“Barka”…Thank You

I have so much to be thankful for.

I begin with a thanks to Uniterra, WUSC and CECI.  The team that guided me through the process of application, engagement, pre-departure and orientation.  Thanks for your patience and guidance.

“Barka” to SEMUS for making me feel so welcome and valued.  These are good people that remain effective and dedicated to the improvement of their community.  Even more, I know I have made some good friends in Yako, as you introduced me to your families and allowed me to celebrate in the success of Burkina Faso (both on and off the soccer field).

Thanks to my new friends in Bobo Dioulasso for creating such a special weekend for me.  I look forward to connecting again.

Thanks to the Kevin, Katelyn and Jeannette (the 3 Waterloo University students) for taking me in and showing me the ropes.  It’s inspiring to see young people doing such exciting and good work.

Thanks to Sarah for sharing with me her experience.  This allowed me to hit the ground running in so many ways and see so many wonderful things.

Thanks to MD Physician Services, the CMA and the Leave for Change program.  Imagine, this entire experience has been facilitated through my employer and their participation in Uniterra’s Leave for Change program.  For anyone that spends anytime thinking about “The War for Talent”, “Engagement” and the impact these things can have on productivity, profit and growth, feel free to contact me regarding this opportunity if you think your organization might be considering such a forward thinking strategy.

Thanks to all the people that reached out me while in Africa. I was surprised how much I appreciated hearing from you.  Whether it was a simple fb Like or status comment, a blog comment, an email or even a real-time chat, it was cool to connect with you from such extraordinary experience.  I was often surprised by who I was hearing from and that made it even more special. Thank you.

Thanks to everyone that reached out to Bev and the kids, while I was way, to see if they needed a hand with anything.  It was so good to hear about this, through out the journey.

Thanks to Bev, Rebecca and Taylor for allowing me to experience this adventure. The support they gave me was incredible and greatly appreciated.  I really hope they get an opportunity to experience something similar one day.

 

I’ll officially close off this blog with a quote from Jon Krakauer’s book, Into the Wild (Btw: it’s a great movie too)

”make a radical change in your lifestyle and begin to boldly do things which you may previously never have thought of doing, or been too hesitant to attempt. So many people live within unhappy circumstances and yet will not take the initiative to change their situation because they are conditioned to a life of security, conformity, and conservation, all of which may appear to give one peace of mind, but in reality nothing is more damaging to the adventurous spirit within a man than a secure future. The very basic core of a man's living spirit is his passion for adventure. The joy of life comes from our encounters with new experiences, and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun. If you want to get more out of life, you must lose your inclination for monotonous security and adopt a helter-skelter style of life that will at first appear to you to be crazy. But once you become accustomed to such a life you will see its full meaning and its incredible beauty.”
― Jon Krakauer, Into the Wild

I remain one of the luckiest people you know….

Please consider being part of my Burkina Faso experience, by making a donation at the following site <<click here>>

Cheers

Dan

Prepare for re-entry….

It’s 3:00am, and I'm wide awake on the day of my departure from Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso and Africa.  I paused for a moment to consider whether this is the beginning of restlessness referred to in the article about “re-entry shock” (a.k.a “Reverse Culture Shock”).   Lying in bed, under my mosquito net, I wonder how often I’ll think to myself “You haven’t seen what I’ve seen…You don’t know what I’ve seen”.  The truth of the matter is, sometimes I don’t know what I’ve seen.  In some cases, this will be because of my misinterpretation of language, culture or context and sometimes it’s just my mind subconsciously altering things to fill in the blanks.  I’ve recently done some reading on this and I think you’d be surprised about just how big a role the mind plays in fabricating your reality.

Nevertheless, my thoughts begin to weave a perspective on returning home; to family, to work, to myself. One month away.  Aside from the African experience, this experience has been a first in being away from Bev and the kids for any length of time.  After 20 extraordinary years of marriage and both kids lifetimes, this is the longest period of time I have gone with out being with them.  While we have no regrets,  Bev and I have spoken of this often, this opportunity has allowed us to affirm that no experience, no salary or lifestyle is worth living apart from your family.  It can only imagine how life becomes an empty, dark and unbalanced existence where you fool yourself into thinking that’s why your here…to consume, accumulate, and live alone.  No thanks…I know why I’m here and I’m looking forward to getting back to them.

I spent my last few hours in Ouagadougou, doing some last minute souvenir shopping; trying to time the spending of my last few cfa (African Francs) with my departure.  There nothing like haggling over of a price when all you really have is a few francs in your pocket.  You really do get the “Bonne prix” in the markets, when you can sincerely walk away saying “Sorry that’s all got”.  I usually try and distribute my cash through out different pockets so I can even pull my pocket inside out to show them “That’s all I really have”.  As you walk away, you “almost” always hear the merchant calling you back.  I was surprised when one merchant asked for my $9.99 Walmart watch, “then maybe your sandals”, “What about in your hotel room…you must have a cadeux for me in your hotel room?”.   And remember everything is in french so there’s always a little pause in responding.  It must appear to them, I am contemplating the deal…I’m actually just translating in my head and for a brief moment appreciating the reality of the story unfolding in front of me.  Like I’m gong to return to my hotel room with 4 guys and let them pick through my stuff until we have a deal.

You’ll remember from yesterday’s entry, I’ve asked my driver drop me off at the airport a little early to allow him to return to his home in time to watch the Burkina Faso/Nigeria CAN2013 final match.  My flight has been delayed an hour so I’m actually sitting in the small (fairly underserviced) airport for 5 hours. The fact that Burkina Faso appears to be trying to solve their national unemployment through airport security helps past the time.  Our flight is the only flight out tonight and it took 2 hours to board he plane.  I showed my passport no less than 7 times, scanned both hands and thumbs for finger prints, had my picture taken, passed through a metal detector and then had both carry on bags opened up and explored.  What do they think I’m going to leave with?

Taking my seat on the plane, I paused for a minute and returned to the moment I sat in that plane seat in Montreal one month ago.  I laughed a little at how little confidence I had that this experience was actually going to happen.  I kept waiting for the “course correction” for the change in plans, for the “something's come up and we’re not doing that anymore”.  But it didn’t happen.  I vividly remember the Greyhound bus driver in Ottawa having my name on his list, the baggage attendant in Montreal handing me my boarding pass and finally taking my seat on that airplane in Montreal only then did I allow myself to believe it really was happening.  Well we’ve come full circle and it really did happen.  It (Yako) was nothing like I thought it would be and I wasn’t exactly who I thought I would be either.

I’ll share with you that twice on the long flight home, my throat got thick and my eyes began to water; once listening to a song and once watching a movie.  I was able to catch myself and hold onto the feeling long enough to explore what was happening.  It’s worth doing this.  We often race from one experience, emotion or thought to another without actually pausing to reflect on….reality; like Tarzan swinging from vine to vine never really stopping.  To be honest, I don’t know if that lump in my throat and moisture in my eyes was the who and what I was leaving behind or the who and what I was returning to but after a few minutes on the edge, I buried it and chuckled to myself whispering under my breath ”pussy” :).

As we begin our descent into Montreal, I look out the window, wondering if I’ll see any snow; LOL…that’s all there is down there.  The video screen on the seat in front of me tells me the outside temperature is –2C, so I begin switching my sandals over to socks and running shoes.  I noticed a group of West African men (I recognize the accent now) have already put their parkas, mitts and tuques on.  They seem as excited about the snow as I am.

