Christmas, New Years, and My Resolution to Never Eat Again

For Christmas most of the girls and women (both Muslim and Christian) all got their hair done. I decided I should get hair done as well so I bought mesh (fake hair) and asked my friend Antoinette to tress (braid) my hair as well. Four and a half somewhat painful hours later it was finished. My hair looked great! During the day my head felt fine; it was not until I went to bed that first night, which I thought I may just die. It felt like my scalp was on fire or else it was on a bed of nails. The whole time I was thinking why in the world anyone would put themselves through this torture. They had to me masochists! I wanted to just cut off all of my hair. But to ease myself I kept on saying, “Beauty is pain. Beauty is pain. Beauty is pain.” I was not able to fall asleep for the longest time. About 330 in the morning I finally fell asleep—I went to bed at 8, mind you. I think my scalp either went numb or I fell asleep from exhaustion. Probably a combination of the two. The second night my scalp still hurt but it was a little less painful. After day 5 I could sleep with ease. Now whenever anyone in my village sees me they comment on how I have gone “African.” I laugh and say that we do this in America as well. I like my hair so much that I may do it once or twice more before the end of my service here. Crazy.
For my birthday, which also just happens to be Christmas, my friend’s family had bought a rooster several months back and have been fattening it up for me. They were surprised when I declared that I, alone, wanted to kill the rooster. When the moment came to kill the poor chap they handed me the knife to do it with. The knife, of course, probably had the sharpness of a butter knife. Needless to say, the rooster died and long and probably very painful death—considering I was a novice working with a butter knife. I then de-feathered the rooster and gave it to Mohammed to cut for me. The rooster was quite tasty! To celebrate my birthday with my friend’s family I baked death by chocolate fudge brownies and brought small trinkets and candy for the children. Masse’s daughter, Barikissou, turned 4 on the 23rd, so it was kind of like a joint birthday celebration. The day of her birthday I was like, “Barikissou! You’re the big 04 now! You are a big girl now! What do you think?” She didn’t really think anything of it. In Burkina they do not celebrate birthdays here. Your birthday passes like the day before it and the day after it. The majority of the time Burkinabe do not know their birth date, let alone the month they were born or the year. For adults they guess because they were not issued birth certificates(this is especially prevalent in rural villages) and for the children born these days their birth dates are written on the maternity cards but these cards are often put away and forgotten about. Anywhoooo, back to the Christmas day celebrations, it was a very lovely Christmas. Muslims and Christmas alike celebrated, each house hopping with one another. I, of course, house hopped as well with my friends and everyone invited me to their houses. I ate about 10 kilos of meat and twenty five kilos of rice. Every where I went people kept on putting plates of food in front of me. Towards the end I was like, “Please, no more food. My stomach will explode. I am currently 9 months pregnant and. I should be heading to the hospital right now to give birth.” They responded with a “haha” and followed it up with “while I am preparing your plate, you can work your appetite back up.” You know how some people vow to give up chocolate or cigarettes for their New Year’s resolutions, at the end of the night, I seriously considered giving up food.
For New Years Eve I attend a midnight mass that simply amazing, to say the least. There was lots of singing and prayer in the dark church that night--more singing than praying. When it got closer and closer to midnight the singing got louder and louder and the people got more animated. About 10 minutes before midnight everyone lit candles, illuminating the once dark church, while at the same time singing and dancing. I was able to snag a seat near front and to look back towards the back of the church with the candles and dancing ringing in the New Year is an experience I will never forget. Last year, being my first experience with New Year’s Eve mass, I was not prepared with all of the dancing and candle holding (swaying wildly). The whole time I was thinking, “Watch the hair. Watch the hair.” This year I let loose and participated in the dancing and candle swaying.