Friday, October 16, 2009

I Am Very Impressive

There is a little something that’s been bothering me for awhile now. It’s one of those things that started out as not a big deal but the more I think about it, the more it gets to me. I’d like to take this moment to get if off my chest.

It all started a few weeks ago when I was at our clinic’s weekly foyer for malnourished children. We were particularly swamped, so I found myself doing some tasks on my own which I hadn’t really done before. It was nothing too terrible, things like mixing the flour, sugar, and oil in the correct proportions and making sure that each person (we give the flour to the elderly as well, but the mix is different) got the appropriate nutritional boost. Most of the mother’s get two kilos of a corn/soy blend flour mixed with sugar and oil. Because of language difficulties, most of my communication with the women at these sessions is conducted through pointing at their babies and smiling. Anyway, there was one woman who, after having received her two kilos, remained standing in front of me with her sack out. It’s not entirely uncommon for a woman to try and sneak extra flour, but we pretty well have to stick to the rules to make sure everyone gets some, so I gestured her away and gently pushed her bag aside. She began speaking to me quickly and insistently in Konkomba. I tried to make it clear that I didn’t understand as she was becoming more and more wrapped up in whatever she was trying to tell me. Finally, someone explained to me that the woman had twins and was therefore entitled to four kilos of flour. Happy to have the miscommunication cleared up and eager to make friends with the woman, I quickly picked up her sack and pointing to it, repeated loudly some of the words I realized she had been saying. “Uba, bilee,” I began, indicating the sack, and adding two more kilos, I continued, “bitaa, binaa!” Everyone in the area stopped what they were doing and broke into loud applause. My homologue, the birth attendant, rushed over and actually held my arms in the air as if I had kicked the winning goal in the World Cup. “My girl is magnificent!” she shouted in French, “Again, again!” With more confidence this time, I shouted, “Uba, bilee, bitaa, binaa!” The crowd went wild. I had, of course, counted to four, and this was very impressive.

The second event occurred just a couple of days later. The wife of the chief had asked me to help her sell tchouk (a sort of local beer made from millet) at the market. This was a big event for the people in Namon, and many stopped by to buy her goods from the new white woman in town. (I tend to be something of a side show.) Before we started, there was a brief tutorial on the pricing and etiquette. You server tchouk in a calabash from a plastic trash can with a small plastic bowl. There are two sizes of plastic bowls, the smaller of which costs 25 CFA and the larger 50. It was simple enough. All you have to do is ask the person how much they want and serve it to them. You also need to add a little at the end as a cadeau. This is expected with most things you buy. After a practice run with the matron, I was let to serve folks all on my own. The first guy was simple. He wanted 50 CFA worth of tchouk, and he paid with exact change. Nevertheless, this earned a murmur of approval from the audience. The next guy also wanted 50 CFA, but he paid with a 100 CFA coin. My fans held their breath. I successfully handed him the 50 CFA coin I had received from the previous customer. Again, there was approval, but my audience now wanted to test my abilities a bit. There came cries of, “Can you make change for this 2,000 CFA bill?” I did. Someone ordered 100 CFA of tchouk to try my skills with the small plastic bowls. Someone wanted 75 CFA of boisson and then paid with 150 CFA just to throw me off. With every challenge, I rose to the occasion. That’s right, my friends, I can perform simple arithmetic in another currency. I had taken the market by storm, and the applause was immense.

Those are just two examples, but I could go on and on. People are pleased and impressed when I successfully greet them in the morning. They’re even pleased when I just try hard. They’re pleased when I tell them I can make my own tea and peel an orange and differentiate between corn and soy beans.

All this brings me to my real point which is that I am, in fact, very impressive, and I’m not sure that those of you back in the States realize this. I can’t remember the last time one of you applauded when I counted to four, and I’m sure none of you has ever praised my orange peeling ability. I want you all to know that I forgive you for these oversights, but in the future, I would appreciate it if I could get a little recognition when I make change for a dollar, that’s all.

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