Burkina Faso Archives - Wandering North

Africa Burkina Faso Burkina Faso Trip 2016

The Bazoule Crocodiles

After i returned to Ouagadougou from Pô i had two full days left and little on my agenda of things to see and do, having already wandered around downtown on my previous visit, so i committed to doing some serious relaxing at the guesthouse, which has been lovely. But i did take in a couple of worthwhile things.

On my first day back i hired a taxi to take me to Bazoule, which is about 30 km outside of Ouagadougou and is notable for its small lake teeming with sacred crocodiles. I can’t really comment on their sacred nature, but only on their abundance and fondness for poultry.

We arrived after a pleasant drive through the city and then the countryside. I paid a small admission fee and a bit extra for an ill-fated, live chicken. A man walked me to the lake and sure enough, crocodiles could be seen in the water. We walked to the shore and my guide waved the chicken in the air, causing it to cluck in what i can only assume was fear and some crocodiles came out of the water. (Yes, i felt like kind of a dick for putting the chicken through this turmoil, but i don’t think too many chickens here live long and happy lives anyway, their destinies being sacrifice or supper.)

The guide was not satisfied with these crocs, however, saying they were too small, so we went in search of larger ones. We continued walking and i discovered that there are people living in huts around the lake, notwithstanding that visitors attend there for crocodile viewing.

We wandered off to some greener area where there were bits of water here and there and again the guide called for the crocodiles. This was more unsettling as the crocodiles could have appeared from anywhere around us, but none did.

We walked to the other side of the lake where some men were farming and we summoned a large crocodile from the water. It came on shore and sat there. My guide asked if i would like to touch the crocodile. I nervously asked if it was safe and he said casually, “it is no problem.” Well, good enough then. If the man in flip flops carrying a small wooden stick says it is fine, then it must be. And so i stood astride the crocodile and then nearly sat on it, slightly afraid that it would turn on me. But it did not. As i posed though, another crocodile came out of the water behind me, causing me to leap up and seek safety a few meters away.

I then took the chicken by its feet and tossed it to the large crocodile, who deftly caught it in its jaws and gulped it down whole with a few chews and a swallow. Brutal stuff but quite interesting.

Having conquered the crocodiles, i headed back to the city, stopping for celebratory ice cream (“Americain flavour” aka cookies and cream) en route.

Last night was spent at the guesthouse with a cigar and dinner while enjoying a whole conversation in English with a new guest who had arrived from Ireland.

Today has been similarly leisurely, sans les crocodiles. After breakfast i decided to walk to the Village Artisanal for a bit of shopping. It was a long walk in traffic in the oppressive heat (made longer by my having set off confidently, but in the wrong direction), but the space was lovely. A series of open air shops selling art, textiles, and various crafts, with the people making them often right there. I picked up a few gifts, had a coffee in the shady courtyard, and returned to the guesthouse.

And here i now sit. Hours until my flight to Istanbul and no plans except staying cool and relaxing. My time in Burkina Faso has been perfect. I have enjoyed it and am ready to head off for a couple more stops on the way home.

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Tiébélé: the painted village

I awoke in Pô rested and ready for my reason for being there: to visit Tiébélé. I went out for breakfast: Nescafe, yogurt, and bread, which cost about a dollar. I then met my driver at the hotel, a young guy named Patrice, who spoke no English and wore a knitted scarf in the 40 degree heat. He had a motorbike (and as usual helmets are not available) and we set off. We bounced down the dry and dusty orange streets headed south to Tiébélé past donkey carts, kids headed to school, and women washing clothes with washboards and buckets.

After about 15 minutes we spotted one of the common police checkpoints. Patrice said (in French) “Policeman. It is a problem for me.” And we turned around to take a detour. This is one of those times when my rudimentary French was not enough to clarify the situation. Why were the police a problem? Did he not have ID? Was the moto not registered? Was he wanted for murder? I would never know and simply said “ok”.

Our detour was pleasant, past little villages and large baobab trees, many of which were hung with ropes of sorghum to dry.

