One of our cross-culturual classes during stage covered the importance of showing-up. Bac, wedding, funeral, etc. Just show up. True, gifts are important; but nothing is as important as merely showing-up. My mother was right. Event to exorcise a genie's doings? At least make an appearance!

Speaking French on a mobile is totally different from French in person. Imagine: no hand gestures, no eye-movement, no furrowed brow that says, I'm a total idiot and have no idea what you're saying . . . so let's draw a picture in the sand.

Friday Yaya called to invite me to an event. I was so flattered. He told me the event was the next day and told me the time. Fabulous. And since I had Yaya on the phone and needed a few answers about a project, I asked-away. I did understand his responses, but then, I was expecting simple yes or no answers . . . easier to understand, even via mobile, when you're anticipating a specific response.  But as to the invitation to a fete, what did Yaya say?! Fete for a grand bassin? A fete for a lake? Surely not. But this is Pô so anything is possible. Or did he say a fete for the new baby? And what time was it? Six-thirty? No, they use a 24-hour clock here, and no one would have a baby fete at 6:30 a.m. So either it wasn’t a baby fete, or it wasn’t at 6:30 a.m. I was totally befuddled when I ended the conversation. I sat, paralyzed . . . no clear plan to ascertain any answers.


In the midst of my angst, a gentlemen called at my hut door. The interior painter (nay, artiste) referred to me by Leon. He’s going to paint my walls; and he explained that he was the artist who had painted the murals at Ga Mo Wigna, among many other paintings. Ah ha, that artist. And tomorrow, he explained, at 8:30 he was to begin a new mural at Go Mo Wigna. Hmm.

I called back Yaya. What time tomorrow? Surely that would give me an idea of the event? How could I say, Hey, I’m really stupid and still don’t understand your French . . . so is it a fete for a baby or a fete for a lake or a fete for a new mural? So I didn't ask specifics, only the time; and Yaya confirmed 8:30 a.m. At that point I was certain that it must be the mural project with the artist at the bureau. Surely Yaya had said grand designe and not grand bassin. . . . unless he had said bebe and bebe sounded like bassin. Who has a fete for a lake? But on the other hand, who has a fete for a newborn at 8:30 a.m.? Oh wait! I know! A family in a country where the women awaken at 5:00 a.m. and start sweeping gravel. As you can see, I was entirely too embarrassed to confirm the nature of the fete; but you know where this is headed, right?

Saturday, I arrive at Ga Mo Wigna before 8:30 . . . ready to greet Yaya and anyone else who might have been invited to the fete for a new mural. Jean le artiste was present, with his helpers. Waiting for attendees is the norm in Burkina Faso. A two-hour delay isn't unusual. And so, about 10:00 a.m., Jean-Bernard, my Canadian friend, appeared at the bureau. Well, whatever is happening certainly must be happening there. Ah, non. Jean-Bernard explains that the fete did begin at 8:30 at Yaya’s . . . for the baby. Oh #*@%-edy #*@%! But now it’s too late – I’ve got a Kassim class beginning in 10 minutes.

So what did I do? Explain my incompetence in French? Beg for pardon? Comment dit on en francais . . . Je vous demand pardon? Over-compensate with beaucoup des cadeaux . . . in the way only a guilty American can do? We can only speculate.