Bye bye Bobo

A week ago today I left Bobo - for the last time at least for the foreseeable future. It wasn't easy to dismantle my flat - amazing how much stuff I had managed to accumulate over a year. Various people came round to 'help' - neighbours and some of the local children who have been regular fixtures on my balcony. This did not always speed things up. Friends and neighbours were not shy in asking for things they thought I might be leaving behind - I had several offers for my velo, for which a home - which I hope will turn out to be a good one - had already been found. Requests for sheets, kitchen equipment, and my 'shaky torch' - which needs no batteries and is invaluable in power cuts. Also a number of enquiries after items which belong to VSO, so were not mine to give away. Most requested of all? The blue plastic garden chairs - which were mine - and which I could have rehoused several times over. One has gone to Martin, the neighbourhood night watchman, who has been sitting on it every night for months now. The whole experience was a bit reminiscent of leaving student accommodation - not something I have done for a while. But unlike similar removals in the UK with which I have helped out more recently, almost nothing went in the bin, just a bit of packaging - a home and a use was or will be found for everything. That in itself is satisfying, I had no feeling of waste.

Sida Ka Taa arranged a lovely leaving do for me, with music, speeches, a little dancing and much merriment. And filmed it all, including my attempt at a thank you speech in French (leaving speeches not being my strong point at the best of times...) - which I will spare you! The rest of my departure arrangements were a bit haphazard, as the time coincided with a bit of unrest among the military in Burkina, and a few nights of curfew, which rather cut across some of my plans, although we managed to squeeze in a get-together of most of the Bobo volunteers. I'm glad to see that the unrest now seems to have settled down again, with Burkina returning to the peace which is usually one of its hallmarks.

Despite all this, during my last week many dear friends called round with kind words and thoughtfully chosen presents, which was very moving. There are lots of people I will miss,including some of my favourite young visitors with their fantastic smiles almost guaranteed to brighten the day and - when necessary - lift my mood.

But the quantity of kids knocking at the door and asking for water (at least) has gone up dramatically in recent weeks, and the last couple of days started at 6.30am - which I would have had to do something about were I not leaving!

The weather, which for the first half of the month had been kind for April, cranked up a gear, bringing back memories of my arrival, and increasing the allure of Europe!

Anyway, by this time last week I had crammed everything I hoped to bring home into some capacious bags, and abandoned the rest, with stalwart help from Kris (recently arrived volunteer at SKT)- BIG thanks to Kris for her support with this).

Distributed the final heap of toy cars, sweeties and pens to the kids. Hauled the stuff into the taxi of Ismael, one of our favourite trustworthy taximen, for the final journey to the TCV bus station. TCV are usually very punctual, but this time - perhaps due to the disruption caused by the curfew - set off for Ouaga 20 minutes late. I could have done with their usual punctuality, because there was a delegation of half a dozen people from SKT to wave me off and wish me well - so more emotional farewells - and by this stage I was ready to leave.

And then the now-familiar 5 hour bus journey to Ouaga, during which I managed to doze a bit - less than sometimes, as the soap opera featured a character called Hélène, the name I have answered to for the last year - which kept waking me up! The landscape, which a year ago looked so strange, now familiar; the mid-way stop at Boromo, where sellers of cold drinks, sesame snacks with all the vitamins A-Z, apples, eggs and the delicious local bread bombard the bus, now routine. And so to Ouagadougou, and another farewell drink, this time with some Ouaga-based volunteers old and new (an afternoon get together, because of curfew - thanks all) and a multi-lingual chat. We met in the surroundings of Nong Taaba, where I spent my first night in Burkina Faso. When I arrived last year, I was the first non-Canadian VSO volunteer - now the group includes members from half a dozen countries - to all of them, and to the VSO staff who bid me goodbye the following day, and to my colleagues and friends I wish success and happiness - and above all peace for Burkina Faso.

Full Circle

Well, it really is a year since I arrived in Burkina, and the year has turned full circle. So it seems has the blog! As I think I may have mentioned, mangoes are back - along with all sorts of ingenious devices for getting them out of the trees. Flowers which I had forgotten, but now remember, are out again. The yellow and black Village Weaver birds are back too. And of course it is getting hot. There are some advantages to this - the water comes out of the single tap in the kitchen at a pretty good temperature for doing the washing up now. Not quite so good for rinsing(as opposed to poaching) salad - I have to leave the water to cool down for a bit, and/or add a few ice cubes. After months of close observation, I now have better techniques for preventing the flat from overheating (thick towels draped over curtains at strategic times in strategic places). And I have discovered the joys of iced tea, which makes a refreshing addition to the range of cold drinks available - along with Tamarind, Bissap, Ginger etc.

