A really, really long blog offering with almost no content at all

Difficult to imagine, I know. 

It has been really busy, and I am delighted to say that we have achieved huge amounts in the project, particularly given that it has been in the face of illness and absence, and we have clocked 20 village visits for educational discussions, 10 for theatrical performances, and about 15 trips to complete on site and/or gather all the completed applicants’ forms for the training we are offering to keep people in their villages and out of the hands of traffickers.  I have clocked up a massive mileage – I can boast that I am now riding the big powerful bike (in my helmet) to the manor manner!! (Ed. Not the TV series, Shona!) born, and although I do prefer my own blue moped the big bike is a lot better at doing 40k-stretches on red dust tracks with potholes.  Today we had a final session with local social services and other interested parties to approve our selection of 300 needy bodies for training; our methodology, diligence, transparency and general worthiness merited a round of applause. All hail, us!

Keeping one step ahead of malaria has been quite a challenge as it is a busy time of year for it – mosquitoes abound and know no limits – and so I am back on Lariam for a while until the cold weather which I am promised – repeatedly – comes and kills off the nasty little blighters.  My contribution to our team’s sick-note culture has been tonsillitis and I have croaked my way around the place moaning loudly; eventually I bought myself some penicillin over the counter, took loads over 5 days and am better.  I cannot compete with the malaria and typhoid and even a diagnosis of diabetes with which my colleagues have impressed me.  Maybe the cold weather will kill off some of these ailments, but I am sure diabetes cannot so easily be shrugged off.

The green shoulder-high vegetation became the golden grasses hissing and waving as if in a Kurosawa film and is finally the dry grass being cut down and burned by swathes of machete-wielding women.  Roadsides, fields, scrubland – all being cleared and rendered savannah-red again. It is miraculous to see the form of the spaces around me re-revealed; I had forgotten what things were like when I arrived in February.  The contrast with the rainy season in August is extraordinary.  I was so in love with the green landscape – I am not sure I can forgive the red dust for returning, or for being gritty underfoot in the house as it blows about…..

I threw a Hallowe’en party last week – photo of the ingenious pumpkin substitute below – but one thing amazed my non-Hallowe’en-celebrating guests – there are no traditional songs or dances associated with Hallowe’en (unless you are from England’s North-East and count ‘Soul-Cake’ – more of a chant, really).  Everything in Burkina comes with a song and dance routine attached.  I explained about ghost stories, but had to rein back – this is not a country to start on ghost stories when ancestors are all about and have to be propitiated at every turn.  Also, they still kill and hang the odd witch on the QT with apparent police connivance, so it is not really advisable to be adding to my witch quotient (lives alone, without a man, is white, and buys biscuits for children) by going too full-tilt into northern European pagan festivals. I shall be away for Christmas so will not be tempted to start bringing green things into the house …..