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A story
Posted by Andy, 9/17/03 5:17pm
Many people have asked me what Burkina Faso will be like. The truth is,
I don't really know. I've never even been to Africa before. So I
speculate about what my life in Burkina Faso. But beyond specualtion I
really have no idea. Instead of wild speculation, I will offer
here an account, by a former PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) in
Burkina Faso, of an afternoon bike ride. The following is an
op-ed she submitted to a recent New York Times (thanks to Jim
Walsh for clipping it for me).
By Dorothea Hertzberg
Bobo-Dioulasso, Burkina Faso
It was an unforgivingly hot day, and I was leaving the village where I
lived in northeastern Burkina Faso, which meant an 11-mile bike ride to
the nearest paved road. It was April, and I was serving as a Peace
Corps volunteer in this small, land-locked country in West Africa. I
set off on my Trek 800 mountain bike, dreaming of the distant town
where I could eat the pizza I had been craving for a month, when I hit
a bump in the road. When I landed, my pedals spun around wildly with no
resistance. I pedaled furiously, but like a guinea pig in a wheel, I
was going nowhere.
I stood there in disbelief. What was
I going to do? I still had seven miles to bike, 115 degrees of heat
beating down on me and only half a bottle of water left. "Great," I
muttered in exasperation, and started pushing my bike down the deserted
cow path.
Minutes later I spotted a villager coming
from the opposite direction. "Yaa boe tara fo weefo?" the older
gentleman asked me in Moore, the language of the Mossi people. What's
wrong with your bike? I explained what had happened, and he tried to
figure out my 21-speed, Peace Corps-issued Trek (probably the first
he'd ever seen). He flashed me a smile that said he couldn't fix it but
we'd find some other way.
Then he began to rearrange
the strap on his bag that was attached to his bike rack. I had no idea
what he was up to, but I had nothing but time, so I sweated and watched.
When he finished, he had about three feet of thin but durable rubber
strap left over, which he proceeded to tie to my handlebars. Like many
times before in my Peace Corps service, I stood dumbfounded and awaited
the all-important cultural clue that would tip me off to what was going
on. He gave me one I couldn't imagine: he pointed to my seat and told
me to hop on.
I smiled, thinking he was joking but
somehow also knowing that he was serious. This older man was offering
to tow me seven miles in this unbearable heat? I started to shake my
head in refusal and disbelief. He just smiled and stood there until I
finally accepted my newest adventure in Burkina Faso.
It turned out to be one of the most hysterical yet touching moments of
my life. What a scene we must have been. This poor man vigorously
pedaling and dripping with sweat as he towed the American princess
through the barren desert. Every villager we saw along the way shrieked
in surprise and called out "Ney Yibeogo!" (Good morning!). After a
while, I began to feel terribly guilty, posed on my bike, waving like a
Rose Parade float queen.
I thought about pedaling as
well, just so he would feel I was participating in our cause, but I
didn't bother because he couldn't see me anyway. At least not until we
got to the hills. Because our bikes were connected by the rubber
strap, I would lag behind hime on every hill we climbed, testing
the rubber for all it was worth. Once we began to descend down the
other side, though, I was right next to him, waving, and it became my
turn to shout a slow "bonjour" as I gradually picked up speed and
passed him completely. It never lasted long. Soon I would drift behind
him again. We carried on this way like two horses on a carousel,
rotating positions, each time with more laughter and amazement at our
plight.
An hour later we arrived at my destination. He
was exhausted, I was giddy and in awe of his generosity. I took a long
look at his face and those kind eyes, and I told myself never to forget
it, because this man is the heart of Burkina Faso. This man is not an
exception in his culture. He is the very essence of it.
Two years ago, at the age of 27, I volunteered for Peace Corps service
to "give back" to the world. Today, I realize I gained much more in
return. I am no longer a volunteer, but I continue to work in the
western part of the country. When I think back on that moment when I
was stranded on that deserted cow path, there was a part of me that was
calm, because I knew where I was. I was in a place where you never feel
alone or abandoned because someone will always come along to help you;
where a starving woman would give her last bowl of food to a stranger;
where kids are elated to play with an old tire and a stick. A place
where family unity is everything and the guest is paramount.
To the Burkinabe, these principles are more than just cultural values,
they are a way of life. Burkina Faso means "the land of the upright and
courageous people." It is one of the poorest countries in the world,
but a place where I learned what giving really means.
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This
site will offer accounts of the experience of Andy Neustaetter as a
Peace Corps Volunteer in Burkina Faso, West Africa. 