Monday, February 7, 2011

A day in Ougadougou

When I woke up wrapped in my $10 sleeping bag, I was a little surprised by the uneventfulness of my sleeping hours. Everything was still intact. My bag was still there. Taped debit and passport untouched. It was around 730 in the morning, and Sofiatu was supposed to meet me @ 9 with the taxi driver to show me back to the originally planned hostel, La Pavillon Vert. About 945 rolled around, and I lost patience. I had no money due to a raised fare for Sofiatu and her passenger, and no Burkinabe phone, and I had forgotten the PIN for my new debit card. Uh-oh.

On a scale of 1 to 10 my French at this point was an F, but I somehow managed to communicate to the Lil Waynesque hostel clerk my needs. He offered to give me a ride to the bank on the back of his scooter, even letting me use his phone to call the US for my PIN. To further it, when I offered to pay him after all his services, he refused the cash. This first of many of God's unexpected helpers along this journey was a critical turning point in my attitude for the day and for the trip. Amazing what joy can be restored by a scooter ride and a few franc phone credits. After many "merci"s, he drove away to return to his hostel desk, and I was left to find a taxi to La Pavillon Vert.

The name means "the green patio" and that's what this place was. Refreshing. After throwing my junk into my room, I sat and chatted with Matt and Niko, a german and an englishman also travelling up from Ghana where they were spending a semester preceding med school working in a hospital in the Volta Region of Eastern Ghana, and we decided we would take a tour of the city. We visited a couple of interesting attractions Ougadougou has to offer including the under-renovation Independence Monument


And the Bronze Market.


The artisan markets are among my favorite features of Africa. A very specific model of community among artists which predates any colonial influence. It's strikingly similar to early models of the church. A collection of people with one thing in common: Art. Sharing life, in many cases sharing rent. Supporting one another when times get rough all to uphold the trade.


When we returned sweaty to the hostel (it was the Sahel/Sahara in June), the first thing I did was take a refreshingly cold shower. Coming out of the shower, I noticed some familiar faces under the green patio. Sofiatu and her grand-daughter. She had been searching for me since our missed meeting in the morning. I explained to her that I waited, but she didn't seem to think I waited long enough. After making amends, I told her I would come to see her when I returned to Ghana and Burkina Faso, and that I would not forget her (I won't) and we snapped a photo for memory's sake.

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