The Greyhound bus that connects the Air France airport service in Montreal to the Ottawa Train Station was delayed an hour but I was able to connect with Bev so she wouldn’t be stuck waiting for too long.  This also gives a chance to wrap up my thoughts on the entire experience.  I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to “wrap it all up in to a neat little package”.  This journey has had so many dimensions to it; family, community, international and professional development, spiritual, cultural, etc.  I’ve tested myself in so many ways; some grand and some not so grand but worthwhile experiences none the less.  I’m reminded of a section in one of my favourite books “Illusions…or The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah” by Richard Bach.  Don Shimoda provides Richard with a simple explanation as to why we are here.  Sitting in a movie theater, Don draws a connection between the illusion presented on the movie screen and the illusion of life…of reality.  He proceeds, through a series of questions, to help Richard see that we show up for the illusion offered in the theater for 1 of 2 reasons…to learn to have fun or both.  That’s why we are here.  With respect to my African experience…all I can say is mission accomplished.

Note: the preceding blog entry was one of 3 or 4 blog entries I posted shortly after I returned home.

Please consider being part of my Burkina Faso experience, by making a donation at the following site <<click here>>

An afternoon “avec la famille KABORÉ”….

Saturday morning Uniterra had arranged a driver for me to take me out sight seeing and shopping in and around Ouagadougou.  I appreciated the morning I spent with Issa my driver and thanked him as he dropped me off back at the hotel around noon.  I explained to him that I would be fine for the rest of the day and for tomorrow on my own, and I’d appreciate it if he picked me up early enough tomorrow so that he could get back to his home to watch the final match of CAN2013 (Burkina Faso and Nigeria) with his friends.  Unfortunately this match was starting right when I was scheduled to be dropped off at the airport.  Issa appreciated the gesture and was on his way.

Shortly after lunch my phone rang and it was Felix.  Felix is a gentleman I had met in Yako.  He lives in Ouagadougou and travels each week out to different regions to perform tax audits.  The town of Yako is within his region and he lodges at the SEMUS hostel.  While in Yako, we had chatted about the possibility of getting together when I was in Ouagadougou.  After a bit of time on the phone (I find it even harder to understand a french conversation on the phone), I understood that Felix was coming to pick me up at the hotel.  It turns out I was right; 35 minutes later Felix was out in front of the hotel.  We drove out to his home (35 minutes outside Ouagadougou) to meet his family.  I thought it was really nice how Felix appeared to be giving me directions to his home, should I ever return on my own…”see the 3rd street from the highway….just past the Alimentation….then just past this wall turn right…then…”.  Arriving at Felix’s, I met his wife and 4 children.  Sitting down, Mme KABORÉ explained that they had prepared a song for me and I was welcome to record it with my camera.  What a neat experience to have 4 children and Mme KABORÉ sing with sincere passion a song of welcome to their home.  We proceeded to share lunch together (which was lovely) and to continued discuss the differences between life in Burkina Faso and Canada.  At one point, I shared with Felix that, “if I wasn’t looking out the window, I could be convinced that I was in a home in Canada”.  Well, if you could only see his face.  He looked up at his wife and you could just hear his eyes screaming out to her across the small coffee table “Did you hear that dear…did you hear it…just like Canada”…sincere and utter pride.  As we left the KABORÉ home, I was presented with another example of the Burkina Faso culture to share with you.  Mme KABORÉ came running out to the side of the car with a bag.  In the bag were 2 large bricks of soap (1 for each of my children) and a dress for Bev.  Can you imagine.  The 3rd poorest country in the world and they are giving me gifts.  Funny aside here, with my french being what it is, I understood the dress to be a blanket and I told Felix as we drove away ”I’m not giving this to Bev…I always look to purchase one of these when I travel”.  Felix looked at me oddly and said…”non non c’est pour ta femme”.  I replied  “no way….I’m not giving this up…It’s all mine”.  I’m sure he’s still scratching his head over that one.

As we drove home, I noticed that Felix was having a little trouble with the stick and clutch of this little car.  At one point, as the car stalled climbing over an oversized speed bump in the road, he shared with me that they had just bought this car in November.  He was still learning to drive.  I immediately flashed back to the conversation Felix and I had on the phone earlier in the day.  I now could recall a slight disappointment when he learned that I had dismissed my Uniterra driver for the day.  Again, imagine the sacrifice he has made in inviting me to his home.  I can tell you that clear lanes and other handy driving laws and regulations are not as prevalent in Ouagadougou.  The huge exhale of relief Felix made as we pulled up to the front of the hotel was well deserved.  He looked so relieved to park that car for even just 2 minutes.

As I watched, Felix pull away from the hotel, with 3 of his children in the back seat of his car, I thought how fortunate I was that he had called; that he had followed through with the invitation.  When I compare travel experiences like this to visiting monuments, artisan markets and museums, being invited to someone’s home, meeting their family and breaking bread is on an entirely different level.  I also reflected on the last time I stood in the lobby of this hotel.  I was thinking of the porter, the Toureg artisan, and the Coiffeuse.  I appreciated the fact that I had met so many people in Burkina Faso that had no agenda but my comfort and happiness.  Always appreciated when you’re on the road.

Note: The preceding blog post was uploaded after I returned home

Please consider being part of my Burkina Faso experience, by making a donation at the following site <<click here>>

 

 

 

Last day in Yako…..

My final morning in Yako.  I little smile cracks on my face, as I realize the smallest denomination I have is 500cfa.  There’s no way the crew at the “Boulangerie” will be able to make change for me this early in the morning, so I pass on the bread that I have so often cherished and simply have a coffee (finishing off my last grounds of Tim Hortons) and 1 of the 45 granola bars Bev has packed for me (I have 5 left for my airport lay overs on the trip home).

Packing my bags, my initial ignorance in what I thought life in African would be like is exposed.  I can see it in every direction, I look.  As you can imagine, living alone for the past month, I’ve had stuff scattered all over the room…I’m not exactly a clean freak :).  Collecting my stuff, I’m forced to revisit my initial thoughts in preparation for this first African experience.  As someone shared with me before leaving home, “it won’t be anything like you imagine and even less the way people will try to describe it you”.  All the things I thought I’d need.  All the stuff I wish I had brought.  All the thoughts I wish I had written down, the photos I wish I had taken.  These are the thoughts running through my head as I repack my bags.  I’m not sad over these things…no regret….just mindful of them.

Lucien, Marie’s son, dropped by to say goodbye.  I asked him to wait in the courtyard, while I retrieved something from my room.  I returned with several new shirts wrapped up in a Giant Tiger bag.  I handed Lucien the shirts and told him that my wife had instructed me that if I happened to meet a young man here in Yako that was generous, kind and had a bright future that I should give him these gifts.  As I told Lucien that I was certain he was this person, I looked over at Marie and her eyes were filled with tears, her two hands gently clasping her mouth…I thought to myself…..”Oh boy…don’t do that Marie because I’m not done :)”  I returned a few minutes later with gifts for Marie and Melanie….some jewellery and clothes both Bev and Becky had sent along for any new friends I made.  I suggested to Marie that she would be the best judge in deciding who (Marie or Melanie) got which gifts.

