A general view from the new kitchen
We’re debuting renovations at the maternelle.
The kitchen, where Leonie, Odile and Mariette cook for the 300 nursery children, the 25 girls from the unschooled girls project, the 15 street children spending their first year of training at FAR, and the more than 30 personnel who eat here, was originally built in 2008 to attend to 120 children. It had become too small.
Albert Faus, the Laafi Association architect who lives in Koudougou, did the renovations. Many of you know him as the designer of the CIEPYD, Mill and Cyber projects, as well as of the 2011 expansion of the maternelle, when we grew from 240 to 300 children.
The stoves and the court at the back
We’ve converted what was once the classroom for the street boys – an area that was no longer in use – into a kitchen that is not only larger, but that also boasts better ventilation, less heat, and the option of cooking outdoors in a lovely yard.
We took advantage of the space that was the original kitchen to expand the administration area, creating a new office that – while still part of the common area – also has some privacy.
Until now, my office was one more table and chair next to Cristina’s, Sylvie’s and Colette’s. From there I’ve enjoyed the trickle of visits by so many women, who come with their children, to return a microcredit to Sylvie, or bring grades to Colette for the kids who have school scholarships, or to ask Cristina to put them on the waiting list for a bicycle.
A view from my new office
They rarely come alone. Usually they bring one or two children. They peek their heads in and ask permission to enter by clapping their hands together while saying “cococo,” (like “knock, knock).
They greet us and wish us good day or good afternoon (“ne yibeogo”, “ne winiga” or “ne zaabre”). We respond “laafi,” (more or less “with health”). They sit down and offer their child a breast to nurse or suck like a pacifier. Seeing and hearing them, even when I don’t understand them (as few of them speak French) fills me with energy every day.
I love this closeness, and from my new office I will miss them. But some meetings require a space to speak privately. And some issues require ‘silence’ to reflect upon and to carry out. Maybe I’m getting older, or maybe FAR is becoming more complex on a day-to-day basis, but it was getting harder to carry on at my desk amongst the “ne yibeogos”, “ne winigas” and “laafis”.