It's getting hot again

And I have been here over a year.  And I do not feel ready to come home.  Simon, my Canadian former colleague, is coming back to West Africa just before I leave – he has a posting in Cotonu, Benin, with Oxfam Quebec. …  and I am searching websites, looking for anything I might manage.  Wish me luck!

Whilst searching, I have also managed to do the rounds of my life here:  a day out with Yeri and the girls in Navielgane market before she left the house and went home to Gaoua because the project is over – we bought lots of beurre de karité for her to give to friends – this is the eating sort.  Like lard, only vegetal.  A nightmare to make, and usually done by hand - the wild windfall nuts are shelled, roasted, crushed, soaked to get the oil out, then the oil is beaten into these balls of fatty goodness.

We bumped into one of my favourite village leaders – particularly favourite because he always gets dates wrong, like me, and appears to suffer from diary dyslexia without having even gone to the bother of learning to read.  He is nicknamed Le Gros because he is so small.  Another of Fate's cruel tricks in which we share.  His real name is Toubar.  And in my head, he and I are at least six feet tall.

I had a week-end in Bobo Dioulasso with Kadi to catch the end of the National Culture Week – a full week of competitions in drumming, singing, traditional dance, art, sculpture, books – oh, you know, culture.  The final night gala was attended by the President and his wife – they are in the middle wearing matching pagnes.  Fashion mistake!

I loved performances we saw – really thrilling, and with enormous regional variation.  Some fabulous, witty polyphonic singing from a women’s organisation and some of the dancing defied my understanding of how the human body is put together – how do they do it?  Can you wiggle your arse and keep your shoulders and knees still?  No?  They can!

As West African bats are in the news, I attach a picture of the one which apparently liked watching me sunbathe.  I am now wondering just how close I was to the Ebola virus, given the creature’s poor choice of daytime shelter. If the virus is like STIs and you can catch it from looking, then I could be in trouble!

And continuing the wildlife theme, there was a camel outside my house.  The children took some persuading to get close enough for the photograph;  camels are a rarity this far south.  Adouma was in the middle of having his head shaved for the heat – he can be seen apparently saluting – but he came to share the drama of the moment.  I do vaguely remember there was some classic legal precedent around whether camels are wild or not as they apparently need assistance to mate;  they seem pretty wild to me.

I am fascinated by just how different the heat feels this time around.  I am surprised by how hot it is, but not nearly so bothered.  I am not felled by exhaustion.  I can manage.  I shall be leaving a month before the rains start, and would dearly like to see the greening of Burkina Faso again ….. It's not that I don't want to see everybody in the UK and eat cheese until I am sick,....but 'Gi’us a job'!

International Women’s Day 2014

This year’s IWD pagne has been something of a damp squib.  A rather nasty brown one, really.  I was going to go for bust and have something made – but brown just makes me think of my fashion disasters from the 70s for they were too many, and far too shaming – especially the perms!

But my neighbours look splendid in their shiny new clothes and were very pleased with themselves and the bank holiday. 

I spent the day with chums in nearby Dano, making and selling kebabs;  we had a stall in the Women’s Museum to be right in the thick of it;  we made about 1,000 kebabs from meat which Arlette had marinaded and tomatoes and onions, and I managed not to eat them all – they were so very tasty!  Arlette does a mean kebab – her sister has a permanent stall in Diébougou.  We also made chips, but I think there I have something to add to her skillset there – after all, I have an ethnic affinity with the potato, and generations of deep-frying expertise on the Scottish side, even if that is all Mars Bars and black pudding.

 

Last year's pagne in the background - much nicer!

There were processions, and speeches, and free dolo and in the evening the President’s wife made a speech on TV.  I begin to wonder why we don’t make more of IWD in the UK?  Feminist chums post on Facebook, or send links to international events ….  Here, men do the cooking for the day! I do hope it is not because everyone in the UK thinks the battles are all fought and won!!

