Swearing-in and Transfer to Site

The U.S. Embassy in Luxembourg could never get away with serving Coke and Fanta at a big deal, recorded-for-tv-news event like the swearing-in of 46 new Peace Corps Volunteers, but in Burkina Faso, anything cold and wet is most welcome.  My next taste of champagne, in a couple of years, is bound to knock me for a loop. Somehow I don’t think I’ll mind.

Rain threatened but held off long enough for the requisite speeches, oaths, congratulations and photographs in the garden of the ambassador’s residence in Ouagadougou.  PCV at last!  Wet weather forced the ‘after’ party at the home of the new Peace Corps Country Director indoors, though, but it was a great time to meet present and former volunteers and chat with PC staff.  Lots of food!  And more Fanta!

The day before swearing-in had been our big shopping day.  Those who were starting a new site had to acquire gas stoves and propane tanks, covered trash cans to hold water and other necessities.  As the basics were already covered at my house, I just bought a cot, which is quite comfortable, especially when topped with my REI camp bed, and will surely be much cooler than the foam mattress in hot weather.  When it really gets hot, in April, I may have to do without the camp bed.  I also picked up some plastic basins, wooden spoons and groceries, but together with my suitcases, water filter, bike, mosquito net, boxes of books and old-lady sick-room toilet chair (for emergencies) my pile of things to be moved to site was quite impressive.

Thrilled not to have to take public transportation, I was ready to roll at the appointed hour of 7 a.m., but true to his reputation, my traveling companion was late, so we didn’t pull out in the PC Toyota till almost 8.  Sanfo, my favorite driver, is easy to talk to, and my companion slept part of the way.  The 5 hour trip was pleasant and I was able to see a lot more than I had on the first trip by bus.  Among the noteworthy sights were a pull-off place where people can park to watch elephants, although none have been spotted lately, and a billboard announcing the final resting place of the 28 victims of a two-bus crash in 2008.  Glad I missed that the first time around.  We made a couple of short pit stops and picked up snacks of popcorn, sesame cakes and bananas. 

Children descended on the van from all directions when we arrived outside the courtyard.  They grabbed things out of the van and out of my hands and carried them into the house.  My homologue (counterpart) was there, too, and he had arranged to have the water man deliver a tank of water.  We immediately started dragging trash out and cleaning.   Even the 3-year-old was helping.  The boys knocked down cobwebs and sorted through the trash.  The girls and I scrubbed out water containers, swept floors, washed floors, washed dishes…  I perspired.  To celebrate a job well done, we went to the market for a few more necessities and I bought everyone a juice or, in one case, a beer. 

The cleaning crew.

How they handle money, or Banking in Burkina

Cash only!!!  ATMs exist, but the system is down much of the time, I am told.  Francs CFA, the coin of the realm and of most of the former French colonies, come in 25, 50, 100, 200, 250 and 500 coins, and 1,000, 2,000, 5,000 and 10,000 bills.  Smaller denomination coins are said to exist, but I haven’t seen any.  Except in bigger stores in bigger cities, it’s hard to find anyone who can change anything bigger than a 2,000 F bill.  Sometimes market vendors even have to turn to their neighbors to be able to change a 200 F coin.  There are roughly 500 F to USD 1.  Roughly.  So 3-4 tomatoes cost 50 F, or a dime, at the market.

 

Market vendors don’t think or speak in Francs, though; they use the old sous system.  The French had 20 sous to a franc, so each sou was worth 5 centimes.  Here the amount of 100 F is referred to as 20.  If the tomato man says nouh-nouh (= five-five.  For some reason they always say the price twice.  Maybe this means ‘five each.’) he means 25 F, or five times five francs.  Piie-piie (ten-ten) means 50 francs each.  Piie-na-nouh – piie-na-nouh (fifteen-fifteen) is 75 F each, and lizer-lizer (twenty-twenty) is 100 F each.  Luxembourgers will understand. 

In stores, though, prices are marked in francs if they are marked at all.  You tell the shopkeeper what you want, he puts in on the counter and grabs his calculator, and you hope he’s not charging you Nasara / Nipela prices. White people are equated with the colonial powers and presumed to have scads of money, so why not double the prices?  Shopkeepers are supposed to have fixed prices, but at the market, for anything other than food, you need to, and are expected to bargain them down a bit.  The best way to avoid being charged Nipela prices is to have one of the kids wheel and deal for you.  The girls know the prices and can select the best vegetables.  Until I figured out the sous system, they also had to interpret prices for me.