I spent the morning with Charles, Agi, and Clementine completing the a variety of volunteer satisfaction and results based reports required by the Uniterra program and then proceeded to have lunch with Clementine, M le President, Charles and Issa.  We had lunch down the road, under a beautiful tree, serviced by a nearby Maquis.  I started with rice and then we all “dove in” again to share a plate of chicken; using our freshly cleaned hands.  The chicken, by the way, is quite good in Yako.  I remarked to myself that not everyone I know back home would be comfortable with the size of the birds that walk around the table searching for scraps while you eat.  To be honest, I’m not sure I’d want them any bigger myself.  They sometimes dust it up a little with the skinny dog that also wants to help keep the ground clean of discarded food.  When you stop to think about it, considering the resources and prioritization here, letting the birds take away the scraps is probably more efficient and effective than collecting things like this in a garbage can or bag.  There’s no sanitation system, no weekly garbage pickup, no blue box/green box system.  There are very good reasons for things being different here and they start with respecting priorities and values.  We all make the choices (priorities) we make because of the privileges we have…there’s nothing different here about that.

After lunch Clementine, Issa and I begin our trip back to Ouagadougou. I’m very sad to be leaving Yako and the friends I’ve made here.  The things I’ve discovered and things I’ve learned; all priceless gifts.  I’m excited to see Bev and the kids.  I’m excited to see the world through these new eyes; a new perspective.

Pulling away from Yako, I reflect once more that I am leaving a rural town in the 3rd poorest country in the world. But I am leaving it in relatively good times.  There are a few folks back home that would consider “good times” in Yako as pretty “dark times” back home.  It’s all relative.  I do know that one bad rainy season (too much or too little), an unstable political regime or an outbreak in disease can easily tilt this place into a very dangerous zone.  It’s clear to me, that this would be everyone’s worst nightmare.  I don’t know if I would personally fair as well as I did on this visit in an environment like that.  But maybe not the end….surely the people I’ve befriended over this past month in Yako have seen rougher times.  They’ve survived and carried on; making progress with and sometimes without our help.  As I’ve mentioned before the word “Sustainability” has a new meaning for me.  This third world country needs our help in establishing a “sustainable” trajectory of growth and prosperity; allowing them to continually re-evaluate priorities and progress and not start from scratch each time hard times visit.

After the 90 minute ride south in the 4x4, I’m dropped off at the same hotel in Ouagadougou that I first lodged in the night I arrived in Burkina Faso.  Again, I marvel at the shift in my perspective.  On that very first night, as the porter walked me to my room, all I could think of was, “Beirut”,”Apocalypse”, “Thank God Bev’s not here (cause I think it might worry her)”….but now, honest to God, all I can think of is “Disneyland…I’ve arrived in Disneyland”.  Same hotel, nothing has changed….but me; my perspective, my appreciation.  This has me thinking…if my experience has had an effect on my perception of this little hotel…what will going home be like?

Please consider joining me in Burkina Faso, by making a small donation at the following site <<click here>>

One piece at a time…

Tomorrow is my last day in Yako and I’m thinking of all the things I need to do before leaving.  Some of them are simple things I just want to repeat and others are things that I just have to do.  I smile, as I still appreciate the smell released when I remove the lid of the Tim Horton’s coffee tin.  I have just enough for today and tomorrow; perfect.

In the morning, I ran my final training session and it went well.  Aside from the SEMUS finance group, I had a senior leader join us, as well as a young man from a partnering organization.  I was grateful to get some assistance from someone in the crowd to provide additional explanations to the group.  It was rewarding as well to see each person, want to try this at least once; to get hands on experience with the new tools.  Later in the day, I caught one of the senior leaders “playing” with excel; he was investigating other applications where these new techniques could be used.  I couldn’t be happier.

 

In the afternoon, I took advantage of the market being in town (the market visits every three days) and did some last minute shopping for souvenirs and gifts.  While I know I will be able to get just about anything in the Ouagadougou market in a few days, my preference is to do my shopping in Yako.  M le President, stopped by and suggested we have dinner together tonight.  While I’m not entirely confident I have understood the invitation correctly, I’m delighted when later that night Bassirou comes by my room and says M le president is here to pick you up.

We are joined by an elderly man, donning an old wool tuque and fair size robe.  The three of us head out to a Maquis near the bus station.  Again it’s dark and we grab a steel table and 3 steel chairs.  The table is low and our knees are above the table when we sit down.  A lady, working at the restaurant,  came around with a small plastic kettle allowing us to each wash our hands at the table.  Shortly after this, a large serving tray arrives and M le President says that we can use his cell phone as a flashlight.  As the server removes the cover on the serving tray, two large black fish are revealed circled by french fries on one side and “coleslaw” on the other.  The fish appear in tact from mouth to tail and I’m not seeing any forks or knives.  A few seconds later, M le President, sticks his thumb through the side of the fish and tears off a small piece of meat.  Yes…. we are going to devour this feast with our bare hands.  For anybody that’s reading this now, who is having a reaction like “Oh my God…No way”, I’m not writing this for you.  I’m writing this for those that have a spirit of adventure and are saying “Right on…he’s really experiencing IT”.   “IT” is a different way here.  In my mind, this dinner is an excellent representation of the African philosophy.  While in Bobo someone said to me, ”In Africa we all eat at the same table from the same plate” and that is exactly what we are doing.  As I may have mentioned earlier, I’ve seen several signs that eating is a communal experience here from neighbours coming over to eat to small children, unguided by their parents, begin to feed a smaller sibling.

During dinner, I took the opportunity to explore M le President’s philosophy on leadership. Through our discussion, I understood that he believed people often over shoot and over promise “change” and “evolution”.  Like our dinner, you have to size up just the right size portion to tear from the fish.  Taking too big a piece may result in having to work through hidden bones and other undesired pieces.  You miss one of the bones and the outcome could be quite damaging.  He said people are often unrealistic with their assessment of what progress or change should be pursued.  You have to take the appropriate amount of time and examine the fish before just tearing in there for the sake of a piece of meat.  He explained that "it’s true those that over promise often make a lot of noise to support the illusion of activity but it isn’t necessarily productivity they are delivering. I told him that I could relate to this and used my experience with the finance group at SEMUS as an example.  There was lots that could be done with the finance group, some of it we could even categorize as “transformational” and “radical”, but in the end, if all you are really after is creating value, you have to assess what will be achievable and sustainable….call your shot and go for it; never mind shooting the cue ball in to a cluster of pool balls hoping some of them will go in.

I appreciated the opportunity to dine with M le President and returned to the SEMUS courtyard for one more traditional tea with Bassirou.  As I headed off to bed, I was quite aware that tomorrow I was leaving Yako.  Had I done enough?

Please consider joining me in Burkina Faso, by making a small donation at the following site <<click here>>

The High Five…transitions into a handshake

Tonight Burkina Faso plays Ghana in the CAN2013 football tournament and the town is pumped.  I take my usual twilight stroll down the Ouayigouya road and the same vendor every night comes out to greet me.  He has a huge smile on his face, as he waits for me to say “Zaabre Ki Beri” and swing my hand out for a full handshake. He replies “Lafi” and I return with a “Lafi bala”.  I try not to, but I can’t help glance over at the 3 or 4 older Muslim men sitting on a bench against a nearby wall.  They all smile and nod with approval…making me feel like this is becoming more and more natural for me and my pronunciation is improving.

Tonight, as I stop at the Total gas station to change my 5000cfa ($10) into smaller denominations, I run into another friend from Yako. It always strikes me how long the Burkinabé spend shaking hands.  They also sometimes touch heads twice on either side for a total of 4.  It’s comforting to see people spend so much time greeting each other; to a foreigner, it suggests more sincerity and genuineness. The handshaking happens every morning at work.  Everyone gets a warm greeting in the morning with inquiries about health, work and family.  It’s a little different than our way of “How’s it going?”…or “How are you?”, in most cases, we say this without even waiting for the reply.  Here the morning greeting almost always includes something about your health and the well being of your family.

