It was a dark and stormy night, and we approached the West African graveyard mindful of ancestral spirits and bitter tales of torment. OK, not really, but it was Halloween weekend in Po, with my demyst house-party of four SED stagiaires and their two LCFs (Language & Culture Facilitators . . . the PC does love its acronyms).

What a brilliant and enthusiastic group of PCTs. They were anxious to experience everything about village life, starting with how to cook at site. And so, prepared here in my Po kitchen were three dinners and two breakfasts for seven people. Eggs are back in Po, so Saturday breakfast was Toad-in-the-Hole. Nothing too fancy, really . . . Bananas Foster, flambéed with rhum, naturally; crispy-toasted tuna melts with piment slaw; thick Ghana toast with strawberry jam; Thai basil rolls. Why, you’d almost think that I made a run to Ouaga for supplies.

So I spent the weekend corrupting four delightful and fun new PCTs . . . suggesting such decadence as the Bon Boniere and Cocktail of the Week, the grand ol’ tradition of my stage. Then came the newly-designed bissap-watermelon martini. I think the stagiaires dubbed it the PoTini. Po-tentially dangerous.

We did the usual demyst activities. There were lessons in the essential-to-survival skills, such as bissap-making, peanut-brittle and caramel-corn making, and the making of the Halloween masks for over two-dozen children. Thankfully, I brought string and markers. Of course there was also a visit to my bureau, a visit to the Shea Butter Association, a visit to the marche, and language classes. There was also soap-making at the new hotel, which is definitely not a demyst activity inasmuch as the new Stage hasn’t yet learned the closely-guarded secret of soap-making. Oh well . . . four of ‘em have . . . now.

So Sunday night was the carving of the Halloween pumpkin; but pumpkins are short on the ground here, so in our case it was a Halloween watermelon. Being good little PCT/PCVs, we didn’t want to waste anything; thus the watermelon was carefully hollowed-out saving all pulp for juice. Voila. The birth of the bissap-watermelon Po-tini, which I must say is better than the original bissap martini.

We had at least 25 kids for trick-or-treat, all at the same time. Twenty-five rapacious Burkinabe children on my little terrace. Happily there was with plenty of caramel corn, bon-bons, and cylume necklaces given as prizes after our talent show. When candy is involved, you’d be amazed at how quickly French- and Kassim-speaking children will learn to squeal trick-or-treat. After explaining the tradition of Halloween, we quizzed the kids on what it takes to get the treat. Do you have to wear a mask? OUI! Can you get a bon-bon without saying trick-or-treat? NON! I suppose you could call it my first sensibilisation at my courtyard. I dare say that it was 100% successful.

And since I live in a courtyard with a graveyard, the setting was appropriate for Halloween, though I confess that the only spirits of which we were mindful were Gordon’s and Smirnoff. As for tales of torment . . . there was the horror-tale of the LCFs who suggested that cold beer on a steamy afternoon was inappropriate before language class. At such a suggestion, someone was feeling a tad tormented, I guarantee.

How many PCTs does it take to carve a watermelon jack-o-lantern? Did I really corrupt David, Grace, Luis, and Anne, or are they above corruption, like all good PCTs? If this was the Halloween party, what will Thanksgiving bring? We can only speculate.