First Day of School

Last year, before my first day of school, I scripted out word-for-word (in French) exactly what I was going to say during my first class. I wrote down questions I was going to ask my students and, though it’s funny to think back on this now, I made note of several possible things with which I might reply depending on the students’ response to said questions. Needless to say, I didn’t have much confidence in my ability to communicate with my students. When I wasn’t worrying about having to teach in French, I was daydreaming about how nice it would be if it had been the British who colonized Burkina Faso at the beginning of the 20^th Century…

For the most part, my fears of going into a classroom filled with 120 students whom I could not understand and who could not understand me were never realized. I spent the first five minutes of my first class last year sticking to my carefully constructed script before I realized that maybe I didn’t need that crutch as much as I thought. Fortunately for my students, it turned out that the Peace Corps language teachers had worked some magic and were actually able to get through to this linguistically challenged English-speaker. What I had taken to be a flippant dismissal of very legitimate concerns (“Josh, would you just stop worrying?! Believe me, once you get up in front of the class, it will all come together for you…”) turned out to be an accurate description of exactly what took place that first day. And it just got easier from there.

This year, my first day of classes was decidedly less stressful and infinitely more fun. Our first day happened to fall on Columbus Day, and a good deal of my classes was spent discussing Columbus and all things American in a laid-back, unstructured Q-and-A-type setting. Every once in a while, I’ll have these moments here in Africa when I feel like I’m in some sappy, feel-good advertisement promoting the Peace Corps and the things for which it stands. These moments don’t happen all the time; for sure, if the Peace Corps wanted to make a promotional ad based on my time here, they would have to edit out quite a bit of boredom, tedium, and frustration. But my first day of classes this year was a good one- not much editing required.

In fact, that whole first week was pretty special. The day before school started was my birthday (thanks to all of you who sent cards and well-wishes). Weirdly enough, I share my birthday with my next-door neighbor, Dieudonne, one of my best friends in village and 15 years my elder. When we uncovered the coincidence last year, we immediately began making plans to celebrate the day together in 2006. While the Burkinabe are very much into celebrating religious and state holidays, birthdays generally pass by unrecognized. Many of my students do not even know what day their birthday is. Dieudonne hadn’t celebrated his birthday in over 10 years. We both decided that would change in 2006. The night of October 8, I cooked up a storm. Ok, well, actually, I added water to instant mashed potatoes, added water to instant stuffing, added water to instant gravy, heated up canned carrots, and, finally, added water to instant kool-aid. I made a trip to the butcher’s and picked up a couple of huge chunks of a freshly slaughtered sheep (electing to pass on the head and organs…). It was quite the feast and quite the party. Dieudonne brought his wife and newborn daughter, and I invited a couple of my coworkers from school to help us mark the occasion. After the meal, we talked soccer and baseball. Dieudonne is the coach of our neighborhood’s village-league soccer team. As coach, he got to name the team. His choice? The Red Sox.

About a month into the school year, the powers that be had yet to name the replacement of our school director who passed away earlier this year. As a second-year teacher, I was the second-most senior member of the school’s staff of 6 teachers. One of the frustrating aspects of the school system here is how often teachers and administrators are moved from school to school and from village to village. Another frustrating aspect is how most of the transfers of teachers from one school to their next assignment occur during the school year. The first two months of classes are characterized by current teachers and staff leaving and new ones arriving. The government would wait for the dust of all these transfers to settle before officially naming our new director.

Not that it mattered much to me. I had already childishly written off our new director as someone not as good as Marius Oueda, the man who served as our director last year before he passed away. Admittedly, this was not a very professional attitude to hold towards a man I had never met and who would soon become my boss. If I had entered into my relationship with my new boss carrying this chip on my shoulder, certainly I would become less effective as a member of the teaching staff in Bomborokuy and as a volunteer here in Burkina Faso. So it was quite a blessing (another one of those blessings that maybe I didn’t quite deserve) when the Minister named a man who was already a friend of mine, Noel Tienou, as our new director. Months earlier, I had randomly met Noel at a bar in Nouna and we had quickly become friends. He spoke English, and we ended up meeting a handful of times to hang out (he would speak English and I would reply in French). Noel is a good guy, and he’s a guy for whom I already have a great deal of respect. Bomborokuy will miss Marius Oueda. But I have little doubt that Noel Tienou will be able to serve our school in Bomborokuy with the same dedication and passion that Marius gave us when he was here.