Returning to SEMUS, I finished up a great video chat with Bev and then took my place among the 7 or 8 men that have come around to watch the game.  We are huddled around a 21” television set that has a wire thrown up on the roof as an antenna.  Just before the match begins, I get a txt from Roy in Bobo Dioulasso regarding the game and his support for the “Etalons”. 

At the half way mark, Ghana is ahead 1-0 and Felix and I decide to grab some dinner next door at the “Maquis Resto La Confiance” a.k.a “Chateau Bleu”.  The steel table and chairs are waiting for us; placed half way on the road.  Felix, a tax auditor, is still dressed in his suit making his way through the spaghetti.  He pauses occasionally to spit out, onto the street, the odd piece of meat that he doesn’t feel is right.  There will be plenty of large birds (I’d guess vultures) in the morning light that will clean up the left overs.  As he pays for my meal, I pierce a hole with my teeth into the small plastic bag of water that has come with our meal.  Water is served in clear plastic bags; similar to the plastic bags we buy milk in … but smaller.

 

 

There is 8 or 9 of his now and they are all quite animated about the game.  When they get this way, I can’t really figure out if they are talking French or Morré and I’m not really following the game that well either but shortly into the second half of the game, Burkina Faso has a goal disallowed and I’ve joined the debate on officiating and injustice.  It reminds me very much of the Stanley Cup playoffs.  The game could not be better.  I also figure out that my comrades are, from time to time, making fun of the TV commentators; pointing out how silly some of the things they say are. I’m guessing there is a Don Cherry, Ron Maclean and Bob Cole in every country.  Shortly after the disallowed goal, Burkina Faso has tied the game and we move into an extra period of 30 minutes of play.   After no score, we move to 5 penalty shots.  In the final shot, Burkina Faso has pulled ahead and won the game.  “Les Etalons” (Burkina Faso) are going to the finals of CAN2013.  Remember, Burkina Faso has not even qualified for tournament in more than 15 years.  This is huge.

As you can imagine, everyone is now standing and handshakes are flying left and right.  We are all cheering and you can hear the rest of the town erupting in celebration.  Motorbikes have begun whipping up and down the dark and dusty road in front of our compound with small horns blaring.  At this time, in the middle of the handshaking and exchanges of “Merci” and “Felicitations”, I decide to introduce the good old “High Five” into the mix, as I’m surprised it hasn’t happened yet.  Well it ain’t happening. Time and time again the person in front of me, looks at my hand…. way up in the air and they tilt their head in curiosity, smile and then decide to transition their modest handshake into a full arm swing handshake that engages directly in front of me.  I kind of laugh to myself, as I realize just how good this would make as a comedic scene in a movie.  I try it a few more times to re-affirm, “yep, this isn’t happening”. I look down and I see I have a text from Roy in Bobo Dioulasso…celebrating the victory.  When I look up again, I hear Bassirou (the guard) exclaim that he promised himself that if the “Etalons” won, he would celebrate with a bottle of beer.  This is a big deal in that he is a Muslim and I have never seen him have even one beer.  In fact, it’s the only beer anyone has had tonight.

The gang continues to talk about integral moments in the game and Bassirou begins a late evening tradition in the SEMUS courtyard.   With ambers burning in a small heating pit, Bassirou begins to make a traditional tea.  The making of this tea involves several iterations of pouring the tea from the small pot into a glass and then back again.  He holds the pot quite high in the air creating a bit of carbonating effect as the tea begins to have a layer of bubbles in the top of the glass.  It’s a very nice scene to see Bassirou approach us from the dark with a serving tray plate with 3 or 4 small shot glasses of tea.  He has to make two batches, one for the group still sitting in front of the TV and the second round for the group that has broken away to play their nightly game of cards under a near by door  step light.  As I said, a very nice scene to see such charity and brotherhood in a place where luxury and privilege are not as evident.

Please consider joining me in Burkina Faso by making a small donation at the following site<<click here>>

 

 

Spoons strapped both above and below the elbow….

In the morning, as I sit at the table outside my room drinking my coffee and enjoying my still warm bread, I reflect on the fact that I’ve gotten better at separating out the different sounds of the morning here. When I first arrived, it was just the sounds of the morning but now I hear the birds, the goats, a pig, and rooster. I can hear the market setup for daily commerce and the gradual sound of more and more motor bikes ….and another day unfolding in Yako.

Today is sombre day within the SEMUS compound, as a result of Richard’s passing and it seems a little sombre outside the courtyard as well.  As I walk through the winding roads, as I’ve come accustom to, everyone here says “Bonjour Ca va?” or “yibeogo ki beri”.  It reminds me of the way you used to think of your home town, before the white vans parked near school yards, before razor blades in Halloween apples, Son of Sam and clifford olson.  It’s a time before you begin to realize that your mother’s paranoia actually has some merit.  It reminds me of an old Wayne Rostad song “Smile at a stranger, go visit a neighbour…take the old Wakefield train” but there is no sound like the Wakefield train whistle here so you’ll have to settle for a bleating lamb straddled across the gas tank of a 125cc motorbike as it’s whisked off to the market.

There’s a delegation in from EMMAUS (France) visiting and auditing the progress SEMUS is making with their generous support. The 3 hour meeting is a command performance for all and somewhere in the middle, I’m asked to share, with the French delegation, who I am and what I have been working on. I begin with what I hope is a well rehearsed line “Merci M le President, il sera évident, dans quelques minutes, que ma langue première n'est pas le français, mais je vais essayer”. The French delegation laughed a little and encouraged me to continue. So I shared my mandate with them and they suggested that they were very interested in the outcome. It will allow SEMUS to categorize their expenses and support the creation of more accurate budgets and forecasts.

In the afternoon (for me) I get good news from Canada that Uniterra has created a site for me to accept donations to support SEMUS. I have elected to direct the funds raised towards the maintenance of the motorcycle fleet they have. This fleet is used by “animatuers” (agents) to visit outlying villages in almost all the programs managed by SEMUS(agriculture, gender equality, nutrition, health and orphans).

I catch myself thinking, “Things are pretty good here” but I know this perspective is formed, in part, by me becoming accustomed to the reality of Yako and Burkina Faso.    For the most part, everything is just the way it was before I got here….except for one thing….me.  Remember I’m sitting in the 3rd poorest country in the world.  When I reflect on this, I begin to wonder …”3rd poorest country… measured by who?” and “What are we measuring anyway?”  I’ll admit at home, these questions would likely be a 10 second reflection followed by “I wonder what’s on TV or for supper?”.  I also have to wrestle with the fact that I have arrived at a particular moment in time.  From what I have gathered, last year was a fairly good growing season, so the bounty is considered adequate.  “A moment in time” is a pivotal aspect in my new perspective on the 3rd world and our efforts to eradicate poverty.  In my assessment, of course influenced by a personal philosophy shared by Bev and I, it’s all about putting a little away in case you need it.  About having a safety net for more challenging times, about being able to make choices from opportunity and not sacrificing priorities through concession and crisis. As I said, there’s no famine here in Yako right now but it’s clear to me that if one were to arrive, things would slip quite dramatically.  There is a fairly thin net here in Burkina Faso and should the challenges of life mount….the net will surely fail.   To create a safety net you need a solid footing to attach it to. They just need a foothold on success.  Organizations like SEMUS are taking a run at establishing this foothold.  We just need to elevate a little more so that the safety net is in place to sustain momentum when the famine, war extremism arrives.  Now is the time to help Burkina Faso achieve a foothold on success.  This afternoon, I’m thinking of story I once heard.

