water flows down the hill it pass by my house somewhat like a river. That river is destabilizing the ground beneath one side of my house and making it bend and thus break, because it being mostly cement and mud. So, yesterday, I find a huge crack running down my wall that I can see the outside through. NOT COOL. I patch the crack myself with cement, and show it to a buddy of mine at the clinic. I didn't know the water passing by my house was the problem until he explained it to me. He told me I need to dig a trench around my house to divert the water or the house would fall apart. So the rest of the day, because it'll rain again soon, I'm trying to place extra mud bricks in strategic locations and covering them with dirt to help divert the water. Just as I begin, a neighbor walks by, stops and decides to dig the rest of the trench/canal for me. He was really nice, cause the job he did was well above and beyond what I would have tried. Anyhoo, now I'm hoping I have a decent house to last through the next 2 months of rainy season.

The Ugly:
1. Today on my way to Ouaga, I had to stop at a village on the way to do some site surveying. I took another bush taxi(japanese minivan) after finishing with that errand. Well, the second bush taxi had about 10 goats on the roof when I first got into it, which is typical. We stopped at one place and got about 15 more, then about 30 minutes later we stopped again to get about 40 more. Yep, we had literally about 65-70 goats on top of our van. All packed together with peoples luggage. Their baying and crying was deafening and I was positive some would not survive the 2 hour journey due to their load conditions. Some were stacked 3 high, piled like a bin of hand bags really. As our journey continued, the inevitable happened. They started to shit and piss. Not one or two but dozens. So before you start laughing for real, imagine this. A van driving down a highway with Dozens of goats shitting pellets and pissing by your window. GOOD TIMES. Thankfully, I wasn't sitting next to a window, because, this being Burkina, the window was unable to keep out all the piss raining down. So it dripped on everyone next to the window. Nice huh. I don't care if goat's milk is good for you, I hate goats.
2. After, the intial wave of shit and piss passed, we unfortunately, ran over a dog. I won't describe that, but it died rather quickly, thankfully.

So, there's your latest picture of Burkina, the good, the bad, and the ugly. I'll try to get some more photos up soon. Love you guys, take care.