What men wear

The men here dress in a huge variety of clothes - ranging from something like a western suit (those will be the ones who work in air conditioned offices)to outfits which, to the untutored eye, resemble pink frilly pyjamas.

The smartest people I have come across yet are those who work in the banks. I haven't been into a bank for a long time, because the most practical way to get money is from a cash dispenser (when it's working). Withdrawing money over the counter usually involves at least one long queue. A well ordered queue, mind you. It's not always easy to tell which booth has the shortest queue, because people don't necessarily stand in line; the system, as I eventually found out, is that you enquire as to who is last in the queue when you arrive, and then you just follow that person. Same thing for paying the electric or water bill. Occasionally people attempt to queue-jump and this is not well regarded. Queuing in banks is not unpleasant, as they are usually pleasantly cool (air-conditioned, except in a power cut) and with some seating. Not so everywhere.

Anyway, in the early days when I was waiting the several weeks for my bank card to be ready, and so frequenting the inside of banks, I was struck by how smartly dressed, in a western style, the bank employees were. Suits, shirts etc.

Public figures, such as the Ministers who have been conspicuous as patrons of various benevolent activities in the run up to the election, vary their dress between western suits and traditional outfits - they may turn up in a long tunic, worn over matching trousers, made of the local bazin. Village chiefs also vary in their approach, but tend, in my limited experience, to include at least one traditional element. For everyday work and play, young men will tend towards jeans, with perhaps a polo shirt or a short-sleeved cotton shirt of either western or traditional fabric - but may turn up from time to time in printed or embroidered brightly coloured matching shirt and trousers. For footwear - it could be flip-flops, trainers, or leather shoes - usually leather or pseudo-leather shoes if it's a western suit.

Sports kit - shorts, shirts, tracksuits, baseball caps - especially those for the popular footballers Drogba and Eto'o - are much favoured by the young too, and regarded as smart. T-shirts and polo shirts abound, and there are many examples of what must be discarded corporate wear from other countries. And, of course, as it has been election time, the t-shirts and baseball caps carrying pictures and slogans supporting Blaise Compaore which are a regular part of electioneering.

Older men tend to the traditional boubou - long tunic over trousers, often but not always a plain colour. Sometimes - generally I think among Muslims - this is accompanied with a cap. Professional men, such as doctors, psychologists, accountants, generally wear western style trousers with a short - or as it gets slightly less hot - long-sleeved shirt - but again may turn up from time to time in traditional dress of one sort or another.

And there are a few who wear ties, which seems a strange form of penance in this heat. Apart from the bank employees, I have seen ties on a waiter in an aspirational restaurant - tied so short it reminded me of rebellious schoolboys - and on a few officials. Ties are seen as exotic - for one of the recent festivals, one of the young men of the neighbourhood had got his hands on a tie; not knowing how to tie it (not part of the ritual of growing up here to learn that)he turned up on my doorstep for advice. I was of course happy to oblige - long time since I tied a tie for anyone! Anyway, he was pleased with the result, and considered it very 'cool' - probably the second or third most common English expression here (after bye-bye and weekend).

For special occasions, such as baptisms and marriages, or religious festivals, most men will wear traditional bazin outfits, and very fine they look too. Occasionally, as for the cinquantennaire of the school in Bobo, they will wear clothes made from specially printed pagne fabric. For burials, which are often held the day of death, it's come as you are if you get the text message in time.

And then, wandering around Bobo, there are several men (whose mental state is in some doubt)who wear either just a few rags, or absolutely nothing at all... They are well known local characters, showing little regard for either traffic or people. Perhaps they are the coolest of all?

For more pictures of what men, and boys (and some women) wear, follow this link:
http://picasaweb.google.com/111172062905554064052/WhatMenWear?authkey=Gv1sRgCLvLy7fLlYLWPw#

When a door opened

In September 1960, at the beginning of the school year, a 19 year old newly qualified teacher arrived in the village of Biba, towards the north of Burkina Faso (then Upper Volta).

His task - to open the first school there, for which he had a 3 room building - also to be his home - and a lorry-full of combined desks and chairs. Before then, the only way to get an education was to travel every week, on foot or by bicycle, to the small town of Toma, some 9 kilometres away, and stay with friends or relatives. Unsurprisingly, few children went; most stayed at home and played their part in the local economy, minding sheep and goats and helping out in the fields at busy times such as planting and harvest. So the teacher's first task was to persuade local families to send their children to the school. Quite a challenge, given that he was a Mooré- speaking Mossi - so different ethnicity, different language from the local Samo (ethnicity and language). It took some time, but he enlisted the help of local community leaders, and was ultimately successful. He integrated well into the local society, marrying a local girl. This first teacher only stayed a year, but the fruits of his labour, and of those who followed him, are abundantly clear. He laid firm foundations - 50 years on, the alumni include plenty of people educated to university level, with enough skill, energy and commitment to organise a 'cinquantennaire' for the school. Just a few of the huge number of local people for whom doors have been opened by education. I was privileged to attend this event. Why? Because among the leading lights of the organising committee were the Secrétaire Permanente of the Association where I work and her brother. When the members of the organising committee were at school, 2 classes were taught in each of the 3 classrooms, making up the 6 classes of the primary education system. Today, there is a second, larger, primary school, and a secondary school, and the promise (this is election year) of a fully-fledged lycée which would enable students to study locally up to Baccalaureate level.

