Blessed (adj;, English): highly favored or fortunate; enjoying the bliss of heaven.
Blessé (adj., French): injured, wounded.
This past month of August has been a somewhat painful one, for both my dignity and my physical wellbeing. I think I have finally succeeded in securing for myself a solid reputation in the Peace Corps, as "He Who Falleth... Often." I had not experienced any difficulties in riding a bike since the age of 6, up until the first week of August. Since then I have been engaged in no less than 7 altercations on (and off) my bicycle. Observe:
Fall 1. Entirely my fault, freely admitted. Doing the "no hands" trick on a rough country dirt road, while listening to my iPod. May have pushed my luck when I turn around in my seat to see if any cars are behind me. Receive a good scrape on my knee and some shallow cuts on an elbow.
Fall 2. Approximately one week later. Also must assume some responsibility here. Pedalling home to village from Ouahigouya WAY too fast at night, because I am late. Again, listening to iPod (starting to believe this may be a bad idea). Hit pothole in road, lose control of bike at full speed, go sprawling, sliding on dirt and gravel for several feet. Both palms sliced to ribbons, as they end up being my principal brakes. Legs unharmed, remarkable as they somehow got tangled up with the bike during the fall. Deep cuts on hands necessitate smothering with gauze for weeks, causing the mocking of peers and fear among Burkinabé (who apparently surmise from my bandages that I have leprosy).
Falls 3, 4, 5 & 6. Roughly 6 days after last fall. Alcohol may or may not have been a major factor. Sleepover at friend's house in Ouahigouya. Imbibe healthy doses of rum and local bissap liqueur (i.e., hooch). Riding back at night from bar, friend and I come upon a large mudpatch in road. Friend swerves abruptly to avoid mudpatch. I swerve abruptly to avoid friend, directly into mudpatch. Bike stalls and keels over. I end up covered in filth and losing a flipflop to the mud. No trace of said footwear ever found again. This initial fall sets off chain reaction of subsequent falls, as mud clogs bike gears and Burkinabé hooch begins to take effect. Make ass of self in front of friend, owe him big time for taking care of me. No iPods were involved in these accidents.
Fall 7. Weeks later. No way in hell is this one my fault. Our last night in Ouahigouya before traveling down to capital to take Peace Corps oath. Excitement levels high, everyone decides to go out to bar to celebrate. Use borrowed bike, as personal bike is already in transit down to capital. Borrowed bike has NO GODDAMN right-hand brake, realized only when desperately trying to stop short to avoid collision. Bike swerves, falls. Again use hands as makeshift brakes, in the process tearing off all of the new skin from previous injuries (had just taken off the gauze earlier that day). Blood gushing from hands, decide there's no way in hell I'm going to the party now, go home to hotel room and re-bandage wounds -- first throwing minor tantrum when assured no one is watching. Drug self liberally with sleeping pills and ibuprofen, call it a night.
Yes, it's official: I hate August. On a positive note, in addition to be very, very blessé for the past few weeks, I can also add that I am truly blessed. Just over one week ago, I took the formal oath to swear in as a volunteer of the United States Peace Corps in front of all my peers, the US Ambassador to Burkina Faso, and several Burkina government officials. I have been living in my new home village for several days, and while the transition has been difficult and nerve-wracking, I am starting to feel like maybe I can do all of this after all. My neighbors are great, and I am throwing myself into learning 3 languages at once so I can better communicate with them. My hands are healing nicely, and I am focused on looking forward.
Final note... To those who are fond of using that familiar cliché, "It's just like riding a bicycle," I respond thusly: "Yes, but what if therein lies the problem?"
15 years ago