We stopped at a little lake and looked at the fields of potatoes, tomatoes, and peppers growing in tidy green rows.

After an hour maybe we arrived in the town of Tiébélé, which is small but had a few shops and cafes. There was a small hut with art and the painter showed me his work, which included pictures of Tiébélé, Che Guevara, and Thomas Sankara.

Patrice and i stopped and had a drink with his brother, who spoke a bit of English, and the the three of us headed to the old village.

Patrice’s brother gave me a tour of the village, which is known for its painted huts, which are covered in symbolic designs representing animist tradition. Geometric patterns, lizards, tortoises, and seeds were common.

The village was designed for protection from enemies and is laid out in a twisty maze, with tiny doorways into the houses to thwart invaders. I learned that round huts were for single people, square huts for married couples, and huts shaped like figure eights were for seniors. I was shown (but not allowed to photograph) the place where sacrifices are made for the village.
I got to go into one hut, which had three rooms, including a kitchen, each separated with tiny portals which one had to crawl through. People live there today and were all quite friendly, particularly the children who handed me peanuts while saying bonjour.

It was all very interesting and worth the journey to get there from Ouagadougou. After the village, we had coffee and took a stroll through the market, where i bought some oranges.

We returned to Pô and i killed time until my bus back to Ouagadougou. I watched some tv with the proprietor of my hotel and had a cigar while making some small talk in Franglais.

The bus ride back was mostly in the dark and was a bit nerve-wracking, as the highway was completely dark and the landscape disappeared. The security checkpoints seemed more ominous and for a while machine gun armed soldiers in full combat gear rode with us through an area known for attacks from bandits.

After about three hours we arrived in Ouagadougou and I made my way back to my hotel, where I fell asleep, too tired for dinner. A long but good day.

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On the Road in Pô

I did something i seldom do anymore, which is i arrived in my destination without a hotel/hostel reservation. I stopped doing this after i arrived in Prague during the jazz festival and found every conceivable accommodation booked aside from the worst hotel in Europe, which did not have a shower but did have a host of bedbugs.

Anyway, i arrived in Pô from Ouagadougou after a very pleasant three hour bus journey. Unlike previous bus trips, this one was not oversold, had highly functioning AC, and i had two seats to myself from which to enjoy the view of dry landscapes, villages, and cotton fields.

Pô is a dusty little town in south Burkina Faso, near the border with Ghana. There is no reason to visit it except that it is the jumping off place to view elephants etc in the Nazinga nature reserve and to see a little village called Tiébélé. I was there for the latter.

I left the bus depot, map in hand with three hotels noted. The first no longer existed, the second was full, but i got a room at the third. The Hotel Tiandora Esperance. It looked like it might have been ok once but now looked like a low rent motel that had barely survived a war. Dusty and broken with piles of garbage and junk. No place to eat or sit really. On the plus side, my room was clean and the AC worked well, also the guy working there, a young guy from Cote d’Ivoire with a slight mohawk, was very nice.

Getting to the hotel was a struggle. My map was a bit wrong and left me in circles on the super dusty roads, walking in a perpetual cloud of dust, like Pig Pen. The streets were mostly empty aside from donkeys, loads of pigs and goats, and lizards on every wall. It was blazingly hot and no shade to be found.

After getting my room though i felt a bit better and set off to wander after i arranged for a moto for the next morning. The town has one paved road through and the rest is just bumpy, dusty side streets. This made it easy to find things and there were a few decent places to eat, including one which had four vegetarian dishes on the menu. A miracle in a place where vegetarian usually means meat with vegetables.

As i didn’t have anything else to do, i walked a lot, checking out the businesses (mostly auto repair shops and hair salons) and people watching. In Pô i seemed to attract more attention that elsewhere i have been in the country. People called out “Nasara” constantly, which means “white woman” in one of the tribal languages. I don’t think it is meant in a derogatory way, as it is often accompanied with a friendly “bon arrivé”, but i don’t care for it. A lot of little kids ran out to say “bonjour” and shake my hand, which was always welcome.