The whole event was quite an organisational feat. We travelled from Bobo in a specially chartered bus, which had started its life as a USA school bus (a Blue Bird, made in Georgia, for those of you who are bus-specialists). Laden with Bobo-dwelling Biba-ites, and sacks of rice and other presents, we travelled a couple of hours up a good tarmac road to Dédougou, stopping only, on the outskirts of Bobo, for fuel, bananas and other roadside snacks, then another couple of hours on a 'red' (ie unsurfaced) road of varying quality to Toma, where we made a brief stop for the driver to do a spot of shopping before winding the last few kilometres to Biba. There was a great atmosphere on the bus - mainly adults with just a couple of kids, as most had left their kids in school in Bobo. Lots of joking and joshing, and adjusting of the overladen luggage racks.

In Biba we stayed in the family village house, fascinating in its own right. People here don't really live in their houses - though they often sleep in them. They live in the courtyard outside, which is where they cook, eat, and chat.
So a small house can be home to quite a large number. Hard, with the great influx, to be sure quite how many in this case, but it makes for flexibility. The village was wonderfully peaceful after the hubbub of Bobo - a few animal noises and only the odd bit of amplified music, quiet lanes between vegetable gardens, lined with distinctive granaries. We washed in an open-roofed but entirely discreet enclosure, supplied with a large bucket of hot water, and a great view of granaries, sky and at night stars (under which we slept for a while).

For the ceremony, special cloth had been ordered, and special t-shirts. The cloth was made up by individual tailors in any number of designs and patterns, which gave great interest and variety. The 'hostesses', who escorted the dignitaries around, wore a fetching mix of traditional Samo pagnes and sashes with specially printed t-shirts.






The ceremony consisted of a series of speeches by visiting dignitaries, and some singing and dancing and performance by schoolchildren and musicians - with the costumes a real feast for the eyes. And lots of applause of course!
And surrounding it all, lots and lots of formal and informal eating (rice, a kind of bean/lentil from the Baobab tree, pieces of sheep, to (a paste made from maize or millet) and various sauces, pieces of chicken and guinea fowl...

That afternoon, there was community dancing - colourful, but very dusty,so we did not stay long. Between the various formal events there was time to explore the village, and see people making dolo (millet beer), working metal, and carrying on village life. The next day, there was a 'community meal' at which all the Biba returnees ate together, before embarking on their various journeys home to their various locations.

After 2 nights in Biba we headed back to Bobo in the bus, this time laden with sacks of beans, chickens, and a goat on the roof. And arrived safely back, tired but with loads of pictures and memories... Arriving back in the flat, the noise of the street and the town was striking - I can see why the Bobolais enjoy their trips back to the village. And my word, how enormously education can change individual lives.

To see more pics of this outing, follow these links:
http://picasaweb.google.com/111172062905554064052/BibaTheJourney?authkey=Gv1sRgCJLywqqqgMLV2QE#

http://picasaweb.google.com/111172062905554064052/BibaTheVillage?authkey=Gv1sRgCNKCpPqz5OTtJA#

http://picasaweb.google.com/111172062905554064052/BibaTheCeremony?authkey=Gv1sRgCJnNga3CpLCH0QE#

The fate of the sheep

Bobo is filling up with sheep. By the roadside, on patches of open ground, small and larger flocks of sheep are appearing, each one with a minder or two. Because next week is Tabaski, the ‘fête du mouton’, the biggest festival in the Muslim calendar, when the non-sacrifice of Isaac by Abraham is celebrated. And for the fête, everyone has to have their mouton, so of course prices are on the up – dramatically so.

Flocks of sheep cross the roads, even the busy dual carriageway, and traffic slows down. Beside the road, individual negotiations take place, and sometimes a sheep or two is carried off on a moto, all in high spirits.

Tabaski is a national holiday – ‘jour ferié’. So, the day before, people work a ‘journée continue’ with no lunch break, and finish at 2pm. Tabaski is printed in red on various calendars, some showing it as the 16th and some as the 17th. Uncertainty reigned until there was an announcement on the radio last Thursday (less than a week to go) confirming the fête for Tuesday 16th.

All this causes some problems for those trying to programme events and activities – which is our major preoccupation at work at the moment, as due to various delays, we have to get some 50+ events in before the end of December. One of our major funders insisted that we plan their launch event in the week15-20 November – and that no events take place before the launch. We had envisaged an earlier launch date – originally early November, and then we had planned for the 12th – and so several events, carefully organised to coincide with various market days, have had to be re-planned. And not a good week to choose really, as the 16th and 17th, possible holidays, were ruled out, and the days before or after a major holiday are not good either – so to cut a very long story short we will now be launching on the Saturday. I have lost count of how many different versions of the programme there have been!

Even government is not immune – there are elections imminent, and a local Minister had called a big rally for the 16th (presumably he thought the fête would be the 17th) which has also had to be rearranged – stadium booking, buses to carry supporters, and presumably some food to entice them along…

As well as being good news for sheep traders, the holiday is big business for fabric sellers and tailors, because many people, especially children, have new outfits – often in the beautiful local bazzin fabric – which has a self-pattern and is dyed in a range of wonderful colours, and starched and beaten to achieve a polished effect. So it should be a feast for the eyes as well as the stomach. Watch this space, there may be pics!