Have you tried calling Burkina Faso lately? Probably not, unless your boyfriend is at a conference in Ouagadougou, like mine is. We set an appointment for a 10:00 a.m. call on Saturday. I fixed a pot of tea and started dialing at 10:05.

To place the call, I first dial 1 and a 10-digit number of our international calling service. Then I dial 3 digits for an international call, the 3-digit country code for Burkina Faso, and the 6-digit number of the hotel E is staying at. On my first attempt, I hear a half-ring, a tone, and a woman's voice (American accented) saying, "We're sorry, all circuits are busy now. Please try your call again later."

Minor obstacles like this are not unexpected when one phones Africa. I dial again, and again, and again, and after 25 times I remember how to program the first 10 digit number into the memory of our telephone. I still have to dial the hotel's phone number (there are 3 possibilities) the old-fashioned way. I sit at the table and read the City Paper and with my right hand I dial, and I dial, and I dial.

Thirty minutes later, one of my attempts is not interrupted by a tone. It's ringing! I feel a sense of triumph, abruptly snuffed out when the African man on the other end picks up and says, "Bon jour, Hotel _______."

French. In my eager anticipation of this call, I forgot they would speak French. I don't know French.* But I'm an American, so I plow on bullheadedly in English: "Room ___, please." There is a pause, then the man repeats himself, "Bon jour, Hotel _______." I'm an American, so I say the room number louder, because that will help him understand, right? But I don't think it works, because he sets down the phone without a word and walks away. I hear him speaking to a woman in French, then I just hear a radio playing music softly in the background.

"Hello? Hello?!?!" I shout. I wait, desperate for this call to go through, but after a few minutes I hang up. I am about to cry from sheer frustration but I tell myself to be strong, and I consult Entre Amis, the beginning French textbook I checked out of the library last week. I sit down at the table, and I dial, and I dial, and I dial. I take a little break and try once more; then I discover a message from my boyfriend in Ouagadougou, who called (apparently effortlessly) to make sure everything was all right, and got directed to voicemail, because I was on the other line, trying to call him. I actually start crying at this point.

Twenty minutes and dozens of attempts later, the blessed ringing finally starts again. I am beside myself with joy, and armed with Entre Amis. "Bon jour, Hotel _______." "Bon jour," I say, "Je ne parle pas de francais. Parlez-vouz anglais?" I am greeted with silence, then: "Bon jour, Hotel _______." Either there is some kind of delay on our transatlantic phone line, or he cannot understand my kindergarten-level French. I'm paying almost a dollar a minute for this call; I have no time to waste. My finger marking my place on page 8, I get to the point: "Deux - zero - sept." I forget to say "S'il vous plait." He says -- and I could kiss him with gratitude -- "Wait. Don't hang up." And he puts me through, giving me no time to wonder why his English was so bad before and so good now.

*I took a semester of French in college, and I do remember how to say one thing: "Avez-vous des animaux domestique? Poisson rouge? Souris blanche?" It means: "Do you have any pets? Goldfish? White mice?" I've cracked up many a Frenchman with this great icebreaker.