I ate and smoked and napped and walked and smoked some more while finishing my book. There is no internet in Pô. I have been rereading “On the Road” on this trip for the first time since high school. I still like it though i found it sadder than i remember. Teenage me was captivated by the freedom and adventure. This still resonates with adult me, but so does Sal’s on going unhappiness in wondering if that is all there is: uncertainty and the pursuit of “kicks”. Anyway, i finished the book sitting in a chair i dragged outside, and slept well. The next day i was headed for Tiébélé.

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Bus from Banfora, Burkina Faso

I left Banfora for Ouagadougou on the bus. I had hoped to bus to Bobo-Dioulasso and fly the rest of the way but there were no flights on Sunday, so i committed to a bus journey of indeterminate length. The buses here seem to leave punctually but the arrival times are vague. This is due mostly to the great number of security checkpoints, which i understand have increased. About every thirty minutes a couple of machine gun bearing soldiers will either board the bus or haul everyone off the bus to check IDs. No questions are asked. I can’t figure out what they are looking for. So this slowed down the journey a lot.

The bus was crammed with people and about half of the women had babies or toddlers on their laps, including the woman next to me. On the whole ride music and videos were played at a volume that was not extreme, but on the loud side. Decent African music in the more traditional or jazzy vein, as well as contemporary African pop music, accompanied by videos that showed women of all sizes shaking their asses, and men dressed as though they were in early 1990s rap music videos. At one point they showed the movie “Taken” in French, which i quite enjoyed; otherwise i listened to podcasts.

Every time the bus stopped women would appear and flock to the windows, selling fruits, bread, hard boiled eggs, chicken, fish, farina beignets, bags of onions, baguettes, and little sesame snacks. People leaned out of the windows, buying the food and before long the smell of body odour on the bus was replaced by a variety of food smells.

At the only stop long enough take a brief break, i dashed off the bus for the toilet, which was a squat thing which became immersed in total darkness once the door was closed. I’m fairly certain i peed on my own foot.

The seats had no legroom and i spent my time with my knees jammed into the back of the seat in front of me. There was AC, but it barely functioned, so i sat sweating the whole way.

If this all sounds like 9 hours of horror, well, while it was not pleasant, it wasn’t that bad. I was able to relax. The child and woman next to me where quiet. I slept a bit. And like i said, they showed Taken.

I arrived in Ouagadougou just before sunset and hailed a taxi to my hotel (the lovely Chez Giuliana). Once there i showered vigorously and had a vegetarian pizza delivered (as there are no restaurants in the immediate vicinity). I ate my pizza and enjoyed two cigars under the stars in courtyard before falling asleep. The next day i would be back on the bus.

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Burkina Faso Village Hospitality

My final full day in Banfora started as did the day before: roosters and coffee. I made a little coffee at the house once i got over my fear of the gas stove, and then returned to the local corner cafe for an espresso. Today all of the men were filling out their racing forms. There are gambling kiosks here everywhere painted with pots of gold and horses head. People (men) bet on horse races in France hoping to win big. They din’t get to see the races, not even on TV. It seems to be a popular pastime. I was asked to assist with picking horses. The only one that jumped out at me was La Baguette Magique.

My guide picked me up on the moto and we headed on a dirt road through fields of sugar cane for Domes de Fabridougou. Similar to the Sindou Peaks i saw yesterday, but more round and less pointy. Still, it was nice to go on the hike. It was so serene and beautiful and hot, but dry. We hiked and sat on the top of a dome and took in the view and i had a smoke, trying to be in the moment as much as possible. On a dome, in Western Burkina Faso.

We left and, much to my surprise, made a stop in my guide’s village, near the domes. This is where he grew up until he was 15 and where most of his family lives, including his mother and daughters. About 25 people live in the small collection of tiny huts in the middle of the fields under a huge tree. Some smoke French, but all spoke in a local, tribal language (not Moore, something else).

This was some serious, rural poverty. Not all the kids has clothes and those they had were in very poor repair. No water or electricity. No phone, no lights, no motorcar. But they were very friendly and hospitable. They swept off a place in the dirt, clearing it from debris, and laid out a straw mat for me to sit on. Several of the women and children started making lunch for my guide and i. While they cooked i sat and watched women tend to the children and the women and children doing each other’s hair in braids. I tried to make some small talk, but mostly it was a lot of smiling.

