Karite

Karite is the little round fruit, green outside and sweet yellow inside, that hides a shiny brown nut used to make shea butter.  The riper the fruit, the sweeter and yellower the flesh inside.  I'm told that monkeys love karite and are very disliked by people who want a crop of the yummy fruit because monkeys can only tell which one is ripe by biting each and every one.

I thought the very ripe ones smelled a bit like saur kraut, but, of course, didn't taste like it.  It is possible to eat more than ten of these in one sitting!  Then what's left is a lot of brown seeds.  I think they make shea butter by drying, frying, and grinding the seeds.  Adama remembers a childhood game he played, in which each contestant chose his best seed (from all he had eaten!) and threw it at his opponent's seed in an attempt to crack the slippery round thing without getting his own seed cracked.   


When Adama went to buy some clothes recently, the shop keeper brought out a long traditional robe, called a boubou, that Muslim men wear when they go to pray.  He was like, "but that's Muslim." and the shopkeeper was like "You're not Muslim?"  He says, "No, I'm Christian."  The shopkeeper was so surprised.  Hardly a day goes by without someone being surprised that Adama isn't Muslim.  They say it's his beard that makes them think that way.  This is the month of Ramadan, when those who don't usually grow a beard, grow a beard; and those who don't usually wear a boubou, wear a boubou. 

Baby in Burkina 2

The baby is gaining lots of weight right now.  Women are quick to ask "Do you have enough milk?"  Yes; the credit might not be due any certain food, but the advice went that way.  The first miracle food was millet porridge; it is simple, good, and eaten in great quantity.  Then one day I found sesame seeds - about two kg of raw sesame seeds - washed and drying in the sun.  What were we going to do with all those sesame seeds?   Eat them, of course!  By the handful if we want to.  I've also enjoyed them on yogurt or fruit.

As far as prohibited items, I was told not to drink cold water, although that is a guideline I haven't followed.  Peanuts and beans make sense to avoid... but we were advised that mangoes also cause stomach aches for the baby, and that's when I got really sad.  We're right in mango season!  I still want to test that one, cause I'm not sure that it's true. 

People like to offer one thing for baby gifts: soap.  Soap is the thing; bars of soap in quantity.  On Sunday, women came after church to offer us ten bars of soap.  That afternoon, Adama's mother called to say that her coworker gave ten bars of soap.  Added to what the neighbors and the pastor's wife gave, we now have 41 bars of soap.  Well, babies do make a lot of laundry and baths! 

The weather is cooling down, which helps us sleep well in the morning (especially when the baby has been wide awake for the first half of the night.)  We had rain last night, and this is the first day I would say has been pleasantly cool.  Now we'll be dealing with mud rather than dust.  And Adama said that  now people will use less perfume - ha ha!  The rainy season is here!

Baby in Burkina

It's been awhile, but I have an excuse.  An excuse that cries, eats - a lot, - sleeps on his own schedule and makes a lot of laundry; you guessed it, a baby!  It's hard to believe that Phinehas John is already a month old.  As for new experiences, his arrival has given ample opportunity for those.  Learning how to care for a baby is itself full of ups and downs, as all parents know.  But for me it is very challenging learning to care for a baby in alien surroundings and among a people who do things differently - both physically and emotionally - than what I learned while watching my own mother as I grew up in the United States.  

Unlike many foreigners who give birth abroad, I have an insider's view of Burkinabe methods of child raising, and I'm proud of that.  I have the opportunity to learn this way because my husband is Burkinabe and because of how we live. Also, my husband's mother came from Bobo Dioulasso the very evening of Phinee's birth, and was here for 11 days, so I got to know how she does things.  
What a relief it was to rest and leave the housework and errands to my husband and mother-in-law. Most of those weeks was wonderful - hearing them converse in Dioula (I like the sound of that language); watching and learning some more from a real African cook, housewife, and mother; having someone besides just the three of us during the tough moments.

There were also the challenges, ones that sometimes made me think, "hey, I'm the mom here, shouldn't I know best?" 

It is a grace of God that I didn't loose my temper during those first weeks.  I was able to keep my cool because I realized that babies all over the world are raised in many different ways, and most of them do, in fact, survive.  During the years of my own cerebral development, I looked on as my mother dealt with one-track minds that wanted to instruct her.  The thing is, there are many vastly different commentaries that all claim to be the only way to do something.  And I saw my mother take the best of many of them, mixing them with her own style.  Now that was within one culture.  Go across the ocean to a culture reluctant to accept change and get the commentaries of experienced women there... you can only imagine. 

My mind track: "Did you really just blow in his ears?!?"  "Seriously, do I have to eat all this millet porridge."  (Actually, it's good, it was just like a whole pot full to be consumed at once.)  "Yikes!!! aren't you hurting him with that nice, African-style massage?" (photo: one of those first massages/bath times) "You put that much powder on, really?   I thought it was best used sparingly.  Well, okay, that one makes sense because it's so hot here." "Right, it's so hot here; so why wrap him up?"

I held the baby as was comfortable and worked best for nursing him (and yes, my mother held me that way!) but apparently it wasn't okay with some older women who were watching. 

The worst thing was probably the medicines.  The baby was prescribed some medicine after he was circumcised.  Okay, yes, it's painful...  but then he also got a stomach ache, and they wanted to give him more medicine.  I was scared about that, because I thought babies should avoid medicine if possible.  And giving him sleep medicine?  Let's not.  And for myself: was I taking too long to heal up?  No, but apparently I still should take like three different things for itching, and another one for bleeding.  Since it seems like Burkinabe children are traditionally raised to be tough and strong in other ways, I am surprised that medicines are given quickly. 

So while there were the moments I wanted to yell "babies are raised differently elsewhere!!" I couldn't because, well... because babies are raised differently elsewhere.  And it was my time to learn the difference just in case I found something good - or necessary in this climate.

Now that my mother-in-law is gone, I miss her help (and her delicious fish soup!)  The Bible is right; there is a time for everything.  I challenge myself to enjoy (or at least tolerate) each thing as it comes.  As life continues, especially with a baby, I realize that those things come and pass on very quickly.