Having experienced all the seasons, I think I like December best - sun which it is a pleasure to be in, slightly chilly in the evening - even occasionally requiring a light cardigan or wrap. Then again, I did quite enjoy the storms of the rainy season, except when it flooded the office, penetrated the desk drawers and all our paperwork turned pale brown... Not so keen on the Harmattan, when the dust gets everywhere, even between the teeth. Or the thunderstorms which fry computers, although they are quite dramatic otherwise - the storms, that is, not the computers.

But April - well, I stand by the opinion that this is not the best month to arrive in Burkina Faso, but perhaps a good month in which to leave.

More fun and games...

‘Les Masques’ are important symbols in Burkinabè culture, both as objects and as beings. I saw a fine collection in the National Museum in Ouaga, and have seen one or two elsewhere, but until recently had never had the chance to see them in action. So I was highly delighted with two opportunities to see the masks ‘come out’ (sortir) over the last couple of weekends – one in the old town here in Bobo, and the other in Pala, a village not too far away.





















The occasion in the Old Town was funerary – the anniversary of the death of a senior Griot. Griots are a mix of court jester, musician, town crier, story-teller – usually in support of a traditional ruler. The custom here is for burial the day of death or the day after, accompanied by a sombre ceremony, and then a celebration one and/or several years later. The masks came out on 2 successive days, a Saturday and Sunday, in a well-organised and highly popular public event. The space in the Old Town was absolutely packed, with people sitting on wall and roof tops and perched in trees as well as cramming the semi-official seating. Hot, sweaty but fantastic atmosphere – not far off a friendly football crowd. The space in the middle was kept clear by officials with mean looking whips – I took care not to find out how mean. Musicians – different drums, flute – played, and the figures came running in, doing somersaults and other acrobatics.

The following weekend, at Pala, a small village just outside Bobo, there was again a massive gathering – the village was heaving.
The festival went on all day, with at least 3 performances, and some mysterious bits in between which women were not allowed to watch (so we were temporarily accommodated in a small room with not much by way of windows) and intervals for eating, of course, and drinking of Dolo (millet beer). Masks came, on foot, from Bobo to join the local ones; just outside the village, along the route, young men were practising gymnastics and acrobatics with impressive displays of jumping and turning. Lots of laughing and clapping, mock-fights but general good humour and free entertainment.

Impressive athleticism and stamina all round! And a new interpretation of “dancing on someone’s grave…”

High Days and Holidays

How time flies when you are having fun... and when you are nearing the end of a year in Africa. Hard to believe it’s so long since the last blog. Each pack of 10 anti-malaria tablets seems to run out quicker than the previous one…

So anyway a quick update on some recent highlights, which have distracted me from blogging:


The first weekend in March I went with some other volunteers to Boromo, the half-way point between Bobo and Ouaga, and renowned for elephants at this time of year. Justly so – a few kilometres into the bush is a purpose-built viewing platform, overlooking a river, where elephants of all shapes and sizes regularly come and disport themselves – and where cold drinks can be obtained while waiting! Luxury indeed. The hotter it gets, the more the elephants come to the river, and who can blame them.




We stayed in a ‘camp’, run by an expatriate Frenchman and his friendly Burkinabe family, reached by donkey cart from the bus station. Not luxurious, but welcoming, clean and comfortable.























March 8th was international women’s day, which is a public holiday here. For a serious reflection on IWD, try Michelle Bachelet. In theory, on this day the men should go to market to do the shopping, and do all the cooking – and this was apparently the case in the time of Thomas Sankara, the previous President. But less so now; I had a quick look around and cannot say that the food markets were flooded with men… It is chiefly marked, as so much else here, by fabric – each year there is a special fabric printed, and those women who can afford it have a new outfit.

This year’s fabric came in 2 colour-ways, brown and green, as modelled by two ladies from one of our partner charities. The Centre Culturel Français put on a show of the fabric from several previous years too.

The following weekend I went with some friends to the beach. Ah, but Burkina is land-locked, I hear you say… Well, the local beach is by the river, in a patch of wooded countryside some 15km outside Bobo; it is much loved by locals, and sure enough, full of people demonstrating beach behaviour such as picnics and splashing about in the water – all of course to the ubiquitous soundtrack.














As you can see, I am cramming entertainment into my last few weekends… and Holy Catfish, it is time to start another pack of anti-malarials!

Here comes the rain…

… it’s been a long dry dusty winter… but not cold, not really – although balaclavas and winter coats have been sighted.

This morning at about 5 was the first real rain of the season. It woke me up – breeze in the bedroom, banging in the street, and that sound – yes it really is rain, not just the wind in the trees. My neighbours who were sleeping out in the courtyard hurriedly moved inside. But in general it’s a good time for rain, with not much traffic on the road – with the first rains the roads become really slippery, causing skids and mayhem.

There were a few drops at the weekend, but hardly enough even to make people move indoors. This was the real thing – gusty wind, powerful rain, and that distinctive smell of water hitting the dry ground.