After that my guide took me to two more unexpected stops. First was a visit to a ritual sacrifice area for the animists, of which he is one. Around a beautiful pool ringed with ricks and trees the ground was thickly carpeted in white chicken feathers. It looked like snow. The trunk of one tall palm tree was thickly hung with ropes, which were tied on to skulls, jaw bones, goat legs, and what looked like the skin of a cow’s face and head. From other trees and from the rock wall around the pool were more ropes dangling bones, skulls, and rocks. All for sacrifice and offerings or protection.

It was really interesting but it really looked like something out of a horror movie. Like if Leatherface and the Blairwitch collaborated on a little outdoor decorating.

Near the sacrifice area was the waterfall, which is a ridiculously picturesque series of small waterfalls and green, tropical pools. Had i been prepared i could have gone swimming. It was so beautiful it looked like something created for a film or Disneyland.

I usually don’t want a guide because i prefer to do things myself, but this was a time when i really could not have seen everything i did had i just been alone.

The ride back to Banfora from the village was terrifying. It was dusk to dark. The road was so bumpy that at times i bounced off my seat. We dodged small goats, a large lizard, and regular size pigs. We brushed shoulders with herds of cows. Not only was it dark and treacherous, but it was windy and the dirt road coughed up a haze of orange. I was certain that i would die, but was delivered to my lodging safely, and quite filthy.

I spent the rest of the evening chatting with Marion, the owner of the house at which i stayed and playing with the many kittens and puppies.

Banfora was delightful. Full of outdoorsy retreats and adventures. The next day i would return to Ouagadougou.

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Sindou et Banfora

My second or third day in Banfora began when the roosters started crowing. I showered and headed out in search of coffee. The main, central restaurant here is McDonald’s…that is, a local restaurant with the name but which otherwise bears no similarities to the chain. I went there, as i had had a yummy vegetable couscous the previous day, but it was closed.

So i walked around looking for some place that looked like it served coffee. Success! A little café, typical in that it is basically just a corrugated tin roof, a wooden counter and some chairs. Different in that it had a TV and and espresso machine (most places just boil water for instant coffee). It was a good spot. Men sat around watching boxing and it was on a corner, good for people watching.

After that, Djubrie, my guide, picked me up on the moto and we headed for the country. I’m getting more comfortable with the no helmet thing, but it doesn’t help that the distance markers on the highway are shaped like cemetery headstones.

We had to stop for the police a couple of times to show ID. Apparently this is a recent thing. This area of Burkina Faso is currently in the “orange zone”, meaning that there is some additional threat of violence. A girl i met in Bobo Dioulasso was there working for an NGO and wanted to go to Banfora but was not allowed to go because of the potential for violence. But nothing here seems threatening to me.

We stopped at a village on the way where my guide knew the people. I was shown around. There were women preparing bissap flowers for boiling to make juice, women pounding rice with big wooden poles to separate the husks and then sifting then to get at the rice. Men shelling peanuts. Children chasing chickens and staring at me with curiosity. I learned that the women live in the round huts and men in the square ones. (I don’t know how this plays out for married couples.) Unlike other villages i have been to, there was no electricity. Lots of goats and a few sheep. They were kind enough to let me try my hand at rice pounding and to take some photos and one man filled my bag with fresh peanuts before we left.

We carried on. It was about an hour or so to the peaks, diverting down a dirt road under a canopy of trees. When we arrived we were the only ones there. It was majestic and peaceful, hiking through the wind worn rock towers.

Climbing up we had a terrific view of the green valley.

After that we went to a little camp of huts and a lunch of cucumbers, tomatoes, green peppers, and onions was prepared. We ate and i relaxed in a hammock with a cigar, watching chickens and goats and children playing with sticks and hoops. Very peaceful.

We then rode back to Banfora, stopping at another village where my guide had some family. I sat with some old men, smiling and not able to communicate (they spoke only Moore), while my guide tended to some business. Then we were on our way again.

