Somewhere out there right now there is an especially fortunate PC Nominee. You’re going through the rigamarole of medical and dental exams, awaiting your invitation. Why are you especially lucky? Because you might be coming to Pô. This time next year, you might be the luckiest volunteer in the world. Pô is small, but progressive. I refer to Pô as the parallel universe of Burkina Faso where nothing happens as I was promised during my PC training . . . it’s all so much easier, smoother, and quicker. I live in the perfect home, in the perfect courtyard, with the perfect neighbors, in the perfect village, with the perfect association and the most perfect homologue. We don’t have corruption; we have efficiency and motivation. We don’t have faux types; we have villagers who look out for one another. Only occasionally is there the sweet whiff of genuine Burkinabé culture. Such is the case this month; and I'm laughing, loving, and completely respecting it.

Children in Burkina Faso have over two weeks off from school during the Christmas and New Year holidays. But this year there's been a noticeable change. For instance, I returned from Ouaga on Tuesday and wondered why so many students were waiting for me at the gare. Wednesday morning at 6:30 a.m. in my quartier, off went the students to school, dressed in their little brown & white gingham-check uniforms. Can you imagine leaving for high-school at 6:30 a.m. in  order to arrive in your seat by 7:00 a.m.? In any event, on Wednesday the children were home again by 7:30 a.m. Holiday? Or perhaps (not at all unusual here), a strike?

Wednesday afternoon I ventured over to Yaya's home to see what Satia was up to. Our plan for 2012 is to sell the yummy juice that remains after the making of tofu. There with Satia were her two teenage daughters. So I had to ask: Why aren't you in school?! After lots of giggles and looks of embarrassment, I was told the tale.

Once upon a time there was a young girl from Pô. She went to her nation’s capital, Ouagadougou, where she sat in the shade of a mango tree, and there she fell fast asleep and slumbered-away a lazy afternoon. When she returned to Pô she was asked to help her family build a new fence. After all, autumn is fence-building season after the rains have ended. During the course of the fence-building work, the young girl fell.

Oh, my, I said, was it a serious fall? No, In fact, no one is certain that she actually fell (or at least I'm not certain based on my limited comprehension of French). When did this happen? I asked. On October 18. What?! October 18!? What could this possibly have to do with no school this week?!

Well, it seems that the girl indeed fell to the ground. Now October is one of our hottest months. Temps easily reach 115. So, as it was explained to me, it is possible that she merely fainted. Now I don't know the French word for faint, but I can certainly pantomime this scene. Fainted . . . fell . . . whatever. In any event she wasn't seriously injured. Nevertheless, her caring family took her to the doctor, who could find nothing wrong. All right. Good news. So explain to me again . . . this affects every school in Pô how?!

All right, kiddies, sit down for the explanation. Way back in late September or early October before the school year began, and while this young lady napped under the deep shade of an old mango tree, genies touched her. Ah ha! Le culpable! Genies. Now the reason that Yaya's daughters were giggling and embarrassed is because they in no way believe in genies. The old women of Pô, however, very much believe. And as word has spread of this young lady's fainting or fall, the older women have urged their daughters, nieces, granddaughters, etc. to keep home their children from school . . . lest the genies touch their sons and daughters.

This is Pô  . . . you have got to be kidding! And I live with Leon, President of the APE (think P.T.A.), so I've got to get this scoop directly from Leon. I bike home to Martin and the kids and ask about this tale. They confirm every word. What will be done?, I ask. Are you happy to be out of school, and how will this end? How long can this continue? I've been told by every student with whom I've spoken that they are not happy. Imagine the amount of homework we're going to have when we return, they all say. As to the solution? A sacrifice, and a lot of praying. Wow! This I've got to see.

Leon arrived home last night so I went to the source. Leon, too, was embarrassed. I told him that there are plenty of believers of ghosts, voodoo, etc., in the United States and that he need not feel embarrassed for little Pô. As to this sacrificial ceremony, Leon instantly made some calls to confirm that I'd be invited and to determine the date, time, and place. Alas, as of last night nothing was determined; and the children were home from school all afternoon today.

So what does it take to remove this genie threat? Evidently a sacrificial cow, at a minimum. And I need not tell you, cows are hard to come by. We all know that genies will turn your children into thieves if one doesn't bathe before 18h00; so just to be cautious, I shower in the afternoon. The genie threat . . . and the fact that these days it's cold after dark.

Where has this fun aspect of  Burkinabé culture been for the past 21 months? Fun, except for the cow! And when and where will we find this sacrificial cow? What will the ceremony look like? Do we have a genie remover expert here, or will this ceremony call for a specialist from outside of Pô? This story reads like a fairy tale. Genie tale, is more accurate. What's the difference between fairies and genies? My oh my . . . who wouldn't absolutely love this country? We can only speculate.