And holy catfish, are we ready for it!! The ground is really dry, everywhere is really dusty – it will take more than one heavy shower to slake the dust of months – the last rain was around late October as far as I recall. It is not the real rainy season yet – these early rains are called ‘la pluie des mangues’, because they are supposed to arrive in time to wash the mangos clean. Which is fine by me. My grandfather reckoned that every meal in the strawberry season without strawberries was an opportunity wasted – and I feel rather the same about mangoes, as you may perhaps have gathered!

With the freshness comes a burst of energy - I need to make the most of that, as the inexorably increasing heat brings lethargy and inertia.

I was wondering whether I would see and feel real rain again before leaving Burkina Faso, and now I have - so with the exhilaration comes realisation that the year has nearly turned full circle, and it will soon be time to go home. But time for a few more blogs before that, so keep watching this space....

New Year Resolutions

You may perhaps think that it is a bit late in the day, or the year, for that, but please bear with me…

Rather than office Christmas parties, the custom here is for ‘Ceremonies de Voeux’, where people get together to party and express their hopes and aspirations for the coming year. Yesterday I was privileged to attend this event for the Union of Cotton Producers, who had chosen as the theme for this year’s gathering issues associated with HIV-AIDS, and so had invited the theatre troupe with whom I work to provide the entertainment. No matter that it is the end of February. Over the last couple of weeks, people have been busy distributing 2011 calendars promoting one thing or another, and indeed I saw a bundle of these being strapped to the back of a moto last night. Just as well, as these calendars are much used (probably much more so than their equivalent in the UK) to check what day it is, plan work and events, etc. Somehow we have muddled through January without them.

Anyway, back to the cotton producers, about 300 of them, mostly men, and wearing some splendid examples of what can be done with local cotton, with an exuberance and pride which is streets ahead of a reindeer pullover…

The Troupe performed their play, with a theme of gender issues in relation to HIV-AIDS, presented humorously. It was well received, as were the interludes of djembe drumming and marionettes (puppetry) in between the speeches about soil enrichment and productivity, and production targets for 2011.

But the highlight, in my view, was the item included at their particular request: how to use a condom. This involves 2 of our well-trained and admirable actors standing on the stage (well, series of plastic mats), in front of this audience, equipped with a specially made wooden demonstration penis and a real condom. On this occasion the actress held the microphone while the actor explained how and where to buy condoms, how to check expiry date, then demonstrated how to open the packet and, holding the demo model tactfully against his lower abdomen, how to apply, and then remove and safely dispose of, the condom. This was followed by an explanation by the actress of how to use a feminine condom – these are much promoted here – but this time without model or example (I think this was a last minute addition to the programme so no kit provided). The audience listened carefully, without the ribaldry and nudging one might expect.

A condom demonstration is a first, in my experience, for an office Christmas Party! Perhaps an inspiration for those looking for ‘something different’ next time round?

Holy Catfish

I think ‘Holy Catfish’ is destined to become my exclamation of choice henceforward. Expressive, suitably obscure, and unlikely to cause offence in English.

On Sunday I went to visit the Poissons Sacrés de Dafra. This is one of the top local tourist treats, and it has taken me a while to get round to it. First it was too hot, then it was too wet, then I was saving it up as a treat for my visitors, and then as it turned out my visitors had too many other treats… Anyway, I decided to fit it in before it gets hot again (well almost before), and before I run out of time (that’s a bit the way I am thinking now) – and easily found some companions for the outing.

You need to know where you are going – it is down a dusty track off an unmade road – not that far from Bobo but taking some 30-40 minutes because of the road conditions. No sign posts, of course – and one could lose heart along the way if not in the company of the knowledgeable. Fortunately, in our taxi, we had 2 well-informed locals (including the driver), as well as 3 adult and 3 child Toubabous ~ so not a whole lot of spare space, even by local standards. Taking care not to wear anything red (which would upset the fish), and carrying plenty of water for the walk, we set off.




The experience was impressive in more ways than one. For a start there’s the dramatic landscape of the canyon, so close to Bobo - where the landscape is, fortunately for cyclists, anything but dramatic. And then it is clearly an active and busy sacrificial site, where those making sacrifices or giving thanks way outnumber the tourists. Sacrifice involves at a minimum a chicken, for major requests or successes a goat, sheep or even ‘boeuf’. The heart of the sacrifice site, where one does not take photos, is covered in feathers. We saw some people drinking the water, and others stripping off and washing in it (neither, on health grounds, to be recommended, in my opinion). Then the fish themselves – some find them ugly, others beautiful, judge for yourself. They are undeniably big, and they are impressive, jostling against each other and against the rocks to secure pole position, and opening wide their substantial jaws for receipt of tasty titbits. They are also not easy to photograph, but I had a go, and hope you can at least partly 'get the picture'.

What did we wish for? Ah, Holy Catfish, that would be telling!