The Peace Corps encourages ‘modest living standards’ and accordingly allocates a monthly allowance for ‘subsistence needs’  which is probably enough to live better than most Burkinabé counterparts.  In addition, newly-minted PCVs receive a settling-in allowance for purchasing items needed at site.  All monies are deposited in accounts opened for us with one of the bigger ‘Pan-African‘ banks, and our accounts actually had money in them when we got to  Ouaga before swear-in.

Armed with a check book (the ATM cards got lost, somehow), and in anticipation of the big shopping day provided in Ouagadougo, Diane and I marched down the road, or rather sloshed our way through the mire of grit and garbage resulting from a torrential downpour, to the bank.  A guard outside the door looked dubiously at his watch (it was 16.40 and the bank closes at 18.00) before handing us well-worn, almost felt-like rounds of construction paper with numbers written on them.  Hmmmm.  Inside, the bank resembled the old revenue office in Cabot, only much smaller.   Our general bonsoir! greeting (soir starts right after lunch) to the 12 – 15 faces that stared at us as we entered was probably inadequate, as subsequent arrivals, who were few in number before the cut-off time, went around shaking hands.  Constricting, tailored pinstriped suits distinguished the bank employees from the rest of the population of Burkina Faso.  Two of the three guichets were manned, as were a couple of cubicles off to the side.  While waiting for seats to become free, we realized each customer was taking a minimum of 10 minutes at the window.  The woman at guichet no. 1 was there for at least half an hour.  Since this bank is automated, i.e. has computers, we managed to get our hands on some cash and escape before closing time.

Caisse Populaire

The situation is somewhat different at the savings bank/credit union here at my site.  The pan part of pan-African does not extend to my village, so I had the bright idea of opening an account locally and having funds transferred to avoid having to take a bush taxi and spend an entire morning or more just to withdraw funds.  This establishment is not automated.  On my first visit (it took four in all) it was the end of the month and the benches were crowded.  Handshakes and even some crossed-arm curtseys were in order.  The woman behind the tiny window, which is so low that clients invariably leaned their elbows on the sill and stuck their rears out at the assembly (I made a feeble attempt not to do so when it was my turn), wore a t-shirt and round wire-rimmed glasses, and filled out savings books, deposit and withdrawal slips in triplicate, and various other forms in labored longhand.  She then pushed each completed form through the window for signature.  This extended the ordeal for an elderly man who had to be helped to and from the window for each step of the operation.  No numbers had been distributed, but when several people pointed at me, I rose to assume the position at the window.  I had realized that I was the only person in the room who was visibly perspiring, but I was still horrified to actually drip my way across the floor.  Why must I always counter the theory that ‘awkward’ doesn’t exist in BF?

My questions sent the teller off to consult with the director.  Uh-oh.   The director would see me.  Good!?  He was busy with another customer, but moved a defunct printer off a chair to make room for me and ignored the other person for the next 15 minutes.  Awkward!  What I wanted to do was probably possible, though it had never been done before, so it necessitated a number of phone calls to head office in Ouaga and to the pan-African institution, both in the nearest city and in Ouaga.  It was decided that I should go to the photographer down beyond the police station to have ID photos made, and come back in a few days (it would take that long to get the photos developed, anyway) to open an account, and by then the director would know what action to take.

Two visits and many forms later (most had to be done twice because the woman thought Susan was my last name), I was the proud owner of a savings book bearing the stapled-in and stamped-over likeness of a beet-faced, gray-haired woman who didn’t quite make the cut for a Bryl-cream ad.  By visit four I had decided to forget the monthly transfer idea, as it was proving far too complicated, and just write a check to be deposited to my account.  A couple more phone calls were required to determine whom the check should be made out to, but the funds, less a fee equivalent to the cost of the bush taxi, should be in my account in about 4 days!  Success!  Now I just have to go withdraw the cash!  Fortunately, the office is just around the corner from my house.  I’ve learned to go early and avoid the ‘rush.’

My personal shoppers and advisory committee

Keeping pace with the high-as-an-elephant’s-eye corn, the millet, gumbo and peanut fields have grown so much that the paths we walked last time around now lead through labyrinth upon labyrinth, and I’m having trouble finding landmarks if I stray too far from the paved artery of the village.  On my first solo foray I walked in circles like Pooh and Piglet, to the amusement of people who good-naturedly accepted my repeated greetings.  Two older boys came to my rescue and lead me to the office of the school inspector, which was closed.  I may write about my various encounters in the village in a later post.