This eMail was composed sometime last week, during our first stay in Ouagadougou, before we moved north for PST at Ouahigouya. My, how the days run together.

Someone send some nail laquer! It must be the dust. My nails! They're gray. We procure our mobile phones tomorrow. Maybe the phone store will have a few bottles of Opi. Right.

Thus far, I've barely toted one piece luggage. Must be the baggage elves. Items magically disappear and then reappear. I predict that a burro will tote my bags to my ultimate site. This is all too Medicine Man-y, right?

So this gal that doesn't do acronyms is surrounded . . . absolutely surrounded by acronyms. The CD, the XC, the TDA, and so many more, none of which I can remember. Then there's the APC-something, who may be the most important person in my world. You'd think I could remember his acronym. He's the man in who is my boss. The man with the power to select my job duties and, more importantly, my permanent site/village/hut. And I love him . . . we all do. He provided us SED (Small Enterprise Development) Trainees with a letter. To paraphrase, he said congratulations on winning the lottery and getting in the Burkina Faso program. He is absolutely correct. We're all so privileged to be in this country. I'll rave more later on this topic. The biggest news is that I have a strong suspicion that he's already selected my site . . . probably the one we discussed at some length during my initial interview. Golly, and we're less than 48 hours in country. Another member of his staff has already stated, "Kathy, you're going to absolutely love it," and I believe her one-hundred percent.

So I obviously passed the French competency exam, about which I was really nervous. I've already been placed into the Moore language program, while some other trainees are perfecting their French. Of course I'm proud, and yet astounded. I still have deer-in-the-headlights moments when I don't understand a word of French.

So imagine this – there are about 11 of us who are competent enough in French that we're being taught Moore by French speakers. Did I make that clear enough? Other than the Moore language (which is beautiful, though positively bizarre), the only other language spoken is French. No English. So when we have a question, or when the instructor needs to assist us, it's all done in French. I can't decide if I'm terrified, or if the excitement and exhilaration is the best drug I've ever known. Despite my adrenaline high of learning Moore, this does not mean that you shouldn't send cigarettes. Can I be any more clear about that?! Like cockroaches, the smokers are slowly coming out of the woodwork. Must be a stress-thing . . . or the personality flaw/trait that brought us all here in the first place.

Are you getting the impression that I'm floating on a cloud? Clearly the honeymoon has begun. We left Ouagadougou and arrived in Ouahigouya to the traditional African welcome (Rusty, you know what I'm talking about). Do I sound excited? Am I completely in love with the PC, the program, the country, the continent, and life? Am I ever, ever coming home? Baby Jill, I should alert you . . . we can only speculate.