The following is another excerpt from the story of our travels to Burkina Faso. Read along as we brave the Metro in Paris, become red with African Dust in Burkina Faso, and climb rickety ladders to reach rooftops. Our intent? To learn more about Earth Roofs in the Sahel and to see for ourselves the life-changing effect of this program. If you’re reading for the first time, you can see the other entries here.

Last time I wrote, we were barreling down the road in our 4×4, stirring up the dust. And we do reach our destination, just after midday.

But first we have a little adventure that involves the car stalling as we go over a speed bump and then not starting again. We all jump out, I admittedly thinking, fun! and hang around uselessly as Suri, the driver, pours water on the engine to try to cool it off. Or something. He does something with water.

We look around us. The sun is high in the sky and all around are the short trees and bushes and earth that make up the landscape all the way to the horizon. People ride by on bicycles. We are not in sight of any village, and it is absolutely still.

And then along come a few men with a donkey and a cart. The cart is filled with wood and the little strong donkey is diligently pulling it along. Suri calls to them, and we aren’t sure at first what he will ask, until the two younger men begin pushing the car. Zalissa helps as well, and we hover around uselessly again.

The car pop starts and we are on our way again.

Boromo. A town in the western half of Burkina Faso, it is home of the headquarters of Association La Voûte Nubienne in Burkina Faso. As we drive into town, our eyes try to get their fill. It looks like the other towns we have seen, but bigger. There are stands on the side of the road with merchants selling food and goods, and women wearing colorful clothing add splashes of reds, yellows, and blues to the earthy brown scene of dirt roads and earth brick buildings.

We turn down a couple of streets and pull up to the home of Séri Youlou, co-founder of AVN. Séri’s sister, Tené, is standing out front, and greets us with a welcoming smile. She is lovely, and not only is she Séri’s sister, but Thomas’ sister-in-law. Thomas is married to the sister of his longterm friend and business partner, Séri, and the ties between this family are strong. He was sad not to join us on this trip, staying in Paris with his wife who was about to have their second child, but sent his love to his extended family.

Soon we are in the midst of a bustling, laughing group of people. The French architects, Gaelle and Laure, are here, and different members of the Youlou family. Soon our translator joins us, and it’s a little like we’ve been wearing sunglasses in the dark and are now able to take them off. Moctar is from Mali, and generously took time to come and help us understand and be understood.

The compound of vaults that make up the AVN offices and the Youlou home are elegant and lovely. I shade my eyes and look up, noticing the detail of small triangular cutouts around the top edges of the buildings. When we put our bags inside, the rooms are cool, despite the heat outdoors. Directly across the street is a small hotel in the VN style.

The first thing we do is walk over to Séri’s courtyard to greet his father. By custom, visiting guests will greet the elder of the community, and we all shake his hand. We also meet Séri’s mother. I should mention that during our travels in Burkina Faso, the love and respect for the eldest of the community was something that always impressed and touched me. As a crowning touch during a visit in a village, we would be introduced to the elderly mother or father, with great pride and affection. It was always an honor.

We sit down in the shade to rest for a while, drinking Coke and Fanta which taste better than any normal soda. They are magically cold on a hot day. Moctar begins to read our itinerary, the one that Thomas put together so that we would not have any wasted time on our trip. “Five days is not enough” is something we heard over and over. But our ten day total journey was pretty much the limit for what we could spend away from our families, and so five days was going to have to cut it. Thomas wrinkled his brow and fit as many villages into our tour as he possibly could, telling us, “You can sleep afterwards.”

As Moctar translates the English document into Djoula, a common West African language, everyone’s eyebrows slowly go up. They look at us and smile. “This is a lot,” Moctar translates for Séri. “We will do it, but this is a lot.” Okay. Here we go.

But first, we will have lunch.

Oh, it is probably the best part of being in Burkina Faso, sitting around the table with the Youlou family, listening to the banter that we can’t always understand but still seems hilarious. It is such a paradox, really. This group of people, affluent by Burkina standards, would still be considered poor in America. Or at least, oppressed by their circumstances. Their well dries up for several months a year. Water is a precious resource here, and it is not piped in across thousands of miles. They simply have to walk farther, find a different well.

And yet, and yet. The kindest, happiest people I have ever met, every bit of their hardworking lives is met with humor and banter. A hard life is lightened by the joy of being together. And so these times around the table were so much more than eating. They symbolized a life of joy, to me. Generosity, as the best food was brought out for guests they had never met. Community, which alleviates poverty by bringing true wealth: the love of family.