Wuudy: Burkinabe definition; empowering word Burkinabe men use to celebrate
Woody: English definition; slang for male erection
My last night in the village was spent making tea to stay up late and talk with Blandine. While it should have been really sad, it was almost unreal, like the reality of it all clouded the actuality of the situation. I kept asking myself if I was really leaving, as Blandine and I reminisced about the past three months. While I guess it was sad, I’ve gotten so used to always leaving, that I’ve built this defense mechanism of coping with the feeling of loss you experience when leaving something - leaving a place you’ve put so much into. By the end of my stay in Bereba, I ended up with three pigs- Bacon, Babe and Bitsy (Bacon’s only sister, whose mother was brutally bludgeoned in the head after entering the Chief of Customs house and ruining his dinner). But I found them all nice homes and said my goodbyes to these little pork babies. I can honestly say that no insects can scare me now in the states, for I’ve seen enough African spiders, scorpions and bats to brush off whatever California, Montana or Alaska has to throw at me. I think the thing I will miss most about Bereba is the people and their village. While village life is not easy and far from simple, it’s amazing to see so many people live with practically nothing. While poverty is a harsh and obvious truth there, there’s always a smile to be given and received – a sign that gives us comfort and them hope.
My last night in Burkina was spent dancing Borbabra and drinking too much Burkina brewed beer. I say “too much” because I spent my last 21 hours in Burkina trying to pack – hung over. But it was all worth it just to learn the Burkinabe definition of woody. Spelt wuudy in Burkina, but pronounced the same as woody in English, look above for the irony in it all. My loose translation of this term is “let’s party” but not literally, right? At least I can say now that I have honestly done everything in Burkina- from getting Malaria and fighting off scorpion transporters (kind of like clock spiders) to getting wasted and dancing Borabara in a bar, where I was about the only white girl (along with Emile), shaking my ass. My thirty-hour trip home was easier than my 45 hour trip there, but still long enough to keep my bed rested for two days with a headache.
Yet, I’m Back! And here I am, home safely with a plethora of material to unload onto the hard drive of my laptop. Sitting in amazement, staring at the blank screen, I try to comprehend how three months went by so quickly. Adaptation I believe has a lot to do with it. How the body can adapt and deal under different circumstances is incredible. By the time I left Burkina, I learned to squat for 15 minutes at a time and carry on a workday in un-imaginable heat – without air conditioning. While I’ve been called everything from crazy and brave to insane and courageous for going to Africa, I think I am simply just curious. When I first left for Africa, I felt like my life was ending and that there would never again be such a pivotal moment before me. I mean, what do you do when one of your biggest dreams lies in the palm of your hands and the reigns are yours to steer? Reflecting on my recent trip to West Africa, I believe if you make the effort to immerse yourself into everything that lies in front of you, you’re going to be just fine - maybe even better than fine.
