As we say in the Netherlands: after rain comes sunshine. That proved to be right last week: after not so good a day, came a splendid day.
Wednesday was the not-so-good-a-day. Being in the country for exactly a month then, I experienced some mild homesickness for the first time since I arrived. I thought about my friends, family, temperatures around 18º Celsius and watching the Dutch Parliament debate on the budget for next year (yes, I like that), and felt sad for missing it all. What made things worse, was that I spent most of the day working out the minutes of the meeting of European ambassadors. I might be able to have a decent conversation with friends in French now, but that is something completely different than writing something the French ambassador will read without angrily calling our ambassador and demanding apologies for insulting the French language to great extent.
And then, the things going on in my stomach weren’t helping either, nor the fact that that forced me to follow a diet more strict than that of most Muslims here during Ramadan (they are quite lenient here).
At the end of the working day, I wasn’t done yet, because I had been invited to a discussion platform on political reform. The good news was that a) it was an interesting discussion b) it started on time and most people made rather short and to-the-point contributions to the discussion, which is all very un-African c) it was a discussion among Burkinabé, with me and my chef being the only foreigners. The bad news was that I was tired, hungry, thirsty, not feeling well and unable to focus. At eight a clock, when it was supposed to stop, everyone on the speakers list had had their say. Unfortunately, the moderator was probably so surprised and happy about this, that he decided to allow two more people to say something, and then – why not – another five! I decided not to wait until the end. I arrived home again with a take-away pizza in my bicycle’s front basket (to hell with the diet), which proved to be the highlight of the day.
But Thursday was much better. I woke up feeling I had slept well. At the embassy, I actually got assigned a nice little job: the Dutch minister for Development Cooperation will be visiting Burkina, and he will need some background information on people he is going to meet. It is my task to find that. I gave it my best, adding interesting details like: ‘was involved in a car accident last November, with his car flipping over, but luckily, no one was hurt’. I could just imagine our minister meeting the guy, asking: ‘so tell me, how are things now, after the accident and all?’, scoring muchos bonus points. However, I’m not sure if those things will remain in the dossier after my chef has taken a look at it.
I lunched with my colleague (the Dutch one married to a Burkinabé). She knew a nice little place near the embassy, which was very crowded, and very Burkinabé. I indulged in baked banana (aloco), something tasting like sauerkraut (atiéké), but looking like couscous, and some great fries, for next to nothing. It was the first real Burkinabé food I’ve had here (shame!) and it was delicious.
In the evening, I cycled to the tailor again with my piece of fabric. There is nothing like cycling through Ouaga in the evening. There is great music everywhere, anything from regular urban to the real West-African beats, but always loud and up-tempo. Streets are crowded, the smell of food is omnipresent, and the dark night makes for nice temperatures. It was very moist, though, with probably 90% water in the air again. Anyway, I arrived at the tailor, who took his time, sketched a design, took all my measurements (making it official now that I’m nowhere near perfect female measurements, I’m afraid), and told me to come back in two weeks time. I wished everyone there a bonne soirée when leaving, and they wished me the same, with the usual delay, because they have to recover from the shock of having such a weird creature suddenly speaking to them.
I made one more stop at a gym, where they have salsa classes. As long as you don’t mind dancing in between the fitness equipment, it’s a great way to learn salsa, having your private instructor and all.
When I arrived home, I chatted to my neighbours’ guards for a while, who tend to jump up and run up to me when I stop and say hallo. I guess I offer some distraction from their very boring job, and they offer the only opportunity to interact with Burkinabé in my neighbourhood.
When I went to bed, I felt so comfortable and happy about being here, how well I like the Burkinabé, their food, their music, their lack of ability to be grumpy, or hasty, or even busy whenever there is someone around to talk too. Oh, how sad will I be when I will be home again, missing it all.
Wednesday was the not-so-good-a-day. Being in the country for exactly a month then, I experienced some mild homesickness for the first time since I arrived. I thought about my friends, family, temperatures around 18º Celsius and watching the Dutch Parliament debate on the budget for next year (yes, I like that), and felt sad for missing it all. What made things worse, was that I spent most of the day working out the minutes of the meeting of European ambassadors. I might be able to have a decent conversation with friends in French now, but that is something completely different than writing something the French ambassador will read without angrily calling our ambassador and demanding apologies for insulting the French language to great extent.
And then, the things going on in my stomach weren’t helping either, nor the fact that that forced me to follow a diet more strict than that of most Muslims here during Ramadan (they are quite lenient here).
At the end of the working day, I wasn’t done yet, because I had been invited to a discussion platform on political reform. The good news was that a) it was an interesting discussion b) it started on time and most people made rather short and to-the-point contributions to the discussion, which is all very un-African c) it was a discussion among Burkinabé, with me and my chef being the only foreigners. The bad news was that I was tired, hungry, thirsty, not feeling well and unable to focus. At eight a clock, when it was supposed to stop, everyone on the speakers list had had their say. Unfortunately, the moderator was probably so surprised and happy about this, that he decided to allow two more people to say something, and then – why not – another five! I decided not to wait until the end. I arrived home again with a take-away pizza in my bicycle’s front basket (to hell with the diet), which proved to be the highlight of the day.
But Thursday was much better. I woke up feeling I had slept well. At the embassy, I actually got assigned a nice little job: the Dutch minister for Development Cooperation will be visiting Burkina, and he will need some background information on people he is going to meet. It is my task to find that. I gave it my best, adding interesting details like: ‘was involved in a car accident last November, with his car flipping over, but luckily, no one was hurt’. I could just imagine our minister meeting the guy, asking: ‘so tell me, how are things now, after the accident and all?’, scoring muchos bonus points. However, I’m not sure if those things will remain in the dossier after my chef has taken a look at it.
I lunched with my colleague (the Dutch one married to a Burkinabé). She knew a nice little place near the embassy, which was very crowded, and very Burkinabé. I indulged in baked banana (aloco), something tasting like sauerkraut (atiéké), but looking like couscous, and some great fries, for next to nothing. It was the first real Burkinabé food I’ve had here (shame!) and it was delicious.
In the evening, I cycled to the tailor again with my piece of fabric. There is nothing like cycling through Ouaga in the evening. There is great music everywhere, anything from regular urban to the real West-African beats, but always loud and up-tempo. Streets are crowded, the smell of food is omnipresent, and the dark night makes for nice temperatures. It was very moist, though, with probably 90% water in the air again. Anyway, I arrived at the tailor, who took his time, sketched a design, took all my measurements (making it official now that I’m nowhere near perfect female measurements, I’m afraid), and told me to come back in two weeks time. I wished everyone there a bonne soirée when leaving, and they wished me the same, with the usual delay, because they have to recover from the shock of having such a weird creature suddenly speaking to them.
I made one more stop at a gym, where they have salsa classes. As long as you don’t mind dancing in between the fitness equipment, it’s a great way to learn salsa, having your private instructor and all.
When I arrived home, I chatted to my neighbours’ guards for a while, who tend to jump up and run up to me when I stop and say hallo. I guess I offer some distraction from their very boring job, and they offer the only opportunity to interact with Burkinabé in my neighbourhood.
When I went to bed, I felt so comfortable and happy about being here, how well I like the Burkinabé, their food, their music, their lack of ability to be grumpy, or hasty, or even busy whenever there is someone around to talk too. Oh, how sad will I be when I will be home again, missing it all.
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