I like my life to be exiting, unique, adventurous and with a touch of ridicule. “At least I’m on the safe side concerning the touch of ridicule”, I said to myself while I was staring into the mirror Saturday afternoon two weeks ago. I was sitting in the room where my stay in Ouaga had begun: the guestroom of the Dutch residence. I had been looking in the same mirror four months ago to see whether I looked proper enough for my first day at work. Much has changed in those four months, but I had never thought upon my arrival here that four months later, my reflection in the mirror would have changed so very dramatically. A tan is to be expected when living in Africa, but the person starring back from the mirror had a face pitch-black. Besides that, I was wearing pantyhose, a thick turtleneck T-shirt, a wig and a colourful blouse with matching shorts and hat.
Sinterklaas, the Dutch equivalent of Santa Clause (well, actually, it’s the other way round) had come to Ouagadougou to hand out presents to the children of the Dutch school. As custom, he had brought along his assistants: black men (although they’re gender neutral really) with Afro hair and colourful outfits. They are called Black Pete, all of them, and they are numerous. There is Head Pete, Pete of Presents, Pete of Wrapping Presents, etc. Despite protesting, I was assigned Pete of Sleep, which meant I had to fall asleep every five minutes or so. It was fun, of course, and the kids loved it (it’s wonderful how you can get children exited over and over again by doing the same thing; they are simple little creatures, aren’t they?), but the outfit of Black Pete is more adjusted to the Dutch winter than to the 35 degrees of Ouaga’s afternoons. When we lefted the residence, Sinterklaas on his horse, me and the other Petes running after him, and the people on the street staring at us in amazement.
The ridicule was touched upon even more when Sinterklaas asked me to get him a glass of white wine. I didn’t cooperate, but he drank at least two glasses in the end.
The weekend after, I spent in the Sahel. We had a long weekend, which allowed us to take a three-day mini-break. I went with to other girls, and we had a great time. Among the many challenges of the dessert, besides avoiding dehydration, getting lost, getting robbed or getting kidnapped by terrorists, are trying not to fall of a dromedary while trying to take a picture, not to be painfully pricked in your feet by cramcrams, not to pee over your own feet when aiming for the small whole in the ground, not to be pricked in the bare bottom when you decide to pee outside instead, and not to scream like a person who is being tortured when taking a morning ‘shower’ with a bottle of water which has been outside all night in the cool Sahelian night. I could tell you much more about our trip, but I don’t manage to properly describe the magic of the very north of Burkina. I invite you all to look at the photo album instead.
Unique was the lunch I had with the Prime minister, Mr. Tertius Zongo. Well, alright, it’s wasn’t a tête-à-tête, like I had with the minister of Transport, but I was there on the same table as he was. Like every month, we had had the meeting of the European ambassadors in Burkina Faso, always followed by a lunch with an interesting guest. For the last lunch organised under the Dutch local presidency of the European Union, we had invited the PM. And he came.
And so, our presidency came to an end, and with that my internship. I’m wrapping up this week. I don’t want to leave. I would love to find a job here, rent a modest house, and set up life here for a few years. It’s ridiculous, of course, to hope to find a job here. But then again, it’s that touch of ridicule which makes my world go round.
Sinterklaas, the Dutch equivalent of Santa Clause (well, actually, it’s the other way round) had come to Ouagadougou to hand out presents to the children of the Dutch school. As custom, he had brought along his assistants: black men (although they’re gender neutral really) with Afro hair and colourful outfits. They are called Black Pete, all of them, and they are numerous. There is Head Pete, Pete of Presents, Pete of Wrapping Presents, etc. Despite protesting, I was assigned Pete of Sleep, which meant I had to fall asleep every five minutes or so. It was fun, of course, and the kids loved it (it’s wonderful how you can get children exited over and over again by doing the same thing; they are simple little creatures, aren’t they?), but the outfit of Black Pete is more adjusted to the Dutch winter than to the 35 degrees of Ouaga’s afternoons. When we lefted the residence, Sinterklaas on his horse, me and the other Petes running after him, and the people on the street staring at us in amazement.
The ridicule was touched upon even more when Sinterklaas asked me to get him a glass of white wine. I didn’t cooperate, but he drank at least two glasses in the end.
The weekend after, I spent in the Sahel. We had a long weekend, which allowed us to take a three-day mini-break. I went with to other girls, and we had a great time. Among the many challenges of the dessert, besides avoiding dehydration, getting lost, getting robbed or getting kidnapped by terrorists, are trying not to fall of a dromedary while trying to take a picture, not to be painfully pricked in your feet by cramcrams, not to pee over your own feet when aiming for the small whole in the ground, not to be pricked in the bare bottom when you decide to pee outside instead, and not to scream like a person who is being tortured when taking a morning ‘shower’ with a bottle of water which has been outside all night in the cool Sahelian night. I could tell you much more about our trip, but I don’t manage to properly describe the magic of the very north of Burkina. I invite you all to look at the photo album instead.
Unique was the lunch I had with the Prime minister, Mr. Tertius Zongo. Well, alright, it’s wasn’t a tête-à-tête, like I had with the minister of Transport, but I was there on the same table as he was. Like every month, we had had the meeting of the European ambassadors in Burkina Faso, always followed by a lunch with an interesting guest. For the last lunch organised under the Dutch local presidency of the European Union, we had invited the PM. And he came.
And so, our presidency came to an end, and with that my internship. I’m wrapping up this week. I don’t want to leave. I would love to find a job here, rent a modest house, and set up life here for a few years. It’s ridiculous, of course, to hope to find a job here. But then again, it’s that touch of ridicule which makes my world go round.
PS I've found a veggie maquis (small bar/restaurant) here in Ouaga! They make all sorts of Burkinabè specialities, but with tofu instead of meat! And it's also really cheap! I'm loving it!
For general pictures of Ouaga, and especially me as Black Pete, my new dresses, and the killing of the sheep at Tabaski, see http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=304685&id=669020293&l=a125316501
The pictures of our trip to the Sahel, you can find at http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=357409&id=669020293&l=43d10134ff
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