Bonjour mes amis! I hope you are all happy and healthy. I’m just now coming to the end of my first full week of training. Six days a week, 8 to 4:30, not including commute time and extracurriculars like soccer matches and tutoring. I’m exhausted by the time I get home, which is later recently because we trainees have gotten into the habit of stopping at a bouvette for a sucrerie (soda, not so much) or beer (okay, so we never have sucreries) before going home. This serves several purposes: 1) allows for time for it to cool down so our bike ride back isn’t as sweaty, 2) allows us to spend more time bonding as a group, outside of the classroom, 3) we speak French all day which is exhausting and the last thing most of us want to do is go home and speak more French, and 4) we are supporting the local economy. So that last one was a stretch but having one beer before going home truly has magical powers on my frustration threshold. On the way to school, every child who yells yovo or screams the yovo song (yep, there’s a song in the same class as lamb chop’s song that never ends) I want to hurt, but on the way home I reply “Bon soir” in a jovial, sing-songy way to all the previously obnoxious yovo calls. Even biking through the sand doesn’t bug me much. When I return home I am always pleasantly greeted by all members of my host family, several of which always say, in French of course, “How are you? Did you do a little work today?” I never understand this last one. I know it’s a cultural thing, like us saying “Wanna grab a bite to eat?” Obviously one wants more than a bite. Anyway, so they ask if I did a little work and all I can think is “Its 6 pm, I’ve been gone since 7 am. That’s 11 hours. And my back has a sweat imprint from my backpack. So I did, like, a lot of work today, okay?” When my French gets to that level I’ll tell them what’s up.

So when I get home I don’t have much time at all, just have dinner, shower, read a little, and go to bed. Dinner is kind of an affair because my very Catholic family prays before and after dinner. Its inappropriate to leave the table before the second prayer, and though I have excused myself a couple times before, I try not to. The main problem is that the TV, which plays only fuzzy Spanish soap operas dubbed over in French or Necrologie (the TV form of an obituary), is in plain view of the dinner table, which inevitably delays the second prayer. I recently discovered that if I yawn repetitively and rub my eyes repeatedly, they get the hint that I want to go. One of the first in my soon to be burgeoning repertoire of culturally appropriate ways of avoiding confrontation of any kind.

This week was the first time the environment volunteers actually did some manual environmental work. Not my finest moment. I had to make a seed bed in an area that was half soil, half impromptu landfill. First, clearing the trash that was definitely not only on the surface but a couple feet deep, then building up a piece of land with a trench around it to allow for proper water flow. Mine was so bad that my teacher had to redo it for me, in his suit and tie, no joke. So gardening is likely to not be my strong point. I’m an environmentalist of the Nalgene-toting variety, the ones with a mélange of stickers of eco-friendly business and campaigns that say things like “Respect your Mother (Earth).” This stuff is new to me. More stories to follow, I’m sure.

I’ve gotten used to most things here and the culture shock is all but gone. I even went two days without needing to write in my journal, which I take as a good sign, that I’m less in need of coping mechanisms for adjusting to a new lifestyle. I have a routine, which is comforting. There are less shocks and surprises. However, one thing that gets no less shocking is power outages. My house has electricity, but not all the time and only in a couple rooms. When the power goes out, every other day or so, it makes a huge popping noise that I believe to be the apocalypse. There is the inevitable few minutes to get lamps going, during which time I am trying to remember what trial came first in the Left Behind series, then I see my family and am assured that this is not, in fact, the apocalypse. Just West Africa.

My family says my French is improving but I’m constantly frustrated with my progress. Learning a language with the added weight of needing to conduct all your affairs in said language for two years, which will commence in 7 weeks, is intense. And all I want to do when I’m not in class is read and speak in English. Unless I’ve had a beer, in which case I am fully aware of and confident in my stellar ability to speak French, and do so at any chance I get, rapidly and with great pleasure. Purpose #6 of the after-school beer.

Last anecdote for the post, I promise. I have a quote from Martha Washington up on my wall about the greater part of misery or happiness depending on one’s disposition, not circumstances. So when I woke up last night to go to the bathroom and was greeted by a cockroach outside my door- on its back, arms flailing, being attacked by a couple dozen ants much much smaller than it and caving in to these relentless creatures- I was actually pleased to be reminded that many people working together, supporting one another, can conquer an obstacle much greater than themselves. I’ll let that one sink in.