It had pleased Mr. Ouédraogo, minister of Transportation and leader of the liberal party in Burkina Faso, to invite me for a little tête-à-tête. After meeting him the week before, I had become curious about him, so I was happy with the invitation. My tailor-made, bright purple outfit had been ready just in time for me to wear it to our meeting last Friday, so I didn’t have to feel underdressed. The minister wore a uni-coloured outfit too, this time. Instead of the usual ADF/RDA propaganda, he had put on a white, pyjama-like suit that morning, which would feature well in a detergent commercial, or in Jesus Christ Superstar.
I was put in a waiting room first, where I watched the music video of the week on a television with bad reception. To my great surprise, I was not made to wait long before I was led into Mr. Ouédraogo’s office. We did the usual exchange of inquiries after each other’s well-being, and that of our families, etc., and sat down. “Seydou called me this week and told me you would like an audience with me”, he started. “I told him I would be happy to oblige”. I could not particularly remember having asked for an audience, but I decided not to point out that Seydou had apparently used an old matchmaking trick. Then, so I launched a series of compliments and questions. I emphasised three times that I thought he was a great example for political youth, being only 40 years old and already in such an important position. Furthermore, I showed off my knowledge of his cv, which I had learned by heart, and I praised the people of Burkina like they have never praised before. He listened to it with the serene smile of someone used to getting compliments. When I told him that I loved being in Burkina, despite missing friends and family, he offered me his phone to call my parents. He really seemed to mean it, handing me his phone and looking at me expectantly, but I ensured him I could make phone calls to my parents at the embassy. After about fifteen minutes, I didn’t know what to say or ask anymore, and did not feel like repeating all the compliments once more, so I said ‘well, I’m sure you have lots to do’, to which he replied ‘No, not really’. Since I actually did have some work to do, I decided to leave anyway. I left him my business card, hoping that that would help him to pronounce my name properly next time, and he gave me his. He was keen to getting my private contact details, so I promised to send that to his yahoo-address. ‘We’ll stay in touch and e-mail each other’, he said. That sounded like a good plan: at least it would give him something to do.
Seydou was surprised that I was already done after twenty minutes, but I told him that I’m Dutch, and therefore highly efficient, and therefore don’t need more time than that for such a meeting. I also told him everything I had said and asked, and he concluded that I was turning into a real diplomat.
I returned to the embassy, where we had a Burkinabé lunch. It was my idea to do so, because I hoped it would promote the integration of the Dutch expats into Burkinabé life, and to improve relations between Burkinabé staff and Dutch staff. The whole thing was mainly organised by Sandrine though, I must admit. I’m not sure if it really helped with the integration. A lot of Dutch staff wasn’t there, and the ones who were there, had ordered Tex-Mex food at the American Rec Centre, and sat on the other side of the table, suspiciously staring at the Burkinabé food, disapprovingly looking at people eating with their hands (which is normal here), and only every now and then reluctantly taking a bite of the exotic food. I decided to accept the fact that to reach my objectives, I would have to continue efforts, and I held on to the thought that although I would like to unchain a revolution, incremental change helps as well, and is probably the best I can get.
I sat halfway along the table, trying to get the two sides to interact, still holding on to my incremental-change thoughts, when I realised Seydou was right: I am turning into a real diplomat.
I was put in a waiting room first, where I watched the music video of the week on a television with bad reception. To my great surprise, I was not made to wait long before I was led into Mr. Ouédraogo’s office. We did the usual exchange of inquiries after each other’s well-being, and that of our families, etc., and sat down. “Seydou called me this week and told me you would like an audience with me”, he started. “I told him I would be happy to oblige”. I could not particularly remember having asked for an audience, but I decided not to point out that Seydou had apparently used an old matchmaking trick. Then, so I launched a series of compliments and questions. I emphasised three times that I thought he was a great example for political youth, being only 40 years old and already in such an important position. Furthermore, I showed off my knowledge of his cv, which I had learned by heart, and I praised the people of Burkina like they have never praised before. He listened to it with the serene smile of someone used to getting compliments. When I told him that I loved being in Burkina, despite missing friends and family, he offered me his phone to call my parents. He really seemed to mean it, handing me his phone and looking at me expectantly, but I ensured him I could make phone calls to my parents at the embassy. After about fifteen minutes, I didn’t know what to say or ask anymore, and did not feel like repeating all the compliments once more, so I said ‘well, I’m sure you have lots to do’, to which he replied ‘No, not really’. Since I actually did have some work to do, I decided to leave anyway. I left him my business card, hoping that that would help him to pronounce my name properly next time, and he gave me his. He was keen to getting my private contact details, so I promised to send that to his yahoo-address. ‘We’ll stay in touch and e-mail each other’, he said. That sounded like a good plan: at least it would give him something to do.
Seydou was surprised that I was already done after twenty minutes, but I told him that I’m Dutch, and therefore highly efficient, and therefore don’t need more time than that for such a meeting. I also told him everything I had said and asked, and he concluded that I was turning into a real diplomat.
I returned to the embassy, where we had a Burkinabé lunch. It was my idea to do so, because I hoped it would promote the integration of the Dutch expats into Burkinabé life, and to improve relations between Burkinabé staff and Dutch staff. The whole thing was mainly organised by Sandrine though, I must admit. I’m not sure if it really helped with the integration. A lot of Dutch staff wasn’t there, and the ones who were there, had ordered Tex-Mex food at the American Rec Centre, and sat on the other side of the table, suspiciously staring at the Burkinabé food, disapprovingly looking at people eating with their hands (which is normal here), and only every now and then reluctantly taking a bite of the exotic food. I decided to accept the fact that to reach my objectives, I would have to continue efforts, and I held on to the thought that although I would like to unchain a revolution, incremental change helps as well, and is probably the best I can get.
I sat halfway along the table, trying to get the two sides to interact, still holding on to my incremental-change thoughts, when I realised Seydou was right: I am turning into a real diplomat.
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