There's Nothing to Fear But Fear Itself.

All of us volunteers know that at some point we're going to have a hot mess, terrifying but sort of hilarious story to tell. Three of us didn't expect it would happen so soon to us. It happened Sunday June 15. I'm safe and sound, please don't worry. It's just a funny story to me at this point. I wrote it the night of the incident. Enjoy!

Morning

Today was my first day off since I arrived in Burkina Faso. I slept in until 8am, took a bucket bath, ate breakfast and hand washed my clothes. Bam, 11:30 hit and I'd only done those things. Hand washing clothes is quite the process. Anyway, it's a super hot day so my host dad showed me a chair I can sit in under a giant tree in their courtyard. It's probably 20+ degrees cooler under that tree than it was in the house. My room is an oven.  So, I spend most of the day under that tree reading, writing my blog, writing letters, [insert other unplugged activities here]. Before I realize what's happening, my host brother and his cousin are bringing over the kitchen chairs and table that we usually sit at. They brought lunch to me! It was spaghetti and a sort of tomato sauce. It's safe to say my lunch was half spaghetti, half mangoes and bananas. They really don't appreciate how little I eat here. I promise I'm eating until I'm full, I just don't have an appetite. I do more unplugged activities and then decide it's about time to head over the internet café in town since it's late enough in Burkina for people in California to be awake. Also, I really wanted to get another blog post posted.

My Host Family's Courtyard. Left to right: host brother (14), his cousin (13) and the family donkey!

At the Cyber Cafe

On my bike ride to the cybercafe, I see another trainee riding his bike. I haven't seen another trainee in 24 hours, so I'm stoked and catch up to him. We ride to the café, where I find other trainees and some of them head out to play soccer. I take my sweet time at the internet café. Well, there's really no other option because it can take anywhere from 5-30 mins to upload ONE picture to my blog. After 1.5 hours, I'm ready to head home when it starts sprinkling [insert Jaws theme here]. I pay a whopping 450 cfa ($1 USD) and am about to pack up and leave when a torrential downpour and thunderstorm begins. Great. I'd told my family that I would only be gone for about an hour and it had already been over that. I'm not the only one there. Two of my other friends are there. We think, "let's go beat the storm before it gets worse," but the men working the cybercafe tell us, "vous devez attendre!" (you must wait). I know I shouldn't be out there anyway, but it's getting dark. I take off my backpack and set it down and we settle in to wait for the storm to pass through.

It's a Peace Corps rule that during training, we must return to our families by 7pm every night, with the exception of two nights per week when we can stay out later with friends as long as our families know. Welp, I don't have my family's phone number (my own fault), but they have mine, so I figure they can call if they get worried. Wrong. Cell phone service rarely works during thunderstorms. Cool. After about 45 mins, the rain finally starts to calm down and the lightning no longer seems to be within 1-3 miles like it had been. Yes, 1-3 miles. Bright. Loud. Scary. We take this as our chance to get home.

The Journey Home

I live the closest of the three of us girls to the cybercafe. However, half of my route is dirt road. And when I say dirt road, I mean currently river. Torrential downpour for 45 mins creates 6-inch deep rivers in certain sections of the road. I turn my bike light on and we wade out into the road river to start the trek home. We hit a point where the water isn't super deep, so we jump on our bikes to try and get home faster. All is well until BAM rider one hits a dip in the road and her bikes stops, BAM rider two hits the dip in the road and almost falls off her bike, and BAM I try to swerve to the right to not hit them, but the angle of my turn makes me hit the dip and fall sideways until SPLASH I'm in the river. I start cracking up laughing because I'm not even the slightest bit surprised that the first time I fall off my bike is in a muddy road river. Let's talk some more about me falling in the water. I'm coming from the cybercafe, so my laptop is in my backpack, the same backpack that gets submerged when I do. My laptop is in my North Face hiking waterproof backpack. Doesn't get wet. So, now I feel like I'm one of those hardcore people in North Face cliff climbing commercials. But, then I remember I'm not. I'm in a road river, in the dark, in Africa. I seriously couldn't stop laughing.

Anyway, back to the story. We get back on our bikes and my wimpy light shows me that I wiped out literally 10 yards from the paved road. You have got to be kidding me. So close. So, I we ride our bikes on the road, I wave bye to my friends and I'm super close to home. I ride around the roundabout, take my exit and then turn left onto another awesome road river. My cue is a set of golden yellow doors to turn onto my street. When I say street, I mean another unmarked dirt road. I get off my bike and start walking. I remember from the previous thunderstorm that the roads are hard to bike on because they're soft. I walk my bike close to the right side of the road so I can have a better glimpse of the golden yellow gates with my wimpy bike light. It's still sprinkling and the thunder and lightening are coming back. Great. Searching. Searching. Searching. I'm used to riding this section, so I have no grasp on how soon it will be while walking. It's seriously probably only a quarter mile from the main road, but it's pitch black and I'm walking, so I have minimal spatial awareness. People walk by saying "bonsoir" like we aren't in the middle of a thunderstorm and I politely respond with "bonsoir" even though it is NOT a "good evening." Closer lightening. I really don't like lightening. I'm not used to it in California, so being outside during a thunderstorm terrifies me, the girl on a road river, pushing her metal bike. Real smart, Kathleen.

I am starting to freak out because I cannot seem to find my golden yellow landmark. More lightening. I pass an overhang area and consider stopping and staying there and wait for another storm to pass, but change my mind and decide to push forward. I hit a large intersection of road rivers. I must have gone too far. I turn around and head back. I see the overhang again and consider stopping, but another person wishes me "good evening" and I begrudgingly keep moving. I see doors to my left and I literally walk right up to them with my light. Yep, yellow. It had looked red before with my dumb wimpy bike light. I also see a bunch of unfamiliar trees, but I turn anyway. Sure enough, there's the small opening in the wall to my host family's house. Made it!

I open the house doors and my host brother stops watching the World Cup match and says my name, as he's the first one to see me. I immediately say bonsoir like I'm supposed to, even though it is NOT a good evening, and my host parents come out from the kitchen area. My immediate reaction is to apologize profusely because that's my automatic instinct as an American. I should apologize for being late and for the worry I've caused my family. Before I can begin my French apology, my host mom walks out with a look I will never forget. Burkinabe people are always happy and smiling. So, when she walked out with a worried and sad face, I didn't know what to do with myself. I just said I was fine, "ca va aller?" and I need to take a bath. Everyone laughed. Ca va aller is a big joke to us trainees because anytime we say that we get food poisoning, or our bike break or whatever other hardship is happening, our trainers and host families almost always say, "ca va aller," which essentially means "c'est la vie" or that's life, everything is fine. And, I'm definitely shaken up, but everything is fine!

This is another one of those emotionally scarring moments where there's potential to change your perspective indefinitely. I didn't break down during or after the terrifying episode of being in a thunderstorm in the dark. I'm proud of myself, not because I didn't break down, but because I know that I can do this. I can be a Peace Corps Volunteer. We all have moments that make us question whether or not we can finish out our service, but I figure if I can live through an ordeal like that on my 10th day in country, then I can be ready for anything else that comes at me.

Needless to say, I no longer plan to be out after dark for the rest of staging, even though we're allowed to. I'll of course make exceptions for celebrations like July 4th, but in those cases I'll have friends to help me home. 

My bruised hip, knee and ego wish you bonjour in California and bonsoir here in Burkina!