A man once asked God about heaven and hell.

"I will show you hell," God said, and took the man into a room. A large banquet table in the center was laden with every conceivable delicacy. The sight and smell of the foods were intoxicating. Around the table sat miserable, famished, and desperate people. Each was holding a spoon with a long handle. The spoons were strapped to their arms both above and below the elbow, so that they could not bend their elbows and bring the spoons to their mouths.  As a result, they were starving.

"Now I will show you heaven," God said, and the man found himself in an identical room with an identical banquet table laden with a magnificent array of foods. Around this table were arrayed people equipped with long-handled spoons strapped both above and below the elbow.  Yet these people were happy, smiling, and well nourished.

"Same table, same food, same spoons. Why are things different here?" asked the man.

"Ah, but there is one important difference," God said in response. "Here, in heaven the people feed one another."

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A clear light bulb with a shoestring dangling by its side….

Moussa picked me up in the morning and we proceeded to go to the “guichet” withdraw some cash.  This important because you can’t replenish your cash n Yako…there’s no bank or ATM  We also stop at a supermarket to grab some food for the 5 hour bus ride to Ouagadougou.  He leaves me at the bus station and it’s not long before I’m on the bus heading out of Bobo Dioulasso.

 

Not quite out of Bobo I spot two camels walking down the street.  Mission accomplished, I think to myself as I had intended to rent a camel here in Burkina Faso.  Oh well seeing them will have to suffice.  It does highlight that Burkina Faso is nothing like I imagined.  There’s something sticky on the wall beside me (for all I know it’s something sticky on my arm) but I’ve resigned myself to the fact that this is going to pull on the hairs on my arm for the rest of the ride.  The bus is full and I have scored a window seat but the Burkinabé are not big on travelling with the windows down even without air conditioning.

 

An hour and half into the ride some guy in a bright red Reebok shirt with a union jack pasted on the front, stands up in the isle and tells everyone to pay attention…we have a long ride ahead of us, everyone is tired and he wants everyone to listen very closely.  The guy speaks quite authoritatively to someone in the back “Pssssst ……Toi…dans le bleu…j’ai dit écoute…est-ce-que il y a un probleme?”  I'm thinking “oh Boy what the hell is this?”  But I’m not wearing blue so I slide my sun glasses on and casually look out the window.  He is holding up a tube and ask if anyone uses this?  It’s a cream of sort that apparently cures everything, including motorbike crashes.  He moves up and down the isle with a sample squirt. The bus now smells like Bengay….which is actually a slight improvement over the smell of a crowded bus with the windows closed and no A/C.  To my amazement he’s got customers up and down the isle.  I pass with a “Pas moi merci”.  He’s actually quite good at finishing off his pitch with directions that this is not be put in your mouth…nor eyes.  He supports this advisory with slow dialogue and clear hand gesture; “Pas dans la bouche”.  His final warning, to my fellow bus patrons includes not getting this near your private parts.

 

Product #2 seems to be toothpaste and a brush.  He makes it clear (again supported by hand gestures)  that everyone should use one of these and we don’t share toothbrushes.  We end with something called “guano” sold in a small sandwich bag.  It’s for severe constipation….yes this pitch includes hand gestures too.   I don’t think anyone bought this one.

 

I’ve just received a txt on the bus from Kevin and then again from Katelyn from Yako.  They have both shared with me the very sad news that YELKUNI Richard, a young fellow I’ve been working with in Yako passed away last night.  I connected with Richard quite quickly as I’m sure most would.  He was intelligent, energetic and prided himself on wearing many hats.  He was extremely helpful in supporting me and the others in my first training session and was excited about the possibilities inherent in the next round of training.  He understood that by automating some of the summary information, he would be freeing up time to form observations and recommendations rather than simply arriving at a result.

 

A clear light bulb with a shoestring dangling by its side; that's the image that comes to mind when ever I think of death.  I have only witnessed death first hand once.  Regardless of how close to death someone is, and regardless of how long you've sat by their side, the moment life stops you become instantly aware of the quantum chasm that exists between life and death.  I don't want to take away from the bedside solace of a hand on someone’s forehead as we say "your almost there dear, everything will be fine", but what I am suggesting is that when life does leave that room you're sitting in, it feels a million miles away almost immediately. In my mind, it's quite similar to sitting in a small room and pulling that shoestring.  Instantaneously things are dark; there is no more light.  We often, for a moment at least, marvel at the absence of light when it first arrives; at just how dark it can be.  I think we do this because we can’t believe the huge contrast between seeing so much and then absolutely nothing.  We will sometimes even hold out a hand in front of our face in total disbelief that the light has been completely snuffed out.  And just like at that immediate moment when light ends, the end of life focuses all senses towards that one reality.  For a moment you hear nothing, you smell nothing, you feel nothing you are completely aware of only one thing.  The light is Gone....with a capital "G".  I had thought, before leaving for Burkina Faso, that I might be exposed to death and misery, but I wasn’t expecting it like this.  Richard has a wife and three young children.  My thoughts are with them.

 

I switched buses in Ouagadougou by grabbing the Ouayigouya bus that stops in Yako.  It’s an open bus yard (they all are) and I’m amazed that they are able to get buses in and out of the one entrance yard without any gridlock or system.  At least it’s not apparent to me.  The hour lay over in Ouagadougou is hot and I’m relieved to be now sitting in the bus.  It’s interesting to see how dedicated Muslims are hear to prayer.  There’s even a make shift mosque available for people to pray in within the bus station walls.  I’ve connected with Bev and Becky through Skype as the bus makes it’s way out of Ouaga.  I’ve also received an email from Uniterra that extra prudence the crisis in Mali seems to be intensifying.

 

As I step off the bus in Yako, it’s different for me…it’s different for them and I smile to myself…it’s different for us.  This reconfirms for that I fact did begin to miss Yako while in Bobo; as nice as it was there.  Making my way back to SEMUS the “bon soirs” seemed to have a hint of “Oh he’s back” in town. Entering our courtyard gate, Bassirou greets me and we speak briefly of the sad news.  I made my way to the burial site, which isn’t far from SEMUS.  It’s dark now and the grave is near completion.  It’s dug by hand of course and the men tending to their  work are supported by a generator and a few fluorescent lights hanging by a nearby tree.  Off to my left, I can see a procession of motorbikes, pickup trucks and even a few cars.  There are no street lights here and the light from the vehicles is dissipated in the haze of dust and sand.  The vehicles are followed by a very long and wide procession of people walking.  I can hear the gentle beat of drums.  I won’t make entertainment of Richard’s funeral.  There are some similarities to home and there are some differences. It’s sad.  The grave site, appears to me to be a lot that I have passed almost every day on my daily walks.  I asked someone if this was a cemetery and they informed me that he was being buried here because he was the son of a Yako Naba.  It turns out Richard really was a prince.

 

It’s the Shock going back that’s going to get you…

7:30am and Moussa has pulled up to the front of my hotel in a older white Mercedes.  Roy had talked to a friend who talked to a friend who had a nicer car.  He wanted to make sure I was comfortable.  We headed out of town towards Banfora.  Our plan was to visit lac Tengrala to see the Hippopotamus (or is that Hippopotami?), the Domes of Fabedougou and then Les Cascades de Karefiguella.   Leaving Bobo we passed a cotton  refinery where gigantic mounds of cotton can be seen.  We entering the agricultural region of Burkina Faso and trees become greener where a variety of fruits hang along the roadside.  Ahead there is a very large parcel of land that is as green as you can imagine.  It’s one of many sugar cane field, supported by what appears to me a very modern irrigation system.

