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Friday, March 9, 2012

My First Day as a Volunteer

So here I've been, at site for almost three months now living in what the Peace Corps calls the "etude" period, where we settle in, integrate, make contact with potential local collaborators, and generally make a place for ourselves in our community. It has gone pretty well for me in most respects. I feel like I've integrated well, my Moore is coming along, and I've made friends and professional acquaintances alike. I have an amazing homologue who is patient, kind, hardworking, sharp, and basically one of the greatest people I've ever known. Life is good.

But something has been making me anxious ever since I got here, and that is the constant internal question of "what is it to be a volunteer?" Now, I've met plenty of volunteers here and the only thing that seems to unite them is how different they all are. There's no type, no norm. So how am I supposed to know what I should be if I have no standard? This lack of clear objective has troubled me. Until today. Here's what happened:

This morning I went out to the professional lycee to talk with the program director about an IT class my wife and I will be teaching there to help make good use of some new laptops recently dropped off by a Swiss organization without even instructions on how to double-click. This project came as a direct invitation by the directrice of the lycee upon our first routine visit. This was not our idea, but we are refining the original plan in such a way that we will be able to pass the baton off to the Burkinabe teachers before we leave.

After this, I bought vegetables at the bustling Friday marche, speaking Moore almost without thinking and seeking out my favorite vendors, usually the ones who routinely give me an extra carrot or two.

We had lunch and then I went out to the gardens to help my ever busy homologue harvest potatoes for tomorrow's Tenth edition of the Faire de la Pomme de Terre. I ended up slicing through about half of what I uncovered, but it felt good to dig through the soft earth, side by side with men and women casually working twice as fast as me, slowly uncovering these golden orbs...until the blisters came.

Not wanting to destroy too much of his crop, I bowed out of the work to go have a chat with an English-speaking friend who I hadn't seen in awhile. While we sat over fruit juice and beer, I met a rotation of new people, including a teacher and a doctor and explained what I do and listened to their stories in a strangely comprehensible jumble of English, French, and Moore. 

Returning home, I picked up the sign I had painted for my association and walked with it over to tomorrow's fair grounds. the sign was also not my idea, though wanting to show my association that I am willing and able to work, and seeing an opportunity to do something simple and up my alley, I offered my services. I arrived at the fairgrounds shaking hands with and greeting a slew of folks and realized just how many people I know in town now. The association saw my sign and approved of it greatly, thanking and congratulating me. I even got a smile out of our old animator who had been kind of distant with me ever since I arrived here, dazed and blurry eyed and misconjugating everything. A camera crew was on the scene surveying the fair grounds and asked to interview a few members of our bureau. We drove over to the office and the newsmen interviewed our secretary and vice president about their work with the cultivators of potatoes and afterwards there was a camera sweep of the bureau members- there I am on the bench to the far right (check out your local listings). We filed outside and seeing the sign, the newsmen wanted to get a shot of it. I couldn't have been prouder. As my colleagues hoisted the sign in the air I finally felt like I had become a part of this bureau, simply by fulfilling a basic need of my bureau using skills natural to me. And then I looked back on the day and realized that I had really done more than that.

Maybe I can't wield a daba very well and maybe my Moore (and French for that matter) is a bit shaky and limited. Maybe I'm not exactly sure how to go about teaching a computer class to beginners and maybe making a sign isn't exactly sustainable development. But hell, I'm trying. I'm doing something. I'm volunteering. This is my damn service. The Peace Corps may have their project plans and overall goals, but in the end I'm working with the people who have asked me to work, doing the things that they want to do. There is no program. There is no standard. Being a full time volunteer means embracing whatever you find when you go out our door every day and making yourself generally available.

Some say that just coming here, living here is sacrifice enough, but I don't buy that. There's a difference between an ex-pat and a volunteer. So I guess my point is, if you want to become a volunteer, are thinking of joining the Peace Corps or an NGO or maybe putting in some hours at the public library but are unsure what to expect, don't worry. Don't expect anything and work will find you. But you have to take the first step out your door.

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