Back at the house i slept then ventured out into the dark streets in search of dinner. Rice with peanut sauce. The streets were busy with traffic, women still selling fruits and vegetables and every roadside shack had a fire going, with meat and fish set to grill. I spent the rest of the evening at the house, relaxing under the stars with a book.

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Hippos!

I left Bobo Dioulasso at 10:15 am on a Rakeita bus for Banfora. About a 1.5 hour journey. The bus had teeny tiny seats and leg room that made a flight on a budget airline seem luxurious. There was AC, but it wasn’t working. Thankfully i had a seat by an open window and no seatmate. The journey (despite being hot – the temperature on the bus was between 37 and 39) was pleasant. Rural scenery flowed by. Fields tilled by oxen, small villages, cotton fields, women washing clothes and pumping water, children playing with odds and ends. I snapped a few pictures through the window along the way.

We were stopped about 4 times by police road blocks. Police came on the bus and checked everyone’s ID each time, but beyond that it was a smooth journey.

In Bobo, the women who owned the hotel arranged me a guide in Banfora, as the sights here are nature ones and you need a vehicle to visit them. His name was Djubrie and he met me at the bus station. Being the only whole person and only of the only women on the bus, i was easy to find. I had my backpack and i walked with him to his vehicle, which was, as i feared, a motorbike. And of course, no helmets are available. This goes against everything i have been raised to believe. You never ride a two wheeled contraption without a helmet, right? But, there i was and everyone else was doing it, so i hopped on. We zipped through the streets, which were very poor. Only the two main drags were paved. The others were soft, sandy, orange dirt with stones and garbage. More people here walked or rode bicycles than in the previous two cities. More goats and sheep wandering about. But we swerved around it all.

My lodging is a private house from which the owners rent out a couple of rooms.i think i am the only one staying here. The owners are not here now but emailed me a welcome and someone was here to let me in. I have a simple room with a fan and shared bathroom. There is a lovely yard, with seating and a patio, plants, an orange tree, a dog with puppies, a cat with kittens, roosters and chickens.

I settled in and then my guide picked me up (again on the motorbike) and we left Banfora and headed to Tengrela. The countryside was lovely. The corn fields had been harvested, but there were green fields of rice and sesame and the air grew cooler as we zipped along. We left the road and went through the trees, near a village and stopped at a huge baobab tree.

Another man appeared and told me the story of this sacred baobab tree. It was in French, but as best as i could glean the tree is over 500 years old and it has a natural door leading to its hollow interior where a long time ago people from the village hid inside the tree during a war and survived. So now the tree is worshiped and there are sacrifices made there regularly and a festival annually.

Yes, i did go inside the tree and it was very large inside. No cookie making elves spotted.

From there we went to Lake Tengrela. It was late in the day and the lake was golden. A couple of fishermen were out, pulling in their nets.

We walked closer to the edge of the lake and then we hear loud grunting noises and saw a spray of water. Then i saw a hippopotamus leap out of the water. Imagine seeing a dolphin jump out of the water. It was like that, but less graceful and the size of a car. Amazing. There appeared to be three hippos. They mostly stayed underwater, but would poke their noses out of the water periodically and sometimes their whole heads. And periodically two of the hippos would jump out of the water and lunge at each other. From other places in the lake we could hear other hippos grunting and splashing. It was incredible. I didn’t want to stand there staring through my camera and ruin the moment so i just held it up next to my face and snapped pictures every time a hippo popped out of the water. Consequently, i have a lot of photos of water, sky, and blurs. But i did get a few decent pictures. The only thing i can compare it to (because it was totally different from seeing the hyenas in Ethiopia) is: you know the part in Jurassic Park where they first see the dinosaurs? That part always chokes me up. This was like that, but way better.

We then sat at a spot near a house, a bit further back from the lake (there people there have set up tables and chairs and sell water and soda) and watched the lake. Again, we saw a giant hippo jump out of the water. The sun began to set and just before it got dark we set off back for the city.
It was an amazing experience.