Two days before IWD I was invited to attend a wedding at the Town Hall; lots of bureaucratic hoo-hah and swapping of witnesses, and one of the two couples programmed for the session could not go ahead with their ceremony because of some paperwork …. But finally the words were pronounced and then the Deputy Mayor got onto his favourite bit – the lecture on the importance of communication and tolerance in any marriage, and then 20 minutes on the importance of family planning.  Excellent!  A little wide of the mark as these were people in their late forties/early fifties sorting out property and things, but none the worse for that.  The official line is no more than one baby every three years.  Smiles all round.

Farewell, Simon Godin-Bilodeau

Simon and I arrived in Diebougou together, and today he has left to return home to Canada for some well-earned R&R.  He has left his heart and his soul here;  he will be back.  West Africa has him in thrall.

Seen here drinking a final callebasse of dolo at the station - we tipped out a small quantity for the ancestors, as you are supposed to do, and they will make sure he gets another post here soon, to continue working in international development.  Bon voyage, bon retour, M. Bilodeau.  Thank you for patiently explaining everything to me.

English things ....

The screen on my old Blackberry has finally died so I cannot read your texts, your telephone numbers, or even see who is calling.......  but I can receive your calls. All will be sorted when I return.  In the meantime, you can text to 00 226 61 61 47 31.  Pip pip!

The updates are coming monthly now, just get over it!

So; what do I have to report?  The project has one more week to run and we have managed to complete the mandate which was originally a 2-year undertaking in only 9 months.  Something of a coup, I would say.  There were some things we did not have time for, but over 200 young people received vocational training, and over 100 parents got start-up funding for small businesses like raising chickens, sheep or goats, or making and selling dolo.  We have a workshop next week to give and get feedback from our village contacts, there is a final report to write, photographs and certificates to print as thank-you presents, and then the project will be over.  How will I get on for another two months without my regular intake of dolo and village visits?
 

Marie Madeleine teaches Kounworoma to sew

 

The trainees from Balignar with their certificates

 

In amongst all this frenzied activity I recklessly threw good sense and a week-end’s rest to the winds and travelled to Fada in east Burkina Faso to visit Isabelle, fellow VSO.  We went to the most enormous livestock market imaginable, peopled with Peuhls (Touregs to we Brits) with huge wodges of cash trading massive cows, goats and sheep, and then we climbed up Fada’s sacred hill which is slightly more sacred than the Diébougou version, having real local significance and housing as it does the central fetish of the Gormantché people;  we were accompanied by Noel who took a great deal of time to explain animist beliefs to me in terms I could understand – he is a great communicator.

 

 Fada's cattle market

 

 My favourite

 On top of the sacred hill

 

On the way back from Fada I stopped in Ouagadougou and collected Dominic and she went on to Gaoua, our regional capital here in the south west, where I joined her to visit Loropéni – a UNESCO World Heritage site – and a fétisheur, a sculptor of fetish objects and a basket-weaving village group. Loropéni is one of those places which demand you use your imagination.  It is some walls from the 11^th century.  Quite big walls, enclosing quite a large area.  

Dominic, spoilt for choice!  

 

 The fetisheur's household shrine

 

Me, doing the correct thing at the fetisheur's house

And then, after saying goodbye and promising to visit Canada, I left Dominic on the bus back to Ouagadougou – she is now in London where she and Jessie are staying with darling Nell Corbett and catching up with Thenain – those VSO ties do bind!

Loropeni, very atmospheric walls.  No, really.

 

And this week-end?  I shall be quietly writing a report, sorting pictures and preparing to say goodbye to Simon who leaves for Canada on Thursday afternoon.  I have promised myself a gin and tonic, my last tin of baked beans and fried guinea fowl eggs.  Bet you are all envious!!

 

Birthday in Burkina

I had Dominic staying with me all the way from Ouagadougou, so my day was organised around a village visit in the morning, Dominic’s trip to the local maternity and community health centre, and a huge neighbourhood event she organised out of nowhere, putting a banner on my door and getting all the kids involved in signing their names, drawing round their hands and waving balloons.  Quite some event!  She also gave detailed training sessions in cat’s cradle and similar childhood arts …. Thank you Dominic!