Shortly after entering the village of Banfora, Moussa suggest we stop for something to eat.  I follow Moussa’s lead and order the same thing as him.  I have no idea what I just heard him order but I’m easy and I don’t feel like struggling through the comprehension challenge;  I’d rather just make breakfast an adventure.  The adventure quietly heightens as I think Moussa says something like “You like (insert name of dish here)…Roy doesn’t like it”.  I replied “Oh really?”.  I’m relieved to see a simple omelette arrive at my table.

First stop is Lac Tangrala.  Entering the gate, to pay our $2 entrance fee, Moussa asked the attendant if there are Hippo’s today.  The response is favourable.  Making our way to the lakeside and awaiting canoes our guide comes out to greet us.  We are quickly on our way.  Climbing in to the boat, I assume they are simply made of plywood; the small puddle of water on the floor confirms this.  The water surely is not from rain…because it doesn’t rain here until April.  The guard explains the habitat and habit of the Hippo and occasionally hits the side of the boat with his paddle to get reaction from any lurking Hippos.  Nothing.  We circle the area and he suggests the warm air has forced the Hippos into the bush for shelter from the sun.  Moussa and the young Hippo guide talk of the tourist trade as he hands me a big lily pad leave and says here I’ve made you “un chapeau traditional”… Moussa take the picture.  I think to myself “Oh boy the fun you can have with a tourist”.  I oblige the picture, but suggest, with my marketing hat on…(figuratively speaking), they liven up the story with promises of good health, spiritual growth or whatever else ails you; delivered of course by the sacred Hippo.  To more fun than I would have at the expense of a tourist; from my perspective, everyone is getting what they want.  I realize my french just isn’t good enough for this kind of joke when he nods in agreement and passes me a necklace he has made for me with the stock of a lily pad flower.  Another photo …Oh boy.  I haven’t really followed much of the discussion in the back of the boat but using my french and more importantly intuition I laugh out loud when a departing boat of fresh tourists call out to my guide “Est-ce que il y a les Hippo aujourd’hui?” and of course my guide replies “Oh Oui beaucoup…juste la bas à l’autre coté du lac”. You can see the smiles of anticipation in the six or seven people sitting in the small canoe.

From here Moussa and I head for the Kendougou Domes.  I might add that all of these sites are quite remote by North American standards.  At times you feel like your riding through the back 40 acres of someone’s farm.  There are no billboards, signs or infrastructure to suggest you are close to anything.  The Domes are very cool.  The rock formations, part of mountain range that stretches in to Mali, are easily climbed and offer easy access in almost every direction you want to climb.  It’s quite serene here and I’m the only tourist.  I see the remnants of a campfire and say to Moussa “That must of been a cool party”.  The local guide has picked a fruit that I have never seen before, from a tree tucked against a wall of rock.  It has 5 or 6 pits in the middle wrapped in the yellow meat of the fruit.  After watching him take the first pit into his mouth, I’m comfortable to try it.  It’s sweet but tangy and tastes very good.  Sucking on the pit helps quench the thirst that’s been nurtured by the sun and heat.  Aside from the unique rock formations, I notice 3 older ladies walking through the formations carrying produce on their heads.  We are already in the middle of nowhere and I ask “Where are they going", I learn there is village 3 kms away.  A reinforcement that everyone works hard here. To be honest I was winded just getting to the base of the Domes.

Our next stop is Karefiguella.  After parking the car, it’s a short walk to the base of the falls.  A couple of photos and we began our ascent.  The climb was easy and we quickly close in on an elderly couple with a younger man making there way up the side of the slop; I think we can assume this is their son.  They gesture for us to “play through” and as we pass them, I notice the “son” has lay a small goat down to rest.  Shortly after, I asked Moussa about the goat.  He causally responds “Probablement Sacrifice”.  He says this with same candour you and I would say if he was coller and we responded “probably a picnic”.  We are soon standing at what I think is the top of the falls.  But from this beautiful site, we have the opportunity to climb higher and higher, following the river and resting at each of the pool’s of water.  Utter Paradise.  It’s not busy and you can enter the falls at any point to refresh under the fast flowing water.  Moussa had brought swimming trunks and partook in the opportunity to enjoy the coolness of the water.  There’s lots of area for a shaded picnic and getting a second chance to visit here again, I would opt to spend the entire day here.  This is a place Bev and I need to come.  It is so serene and the water is beautiful.

We returned to Bobo Dioulasso and met up with Eric, his wife Sophie and their 3 young children.  We proceeded together in the Mercedes to visit the “vieux village” together. Second time for me, but that was ok, my language challenge this first time around, make the revisit worth while. It afforded me the opportunity to pick up more of the guides explanations as we revisited the different sections.  There was a funeral in progress, as we made our way through the village, so a “Ceremonie de Masque" was in play.   This created a very festive environment, including a few guys walking around covered in grass.  The Dolo (Burkina moonshine) seemed to be running very well throughout all that were in attendance and men in full body grass masks would whip people passing by and slap two wooden stick together creating a threatening noise.  It was intense but security was not a concern.  Shortly after our time in the “vieux village” we decided to call it a night and return Eric and his family to their temporary home in Bobo. 

I’ll share with you now, that I like Eric.  I quickly determine that he is a good soul and through our brief discussions learned that he has a fair bit of world travel experience. As we say our goodbyes, standing by the car, he looks straight into my eyes and says in english, “You know Dan…”; Eric has my full attention now and we have connected.  It’s like I’m talking to good friend back home and he has somehow slipped into a new body.  I don’t know if it’s the sudden out-crop of clear non-classroom like english or the little blue room with the piece of green chewing gum stuck to the wall in Ouagadougou that sent me all the way down the rabbit hole but everything around us slowed right down and it’s just Eric and I standing beside the white car.  “It’s the shock when you go back that’s going to get you”.  His face adds the additional comment “You know what I mean eh?”  I slowly turn my head around and take in the simple surroundings that appear quite tranquil and familiar to me now.  Returning to Eric, I nod my head and reply “yah...they [Uniterra] gave me some stuff to read on that [Reverse Culture Shock a.k.a Re-Entry Shock], I guess I should have a look at it.”  A little bit of research, later that night, on “re-entry shock” tells me the the following emotions may occur:

• Restlessness, rootlessness
• Reverse homesickness-missing people and places from abroad
• Boredom, insecurity, uncertainty, confusion, frustration
• Need for excessive sleep
• Change in goals or priorities
• Feelings of alienation or withdrawal
• Negativity towards North American behaviour
• Feelings of resistance toward family and friends

LOL…aside from the restlessness and sleep, I think most people would agree, I had more than half of those issues before I left…at least I have an excuse now.  I’ll still have a read of the material though, just in case there something there. :)

After dropping Eric and his family off, Moussa and I proceeded to “le plateau”; an outdoor soccer field with a beer garden, a large screen TV and Roy.  Burkina is playing Togo in the semi-Final of the CAN 2013 soccer tournament.  Burkina has not qualified for this event in 14 years and this year they have made it to the semi-finals.  Again, through Roy’s generosity, I’m able to become a full participant in this experience.  As I have said before, I’m not a huge sports follower, but I do like to see a crowd rally around a team.  Burkina Faso has won the game and is moving on to the next level.  People are extremely excited and proud here.  Horns are blaring up and down every street, flags are waving and a national celebration is on the agenda.  We returned to Roy’s place for a late dinner. 

