This is Leo, a town about six times the size of little Pô, about 9 hours away by bus(es) but only about 124 km, as the crow flies. OK, this isn't really Leo. This is the Hotel Sissilis, about two kilometers from the center of Leo. It's always been my home when I visit Leo. Now Leo's fabulous . . . home of my great pal, Hugo; but I like to think of Leo like this . . . a Cozumel-style hotel and great pool. Frankly, this is all I ever needed to know about Leo. Whoops.

Hilary and I had a cocktail party yesterday . . . separate, but together, via mobile. I can’t speak for Hil, but at midnight last night, I was still hosting the party chez moi. This crisis-induced fête came about when Yaya called about 08h30. I saw the name and immediately hit Silence on the mobile . . . oh-so quickly, as if I had to touch a hot flame. I sprang from the chair where I was happily savoring the end of the John & Susan Sutter saga. Felt like I’d been hit with a bullet. Total panic. Why? Long boring tale, so just close this browser window now.

I believe that this week will completely define my PC service. This morning began the test, when I escorted (read: chaperoned) Yaya’s wife, their 8-month-old daughter, and a couple of girls from Pô's Petites to Leo, via Ouaga. Transport in the country is never easy. Prior to arriving in The B.F. I read some good advice from a Returned PCV (RPCV), who said, kids, take those ear-buds out, turn off that iPod, and embrace the culture around you. That sounded so wise . . . such a practical bit of advice. But after almost 15 months in country, I’ve got some advice for the gentleman who wrote that. Anyone want to venture what I’d like to tell him? We may all be on a bus together, but I'm going to separate with my iPod. And in a land where the Burkinabe can and do sit for hours saying nothing to each other, who's really going to care if this nassara is off in iPod-land? Such was my plan.

I never leave for transport without a fully-charged iPod. But today? And for the next who-knows-how-many days? I’m stuck . . . 24/7 of having to speak with a woman who speaks Kassim and two young girls whose French is probably about like mine. This doesn’t bode well. In Kassim, I can hold a very decent conversation if I limit the discussion to where are you going, how much does/did that cost, can I eat that, and listing names of animals. Chee-bee-airy: chicks. After that, it’s time to say koko-may . . . see you later. But not this week. Togetherness. I've found a translator here in Leo who understands my French very well. He translates it to the local language here, Nooni. Then a Nooni speaker translates my thoughts into Kassim for my . . . . what are these gals? My wards, my charges, my . . . what?

How did this happen, you ask? Well, only in Pô, where things happen at the speed of light. Yaya and I had discussed taking a groupment of women to Leo to learn the closely-guarded secret of making tofu; but never in a million years did I think that Yaya could pull this together in three days,. Especiallly when the Leo contact (Jean Louis) was mine; when we had only a two-week window to accomplish the tofu formation prior to the Bike Tour arrival in Pô, followed immediately by the 50th Anniversary PC Fair in Ouaga, followed immediately by my continued work to prepare for the new PC arrivals in October . . . blah, blah, blah. YetYaya did it. That was the phone call. But wait! Yaya, weren't we going to go together? You mean I'm going . . . alone? But let's get real . . . come on now . . . who's going to say no to this man? This is us after completing a counter-part workshop. Look at Dan, laughing his ass off at my sad French. OK, maybe that's not what Dan's doing.

Only Yaya. Only Yaya could pull this off. The second time the phone rang yesterday, again I hit Silence and walked outside to talk to Sada. Now we know that anytime I willingly leave the hut to speak Kassim before 09h00, I’m somehow desperate to escape something. Finally it occurred to me that Yaya could be calling to say that going to Leo was not possible . . . so sorry. So I downed my rum-punch breakfast and returned the call. I nearly fainted at the news. This morning I departed for Leo at 07h00. This has disaster written all over it . . . or maybe not. How bad could it be?

Well, I could be emotionally damaged for life. To me, Leo means an over-priced hotel with a lovely pool. Air conditioned rooms with color TV and music videos. Cocktails by the pool and a fine steak. And Hugo! Not this time! Not with the charming Satia (and she is fabulous) and her absolutely adorable baby . . . and not with two brilliant and highly motivated teenage girls (all of whom have disappeared as I type this). Together, but separate. Do you suppose that's what they were thinking, too? I know where Satia's gone . . . to find baby food. But where are those girls? If I return with two knocked-up girls, someone's going to answer for this together, but separate theory; and I fear it will be moi-meme!

This is what life is generally like in Leo. Hotel Sissilis, four or five PCVs on a bed with cocktails, cigarettes, and wet swimsuits. But tonight . . . . well I'm in an auberge that's really quite fine by Burkinabe standards. Certianly not by your standards; and it's certianly not Hotel Sissilis. Tomorrow may bring about a change. The classes begin at 10h00, which means I can sleep late, until the resto on the other side of my paper-thin wall begins banging pots at 06h00. Tomorrow night I imagine myself sleeping in the height of malaria season on a plastic mat, outdoors in a gravel courtyard . . . stumbling in the dark at night to a loo that will probably be . . . well, I can’t even imagine what the latrine facilities will be like. On the other hand, I can look at this as a great spa week, sans the lovely spa. I brought a carton of cigarettes, two dozen apples, a pound of peanuts, and 10 bananas . . . because I don't expect to eat anything in this village. This should tell you that I brought virtually no clothing. I also brought enough facial and mani/pedi products for all the women, so perhaps we'll do a spa evening. Maybe I'll drop 10 pounds and return to site with glowing skin. Miracles do happen . . . look what Yaya did.

How do I get myself into jams like this? I’ve got important things to do in Pô. I need to have Seydou repair or replace my frigo. I need to pick-up my laundry. I’ve got a pair of pants at the tailor’s. I was going to organize my sock drawer. OK, I don't have any drawers.

There was a time in my life when I was genuinely incapable of spontaneous travel. Ah, what the PC will do to a . . . well, I was going to say to a normal woman . . . but we all know that’s a big fat lie. If I was normal, would I be here in The B.F? Do they have crows in Burkina? Am I ready to stop bitching now and to suck it up and deal? We can only speculate.