So I've suggested to the Peace Corps that the next time circumstances arise necessitating consolidation (e.g., the move to Tiebele), that they make every effort to do so only during hot season. Here's Idress, the PCV in Tiebele, with his homologue and moi-meme. Idress was kind enough to introduce me to the mayor, various chiefs, and to his lovely friends, including Emmanuel. I stayed with Idress for two nights, then sought-out cooler accommodations. Ah, we PCVs . . . ever-resourceful, even under conditions of hardship.

I don't really know the French word for air-condition. Does climatisée mean "air-conditioned". . . is climatisseur an "air-conditioner"? It really doesn't matter because when this nassara begins a word, struggling with the sound of climatiss--something, every Burkinabe knows that I want air-conditioned air with an air-conditioner creating air-conditioning. So, yes, that air-condition(ing/er) in Tiebele was great, but I had to leave the room from time-to-time, if only to appreciate the cold when I returned. So what did I do for two weeks? Well, Mr. Rooney, you'll be proud: I only read one book.

I did, however, make some liquid soap with a group of ladies who didn't know how to make liquid soap. I grilled them about whether they would use and/or sell liquid soap . . . having been forewarned that women in smaller villages prefer hard soap. They assured me that they'd use the liquid soap; and after the two-day formation, I believed them. What fun, although I had to send Emmanuel to my Pô hut for the soap-making products. Lesson learned: don't leave home without lye-gel. Can I just travel the globe making liquid soap and teaching people to teach soap-making? Is that job-description somewhere on The Ladders? And if so, does it include air-conditioned accommodations?

By the second week I was giving lessons in restaurant and hotel management. I also gave instructions on making toad-in-the-hole. This I did for Jean Claude, who is arguably the best-trained, most unrecognized, brilliant chef in all of West Africa. But he didn't know toad-in-the-hole (go figure), which I translated to grenouille-souterrain (frog underground).
In all due respect to the Brits, toad-in-the-hole in no way resembles a toad, nay, nor any type of frog . . . in or out of a hole. The best I could do was to laugh with Jean Claude about such a silly name for a brunch dish. Jean Claude! What a chef! Makes a sauce arrachide that actually makes me want to eat sauce arrachide . . . drink it, in fact. Soup, maybe. His kitchen is immaculate, and I was invited to use it anytime. See that oven? A real oven! I made chocolate cake for Jean Claude and I thought he was going to cry. The cake mix? Yes, Emmanuel and the Pô-run (don't leave home without it).

So who remembers this man? Anyone? You've seen him on this blog. I recognized him immediately as I spied him drinking a Guinness at 8:33 a.m. one morning in the bar area of my Tiebele auberge. Told him that I had his photograph and ran upstairs to bring down the laptop (don't leave home without it). He's wonderful, a chief, great taste in beverages, and knows about bamboo . . . or so he said. Bamboo won't grow in Pô because there's too much salt in the soil and water. Really?! We'll see what Yaya says about that. Still, the Chef loved the fact that my Kassim had improved . . . or so he said. I was so enchanted by the compliment that I prepared dinner for him: Fettuccine Alfredo and corn-black-bean salad. Boy, nothing satisfies a Burkinabe like an Italian/Mexican dinner. But from whence cometh the black beans? Thanks, again, to Emmanuel, who made the Pô-run to my kitchen for black beans (don't leave home without 'em).

Just a few other fun events in Tiebele. I helped Idress with his elementary school children who are just learning English. We learned body parts and simple prepositions like in, out, about, and around. And how was this feat accomplished? How else? With the Hokey-Pokey song. You put your booty in, you put your booty out, you put your booty in and your shake it all about. Elementary school children went wild with laughter at the nasarra shaking a booty all about?

Indeed, Tiebele was fun, and not just the air-conditioned part -- I made so many friends. I feel as bien integree in Tiebele as I do in Pô. Why, I feel like Becky: everywhere I turned I encountered someone that I already knew, albeit often by at least two degrees of separation.

Still, it's good to be home in Pô. I finally broke-down and spent a few CFA for some fencing here in my courtyard. I sit outside and laugh at the hens who cannot get to my seedlings. The seedlings aren't planted. They're merely in their little peat pots behind the fencing. I could have easily left them on my table to keep hens at bay, but where's the fun in that? No, it's much more fun to frustrate a hen with delectable seedlings just out of reach.
So, you think the Peace Corps will speak with Burkina's military to ensure that I'll be nicely cool next year during hot season? We can only speculate.