It’s maybe 10:00 and Roy suggests we return the Mercedes to the owner but first we should change the tires.  I’m a little surprised (note: I’m usually in bed by this time) but I concur that it’s a good idea.  We stop at a friend of Roy’s first and the show “The Kardashians” is playing on the television (with french language dubbed in). I’ve never seen this show before but I can tell you the subject matter of this particular episode has me embarrassed for all of humanity.  Everyone else seems to be modestly enjoying it.  The tire change didn’t end up happening and I’m back to my hotel room for an early morning departure back to Yako.  It’s funny, as I crawled into bed, I realise I have already begun to miss Yako. 

I’m sure you can tell from the number of photos in this post, I had an extremely good time in Bobo Dioulasso and it was very much appreciated.  Merci encore Roy.

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Eric la Canadien? Non C’est Eric la Rastafarien….

It’s 6:45am and I’m in the TCV bus station; it turns out my “hotel” is only a block away. Stepping in to the corridor reconfirmed my impression of last night.  I whisper “yep…this definitely IT”. Turning the corner in to the lobby, I find one fellow sleeping on a mattress he has thrown on the floor and another (guard?) sleeping on a chair by the door.  He’s placed a chair by the door to stop it from blowing in the wind.  I quietly move the chair and make my way onto the street.  Whew…what an experience.

Outside the bus station (I’m 1.5 hours early) I txt James with a thanks for his help the night before.  The bus station already has a fair bit of patrons but after last night I’m feeling pretty secure. fascination with Nasarah isn’t nearly as strong in Ouagadougou, they have plenty of “le blancs” comparatively speaking of course.  The sun is full on now and it fills the bus station yard with a golden hue.

On the bus now and only 30 minutes into the ride, we are stopped by the “gendarmes”.  I hear the word “Mali” in the middle of a sentence somewhere behind me, as I hand over my passport.  Two hours into the bus ride and the back of the bus is filling up with sand and dust.  I and the patrons around me search for the whole in the bus floor.

I should mention at this point that an hour or two before hopping on the bus in Yako, I had reached out to a hand full of Canadian volunteers based in Bobo Dioulasso; asking for any suggestions on a guide and accommodations.  I was thankful that someone got back to me and suggested a fella by the name of Roy.  Roy is a Uniterra volunteer that had been in Bobo for the past year and was suggested to be the best point of contact.  I called Roy from Yako but only got a few words in before my phone ran out of credit and our connection was lost. After recharging my phone and while walking to the bus station Roy called me back.  He said to call him when I arrived in Bobo.  While on route, I received another call from “Eric” (another Canadian in Bobo).  I thanked him and told him Roy had me covered. 

So there I was fresh off the 5 hour bus ride in Bobo and exiting the bus yard.  As usual, there were several folks there offering taxi service.  My response this time was “Non merci, chez un ami ici a Bobo”.  A few minutes later this Rastafarien dude comes around the corner and says in french “Hey your friend ask me to pick you up”.  I’m a little suspicious but I think “why not…I guess it could be that easy, certainly don’t want to offend Roy”.  I asked him how did he know I was the guy he was looking for and he says “Your friend told me to pick up the tourist at the bus station”.  Now I can’t accurately convey what’s gone on here but I can say this guy (real name “Issouff”) is one of those folks that listens well and takes every opportunity or I’m just an easy mark (probably the latter).  I think I then asked “Tu est Eric? (remember Eric called me on the bus) and of course this guy responds “Oui je suis Eric” and “Roy sent you?” and of course he responds “Oui Roy sent me”.  In the confusion, I now have the false sense of security building; “Ok cool, Eric has come and he knows Roy”.  I called Roy before getting in the taxi and said “Eric has picked me up I’m on my way”.  I detected a slight hint of confusion in Roy’s voice but I don’t really know him and confusion has become the norm for me anyway. Remember EVERYTHING is in french, Mooré, and now in Bobo…Jula. Between you and me, sometimes I can’t differentiate one language from the other. Roy says “OK…”.  After hanging up I guess Roy called the real “Eric” and asked “You picked up “la voluntaire Canadien?”. To which Eric replies “What voluntaire…?”.  My phone rings again, while I’m riding in the taxi with this guy pretending to be “"Eric”, and it’s Roy…Roy asks to speak with “Eric” who is sitting in front with driver.  I hear them talking and the name Eric used twice.  I learned later, from Roy, that what I was hearing was Roy asking “Is this Eric la Canadien?” and the response being “Eric la Canadien? No je suis Eric la Rastafarien”. He passed me back the phone and says “Roy is on his way”.  Of course gullible old me, sitting in the back of this cab, now oozing with confidence after hearing the name “Eric” twice and watching him chat with Roy, I say “I guess it’s pretty easy to spot the tourist in this town”. The cab driver and “Eric” just look at each other and smile. (I’m laughing out loud while I type this…I hope it reads well). 

They take me to a hotel, in the centre of town and I check the room.  Again not being able to judge what’s available and not wanting to offend Roy, I say sure I’ll take it for two nights.  The price is actually quite reasonable and after last night, this place looks like Disneyland. I tell “Eric” what I really need is batteries for my camera and he runs off to fetch them.  A few minutes later, the cleaning lady came to my room and told my friend was here and that’s when I met Roy.

From here (I can’t hold the spoiler) my experience in Bobo was in fact Disneyland.  Roy took care of everything.  Roy is Peruvian, with some Chinese heritage, and after working for three years in Montreal, found an opportunity through Uniterra, to volunteer in Burkina Faso.  He reminds me alot of my friend Yawar.  He and his girlfriend Amy took me to a restaurant, where we ordered some food to take back to their home.  Everyone in this crowded spot seems to know Roy.  Roy and his Amy have a beautiful home, not unlike a condo you’d find back home.  I can’t begin to describe the welcoming atmosphere Roy and Amy extended to me.  After lunch we visited, a family from Montreal (well near Montreal); they had just begun their 14 month mandate in Bob a few days earlier.  By the way, this was the real Eric.   Later Moussa (our driver and friend) took me to the “Grande Mosqué” and “Vieux Village” of Bobo.   I received an interesting tour of the Mosqué and sampled some “Dolo”, which appears to be Burkina Faso moonshine. It’s actually more like beer; a little sour for my taste.

 

 

 We ended the evening back at Roy’s home, eating dinner and watching the Mali/South African soccer match with another Burkinabé family.  Mali won!!!; meaning the remaining teams in the Cup African Nations tournament were all from West Africa.  We also landed on a plan and price for Moussa to take me to Banfora the next day.

As I retreated to my hotel,  I thought of both James and Roy.  I had already found two people on this voyage that were just being nice because they enjoyed being nice.  Such a nice feeling.   I’m understating Roy’s warmth and perspective on priorities.  I won’t be able to do it justice here in the blog.  We had several discussions and his heart and purpose in life is in a very good place.  I think the best way to summarize it is.  I have a list of 4 people that I would like to be more like.  The list has now grown to 5.

