Village G.L.O.W.

In early September we were invited to help our good friend Kat with her girls’ camp in a rural village near Banfora. Kat’s site is about 50+ km from our site so we decided to bike, after having heard from other PCVs like Colin and Sara how pretty the dirt path between Orodara and Banfora is. To prepare ourselves for the longest bike ride we’ve ever taken, we packed 5 liters of kool-aid and charged up my iPod. In retrospect, we probably should have brought the handy portable bike repair kit issued by the Peace Corps, but these things are only clear in hindsight.

The road itself was not well traveled so only a handful of cars passed us during our journey. We braved some fierce inclines and the threat of rain with small payoffs along the way, like Dave’s monkey sighting or gliding down a hill with the wind at your back. We passed many small villages nestled in picturesque vistas, waving children and donkey-powered carts and finally came upon Beregadougou, which loyal readers will recall is the village that Josh and I hiked 2 km from Amanda’s village to reach with hopes of cold beer and grilled pork. Kat had instructed us to get directions to her village once we got to good ol’ Berega, and the responses we got were along the lines of “take a right up there, then a left after that.” Some of the many direction-givers accompanied us part of the way; one led us through someone’s courtyard where we were surprised to be greeted by enormous turkeys grazing.

Despite our best efforts, Dave and I found ourselves in a maze of corn and sugarcane fields and relied on the kindness of passing strangers on motorcycles to prod us along towards Kat’s village. Now, the directions resembled this format: “Go up a little ways, and then take a right at the corn. You’ll continue down that way, pass three lefts, and then the next left is marked by a plaque. Don’t take that left, but bear right at the fork in the road after that. Then pass two lefts and a right, and take a left after that. Follow the cornfield for about 5 km. Then you’ll be there when you see a sign.” While desperately trying to faithfully follow instructions, I started mini-panicking about getting lost in the labyrinthine sugarcane fields at night and being forced to camp amongst lizards and field mice.

When I had nearly lost hope as the sun dipped below the Sindou Peaks, I saw a figure with pale arms biking towards us. It was Kat! She had ridden out to find us, which was fortuitous because I’m sure I would have been building my shelter out of leaves within the hour. We followed her back to her village, which is easily the prettiest PCV site in all of Burkina Faso. Although her site is renowned for being home to the famous waterfalls of Banfora, I was particularly struck by the intricate framework of canals and rice paddies weaving through her village. Kat explained that in the 1970’s, a group of Chinese volunteers came to her village and constructed the canals and rice paddies, since her village was unique in having a consistent water source (i.e., the waterfalls). They labored prodigiously for 15 years, then left. The villagers still cultivate rice to this day, and Kat actually lives in the house that the Chinese used to inhabit.

One of my favorite parts of visiting PCVs who live in decidedly rural areas is how villagers treat them like Big (Wo)Man on Campus. Inevitably, as we rode through the village towards Kat’s house, Kat was bombarded by greetings in Karaboro, the village’s local language. While I don’t mean to seem insensitive, it sounded like she kept saying “boogem, boogem boogem.” I’m sure that’s probably what they think American English sounds like too. Kat gave wonderful Homecoming Princess waves to her adoring crowds, young and old alike, and we meekly followed, cowed by the multitude of her ravenous fans. She introduced us to the mayor, who gave us a toothless wide grin and vigorous handshake, and to the village boutique-operator, Karim, who had earlier, in anticipation of our arrival, given her a gift of two sodas (for me + Kat) and a warm can of beer (for Dave).


After the informal meet-and-greet, we soldiered on to Kat’s house. I didn’t know what to expect; I remember when we were all first deployed to our sites, hers was the one that was reputedly infested with bats and crumbling infrastructure. She had, however, done enough remodeling to make Bob Villa proud, which we could see once we arrived. Kat’s house was beautiful! It was in the middle of a field with palm trees, and quietly sat among chirping birds and ambitious corn stalks. I brimmed over with jealousy upon parking my bike in her garage (actually an abandoned room) and entered her home. Her house with its high ceilings and exposed beams featured a spacious hallway that connected a living room/ kitchenette, bedroom with large bay window and indoor shower room with a vanity area repurposed from a sink.

My attention was suddenly diverted towards a plate of chocolate cookies that Kat had prepared for me and Dave. Normally I’m not into chocolate but the 50 km bike ride left me famished, and I easily gorged myself with several dozen cookies. Kat had made “too many” cookies and planned to share the leftovers with her neighbors, but unfortunately Dave and I took care of the surplus and left them out in the cold. That was the first of many alimentary delights that Kat prepared – she is truly one of the best chefs I’ve ever met and her culinary creativity knows no bounds. She even figured out how to make fresh spring rolls with homemade sweet and sour sauce, a meal I still remember fondly today.

While the nights were filled with spirited conversation and candlelight bucket baths (Kat’s site has no electricity or running water), we toiled during the day at Kat’s girls’ camp. Kat and two coaches from her village had participated in a workshop put on by a British NGO called Coaching for Hope where soccer coaches are taught how to infuse lessons about HIV / AIDS into soccer drills and training. The girls’ camp focused on teaching girls soccer skills and AIDS information in the afternoons and Kat led sessions on hygiene in the morning. Kat had previously led village workshops on hygiene with older women, and they told her how much they liked the sessions and asked her to teach their daughters, which is how she decided to do a girls’ camp. Dave’s and my contribution was to lead a session on nutrition and help with some icebreakers.

Over 50 girls attended the camp in the small cramped classroom of the school house (luckily, we were in the school building with a roof; the other school building doesn’t have one, unfortunately), but the girls were so attentive and well-behaved that the group never seemed unwieldy or rowdy. The morning sessions moved at a dynamic pace and the afternoon soccer sessions were quite a sight to behold. While soccer is undoubtedly the most popular sport in Burkina Faso, it’s rare to see females play. Seeing the multitude of girls running drills and playing together on the field without boys was really cool, and I saw inspiration in the eyes of some of the younger female onlookers.

In other Peace Corps countries, girls’ camps are called G.L.O.W., which stands for Girls Leading Our World. That appellation couldn’t be more apt in Kat’s small village, where the girls fiercely attacked the soccer ball, acted out skits where they assert themselves to save their lives against a deadly virus and learned about how small changes they affect in their daily lives could pay big dividends health-wise later. Building confidence while imparting valuable knowledge is where it begins; these girls becoming role models in their villages is where it takes flight.