In the evening i went with Djubrie for dinner and i had a delicious vegetarian pizza. I didn’t care for riding the motorbike at night with few to no streetlights and off the paved roads, but i figured i would do it that one time. Djubrie does not speak any English at all, but he speaks in French slowly and uses small words so i can understand. I am actually impressed by how much French i am able to recall. I speak slowly and awkwardly, but i know a lot of words and can usually make myself understood. I consider it a success.

A perfect day in Banfora.

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Day 2 in Bobo Dioulasso

My second day in Bobo Dioulasso was a delight. I had a relaxing breakfast in the garden with my cigar and got some useful advice from Franka, the owner. I walked to a shop, on a lovely path through a garden / park and across a foot bridge over what at certain times of the year may be a small river, but is now a dusty canal that collects garbage.

The shop is one selling crafts all made by women and which supports women’s education and causes. For the first time on this trip i did a bit of shopping, which was fun. I chatted with the girl working there, en francais, and was amused by her big eyed reaction to learning my age. That is a theme here. I tell someone (when asked) how old i am and their eyes widen in shock. They all think i am a lot younger (merci) and 40 is quite old in a country where the lifespan is only about 50 in most parts.

I then visited L’Institute Française, which is an arts and cultural centre, with a gallery, classes, concerts and a cafe. I took in the sculptures, made mostly of refuse, and sat in the garden cafe.

This was quite a treat. The coming weekend was a festival of circus arts and there in the courtyard i got to watch a troop of acrobats from France performing in the trees, while a band of locals performed music. It was great. And i chatted with a Swiss woman and several local guys while having delicious ginger juice and bissap (a juice made from a type of hibiscus flower). I’m amazed i have not gotten sick yet.

After that, i declined three marriage proposals and then went for lunch, which was an event because i tried “to” (that should have an accent circonflexe). To is a paste made from sorghum, millet or corn, which is shaped into white balls. It is kind of like a gelatinous cream of wheat and looks like a breast implant. It is served with sauce and you break off chunks and dip it into the sauce. It’s ok. Tasteless. I had it with an okra sauce, which was pleasant and slippery.

In the evening i napped in the hammock at the hotel, went for another walk to get some dinner (rice and sauce) and smoked a cigar back at the hotel. Bobo Dioulasso has been so pleasant, i am hesitant to leave, but on to Banfora in the morning, where some nature adventures should await.

A few more random photos from Bobo…

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Bobo-Dioulasso

I awoke at 4:30 this morning to catch a flight from Ouagadougou to Bobo-Dioulasso, or “Bobo” as it is called with affection. It is the second largest city in Burkina Faso and while it is definitely a city, it has a small town vibe and is entirely pleasant. I politely declined the friendly advances of airport security, piled into a taxi with 5 other people and their mountain of luggage and was delivered to my oasis of a hotel, the Villa Rose. It really is wonderful, comfortable, and surrounded by gardens and statues. As i sit here now, it is dark, with lights in the trees and a background din of squeaking bats.

Anyway, the hotel is owned by a lovely Dutch woman and her Burkinabe husband and they could not be more welcoming or helpful. I also chatted with another Dutch man who is here helping to establish a school.

Bobo is very manageable on foot. Many streets are the usual chaos of motor bikes, bicycles, cars, carts, and pedestrians all sharing the road, but it is tame compared to other places.

I first visited the market, which i liked a lot more than the one in “Ouaga” (as the cool kids call it). Fried caterpillars seems to be a popular item here, which makes me happy i am a vegetarian. I took more photos and received very little hassle from merchants. I find the women here a bit more outgoing than i am used to. They will actually say hello and chat a bit, which is nice. Usually i find when i leave a country almost all of my interactions have been with men.

After the market, i found the bus station and bought a ticket for the day after tomorrow to my next destination. Every successful transaction, especially in a foreign language feels like a victory. My delight amused the ticket seller.

From there i went to the mosque. It is probably the most famous building in Burkina Faso. It is in a style of architecture called Sunado-Sahaelian which has round peaks and sticks protruding all over the outside. This mosque dates from the late 1800s.