 

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Three little stones in a cloth sachet…

Last night or likely early this morning, I slowly became aware that my only physical connection to the world was a breathing cycle sustained through one nostril and the force of gravity pulling me deeper into the mattress towards the floor.  After realizing this,  a monologue played in my head where each thought gracefully connected to the next.  I began to watch my thoughts and the image of Tarzan came to mind where somehow that next vine was always just in the right place to maintain momentum and keep moving forward . But in reality, I was aware that it wasn’t a vine in the jungle at all, but more likely a tangled rope that I would never be able to unwind to reveal it true length.
Something odd has happened this morning.  I have water in the sink and in the toilet, but nothing from the shower head.  This is a first.  I’ve gone around to the back of my place and to my surprise, I have water from the tap to fill my morning coffee.  As the “boulliere” begins to boil the water, I make my regular trek to the “boulangerie” to fetch my morning bread. It doesn’t phase me when I realize the tray the young boy uses to remove the bread from the oven is actually a sheet of corrugated tin that we most often associate with the roof of an old shed.  I’m even less concerned when I see the boy struggle with the long wooden handle secured to the tray and watch the loaves spill onto the ground.  Another boy casually picks up the loaves and places them on the table for sale.  The bread is hot on my finger tips and so I place them in the pouch of my hoodie.  The bread is warm on my belly and feels good, as I make my way back to the courtyard.
I’ve begun to lose my voice.  The combination of dryness, dust and floating sand in the air is beginning to take their toll.  I smile as I realize I’ve begun to mumble to myself, making my way to the SEMUS courtyard. My new voice is that of Capt. Willard (Martin Sheen) in the opening scene of Apocalypse Now.  I amuse myself by saying words like “De Nang”, “Saigon”, “I’m in it now” and “I wanted a mission, and for my sins, they gave me one."   Reflecting on the state of my room,  I think it’s starting to look like Willard’s room (when the officers first arrived to deliver his mission).  I think to myself, if a fever is to accompany this head cold, my room will make a great place to sit down and have a chat with Colonel Kurtz and Krishnamurti. I know,in a way, that’s part of why I’m here.  To explore the self, to examine the conciseness and to maybe catch a glimpse of who really is inside there.
This afternoon’s training session has been postponed as a result of last minute preparations for “le Monsieur President's” son’s wedding.  So I spontaneously decided to hop on a bus to Ouagadougou and then on to Bobo Dialasso further south.  Arriving at the bus station 30 minutes earlier, I’m surprised to find a bus loaded and ready to go.  I ask if there is room and a man gesture to me to climb in upfront with the driver.  There’s already a man sitting in the passenger seat.  He’s a large man in a suit and the expression on his face and the way he holds himself makes me think of Tony Soprano.  Tony’s not interested in giving up the window seat, so he makes way for me to climb in over him and sit between him and the driver.  The seat is slightly elevated so there I am riding shotgun with the driver and Tony, as we pull out of the Yako bus station.
There’s a cage between the driver, myself and Tony and the rest of the passengers.   Not quite out of town, I hear  “Pssssst” and 3 inches to the right of my face, I see four fingers waving a small white folded piece of paper.  I take the paper and hand it to the driver.  The driver looks at me and hands it back, with a puzzled look on his face and says “deux mille cfa?”.  I guess I hadn’t paid for my ticket yet :).  I should mention, at this point that, here in Burkina Faso, the “Pssssst….” sound is equivalent to “Hey….” back home; you hear this in the markets all the time.   So you see when the guy passed the ticket through the cage separating me from the rest of passengers, I interpreted it like “Hey…pass it[the note] along” and so I passed the paper on to the driver.  With a better understanding of the  experience,  I’m sure you can imagine the look on the drivers face.  I slipped my 2000 cfa through the cage, crossed my arms in front of me and had a private moment of laughter sitting slightly elevated with the small driver to my left and Tony Soprano to my right.
What appears to me to be Hindi music is blaring through the small radio as the sand & dried millet stock is blown across the highway.  It’s mid-afternoon and the heat is on.  We pull up to another military checkpoint and shortly after the “gendarmes” enters the back of the buss, I hear “Psssst Le Blanc”.  I casually raise my passport over my shoulder and back through the cage like I’ve been through a thousand military checkpoints…4 hours away French air strikes are hitting the town of Savare in Mali.  Retrieving my passport, I get a chance to see how lucky I am to be sitting where I am; they are packed like sardines back there.  I’ve found the Burkinabé to be quite welcoming to visitors, especially the Nasarah, it’s clear you are a visitor and they treat you with extra courtesy and privilege.  Pulling away from the checkpoint, I relish in the thought, “I can’t believe I’m reliving the same thrill I had more than 25 years ago rolling into Athens at 2:00am with no place to sleep and no disposition to blow the budget”.  I think to myself, I hope I’m not too old for this.
We pass a bus, much like the one I am on now, that has two goats on the roof.  One goat is laying down but the other is standing eating some straw.  I’m not sure how the goats, and straw for that matter, are remaining on the bus at these speeds….but I suppose it works.   I’m sorry we’re going so fast or I would have snapped a shot for you.  I glance at the speedometer and see the driver has no need for such an indicator.  There’s a huge decal pasted on the dash covering the speedometer…its title reads “The Verse of Expansion”; the rest is written in what I assume to be Arabic.  The engine light is blinking and the brown dry landscape screams at me “Sub-Saharan”.  I think, “What would I know about the Sub-Sarahan”.  Another smile as I realize “Well actually, I guess I am starting to know”
“Well I’m in it now”, I’ve stepped off the bus and passed on all the taxi offers and am walking down the street, with my knapsack secured over my shoulder in “a” direction.  The greeting, that I’ve heard so often here ,”Bonne Courage” is echoing in my head.  I finally stop and ask a woman with the word “Securité” on her shirt, if I’m heading in the direction of the TCV bus station.  TCV is a higher end bus line and is the preferred service (it has A/C) to Bobo.  She seems to have no idea where it is but a young man passing by over hears us and says he knows where it is.  We cross the street and head back in the opposite direction; back towards the station I have just left.   His name is “James” and he has hails a cab.  When we get out, no station in sight and I have misunderstood; I’m paying the full fare ($2.00).  Winding through a few back streets that TCV station appears in front of us.   We enter the TCV station and I’ve successfully purchased my ticket for tomorrow. 
James and I continue making our way through the back streets (actually almost every road appears to be a back street to me).  After some time, James realizes that I’m actually looking for a hotel for the night.  We turn around and start back towards the station.  I’m starting to get a little nervous, as I feel this dude sure is willing to spend a fair bit of time with me and we seem to be going deeper and deeper into the back streets.  The hint of dawn is in the air, and it will be dark soon but I remained cool. Unfortunately the one nice spot we stopped at is sold out and James advises if its just one night all I need is a bed for the night.  After passing on 3 other places, due to my debilitating frugality (to my regret) we finally land on a place out of pure exhaustion.  The lobby is deserted and its tough to distinguish the exterior from interior.

My room is a couple of shades of blue, except for the piece of green chewing gum stuck on the wall beside my bed.  The room is secured by a very large and heavy steal door with slats.  There is a second interior door but the bottom window is smashed out.  This explains the on slot of mosquitos that will have me considering a second dose of Malarone later in the night.  It had not occurred to me to pack my mosquito net; there is none, nor shampoo or towel for that matter.  I smile to myself, as I note this is another one lever shower experience (on and off).
I was able to reconnect with Bev and the kids through Skype that evening and with the lights out in my room, I cling to their company.  I don’t want them worrying too much, about my current predicament, but I suspect they have a clue.  It seems to me, every question they ask is compelling me to share.  All I want is a quiet night with no one aware I’m even here.  Once and a while I hear a cat in heat, outside my window and the clip-clop of over sized high-heel shoes making there way down the hall.  I think of the quote “When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves” (Man’s Search for Meaning, Viktor Frankl) as I reach for a small cloth sachet, tucked inside my knapsack. I give the three little stones in the sachet a squeeze. 
This is the bottom for me but I am completely aware. :)
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