 

We are coming towards the official end of our project, and it is now a huge rush to get all the training for the young folks and the kit-purchasing for the adult folks sorted for the end of February.  Week-ends as well as week-days are filling up with visits; we are still trying to fit in meetings in villages to spread the message – frankly, anyone who has not heard the news about the dangers and causes of child labour, exploitation and trafficking just hasn’t been listening!

 

Dominic in Tampé watching children drawing

I am staying on for two more months to tidy up some marketing work for VARENA-ASSO and to be around to cover any project hang-over.  I am also contemplating a bit of West African travelling.  Two countries is the tip of the iceberg….

Happy New Year!

I am back at my desk:  Ghana is already so far away!  We Corbett/Kellys had a great time there, mostly lounging around and contemplating the next cocktail, occasionally getting energised to visit something a little more demanding than the bar ….  For me, two weeks without the need to engage in French was quite weird – smiling and saying ‘Bonjour’ to everyone who I meet has become something of a habit.  London’s African population will be in for a surprise until I unlearn my francophonie….  But enough of my nervous tics. As for what follows, apologies if you received this by email.

 

Southern Ghana.  What is it like? It was really interesting to go to Ghana after 10 months of hearing about it from envious Burkinabés who reckon life would have been better in Burkina Faso if only their colonial masters had been English.  Ghana is a much richer country, because of things like ports, gold and other mineral resources, rainfall, and infrastructure.  It is not afflicted with desertification.

 1.     Ghana cities smell far, far worse than Burkina ones – really, really sewer-smelly.  Because, of course, there are sewers, rather than latrines and pigs. Too much information??
2.     More cars, far fewer mopeds, scooters and bikes – Western style traffic jams!  Better roads by far;  more tarmac, less red dust.
4.     Better houses by far – more electrification, more standpipes, no ground wells.  Lots of thatched roofs rather than corrugated tin, which is a good thing as tin roofs are too hot.
5.     Ghanaian men have no inhibitions about touching women they do not know, both to gain your attention to sell you stuff (including themselves) or to grope you.  After 10 months of respectful and polite Burkinabé men, this was not a welcome change.
6.     Evangelical Christianity is HUGE in Ghana – there are hundreds of different sects, many of them constructing large churches and bible education complexes.  Billboards along the motorways promoting pastors.  Several God-focussed TV channels. The Ghanaian equivalent of X Factor is for gospel choirs and is called Celebrations. The audience gets to vote off a choir a week.  I watched the semi-finals in the airport.
7.     Muslims are fewer in the south but there are mosques in most villages I saw, and probably a lot more Muslims live up north, closer to Burkina Faso.  The Turkish – gotta love ‘em – are financing and building a massive, landmark ‘national’ mosque in the centre of the posh central district of Accra.  Larger than you could imagine - €80 million and can accommodate 10,000 people.  Apparently it is already hugely over budget, and they haven’t got to the pricey final-fit bits.
8.     Food – better, more varied.  The meat is of a better quality. Liberal supply of chips – such a treat after Diébougou where potatoes are the most expensive item in the market and generally of low quality.  Potatoes need less tropical climes.
9.     Education – a massive part of everyone’s lives.  Schools everywhere, business courses, adult education, certificates in everything and anything.

10. Women's lives appear about 100% better in Ghana than in Burkina Faso. No kidding. 

 Would I go again?  Yes.  Would I recommend it to tropical travellers?  I don’t have a lot of reference points, but yes, if you are in West Africa, you should definitely give Ghana a go.

And the chance to spend 2 weeks on beaches with my daughters was lovely.  Priceless, as Nell said in advance. Not something I suspect we shall manage again soon, as they both missed their London Christmas and their chaps too much!  The both have loads of photographs on their Facebook pages;  shop signs, and cocktails and other exotica.  Are you envious?