As i arrived the call to prayer was underway, so i waited outside until prayers ended snd then i was allowed to enter, which was a treat, as unmarried Burkinabe women are prohibited from entering, but apparently single foreigners are not.

From there i visited the old city, Dioulassoba. People live there and you can walk right into it, but foreigners must take a guide and pay a small fee, which makes sense, because the area is very poor and the guides can explain the history while keeping the looky loos under control. The area is all low, flat, mud buildings and is divided into quarters: Muslim, animist, musicians, and blacksmiths. I visited traditional houses and the place where animals (usually chickens) are ritualistically slaughtered. (The bigger your problem, the bigger the chicken or creature that must meet its fate, i was told.) we saw a blacksmiths studio, a weaver, a carver of masks, and the place where millet beer is made after bring boiled on a fire for three days. In the streets, people carried on with their days, drying corn, pounding farina, doing laundry.

We also went to the river that borders the village. It would be pretty but for the mounds of garbage tossed along the banks. In the river is a swarm of giant catfish. Hideous things, thrashing about in the shallow water. But these are sacred catfish. Almost magical catfish. (My reference to General Sherman from The Simpsons was lost on my guide.) People worship them and talk to them. Apparently, if you want to live in the village you must offer food to them and if the carps eat it, you can stay. If they do not, you are not pure of heart and must leave.

And that was my visit to the village. After that i returned to the hotel and have been enjoying dinner and the evening air. A great day. Tomorrow i shall endeavour to relax.

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Ouagadougou

I ended my day in Casablanca by returning the airport to catch my flight to Ouagadougou. I was excited, feeling buoyed by my successful day, but as it grew closer to boarding, i started to get nervous. This happens sometimes, when i am about to go somewhere strange and i am happy about it but also apprehensive. Like, “What am i doing? Why didn’t i just go to [insert pleasant and easy to visit country]?” I remember having that feeling on the flight to Tel Aviv, the bus to Cairo, the flights to Moscow and Addis Ababa. It happens at times when i realize or believe that i am the only traveler on board, that no one speaks English and my words learned in the local language are totally inadequate. It always turns out great, but in those moments i do feel a bit nervous. I wanted to mention that because sometimes i feel like my travel accounts neglect to mention the hard parts about traveling.

But, as i said, it always turns out well.

I arrived in Ouagadougou at 1:30am, shuffled off the plane, onto the tarmac and into an airport that was on par with a small town 1980s bus station. Got my backpack and spotted a guy with my name scrawled on a piece of paper (i try not to mess around with hailing cabs in the middle of the night) and was at my guesthouse shortly thereafter. Sleep.

The next morning i was able to take in the overwhelming charm that is my accommodations – Chez Giuliana – a guesthouse owned by a friendly, older Italian lady. It is a riot of color, with nooks and crannies housing welcoming seating areas and African art. And there is an excellent rooftop patio for breakfasts and cigars.

At breakfast i chatted with a young woman here from New York doing research for her PhD in theatre (with a special interest in puppetry, which is right up my alley). We commiserated about the Trump election victory.

I then took a taxi downtown to explore on foot.

Ouagadougou is busy, dusty, underdeveloped, and fascinating. The streets are often unpaved and are without sidewalks. Motorcycles, bicycles, and beat-up green taxis are everywhere. Lots of roadside markets, hair salons, cell phone stations, gas stations (read: petrol sold from wine & soda bottles at wooden tables), open fires for cooking chicken, fish being gutted, coffee being sold. Women walk in that eternal magic trick of being able to carry huge bundles or baskets of papaya or carafes of water on their heads. People speak French and Moore, very little English.

I definitely stand out, but there is little of the hassle of other places where everyone wants to sell me souvenirs or act as a guide or ask for money. There just isn’t much of a tourist trade here. In the sprawling market there were some craft and jewelry stalls which I was invited to look at, but there wasn’t too much pressure to buy. There were some nice carvings and textiles. As I left, men had put out carpets and were facing east to pray.

Tag: Burkina Faso