Souvenirs

The management of Ouagadougou International Airport seems to make a point of preservering the specific character of a development country's airport. Due to construction work, the whole place looks like it has been ruined by a recent earthquake, and people are still running around the place in great shock and disorder. Unfortunately, the disorder is permanent. Of course, some things are the same in all developing countries, like the chaotic arrivals hall. 'What are we waiting for?', a tourist in the line before customs asked me. Clearly, it was his first visit to Africa. Once you've been there more often, you learn to accept that waiting is just a substantial part of life in this part of the world.

But even I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw how luggage is handled here: they line it up on the floor, and leave the passengers to fight their way through the crowds, looking for their luggage. This is how I ended up waiting for my luggage for half an hour, only to find that it had been there all along: it had been hiding in a corner.

Ah, Ouaga. It has such a different dynamic than Bamako. In Bamako, everyone seems to be on the move all the tile. People are hasty and keen on getting whatever job done. In Ouaga, everything seems to be more laid-back, and I can understand why. It always feels like the desert is just lurking behind your back in Ouaga, ready to take over town when you happen to look the other way. Even in the rainy season, everything looks a bit dusty, sandy and pale. In the heat of the day, everyone literally lays back, preferably on the cool, covered pavement leqding up to the bank, breathing heavily and slowly.

Malian people seem to be minding their own business more. I could walk hundreds of meters through Bamako without anyone bothering me, which is rather exceptional. Apart from the occasional rasta, who will follow you on the street and scream aggressively that you're a racist if you don't want to talk to them.

It is good to be back. Je suis une Ouagalaise, after all. I enjoyed the surprised faces on the embassy when I just walked back in, and it's nice to visit my friends and to feel so at home in a place so far away from my official home. It's like coming home after a long holiday.

And yes, it hurted a bit to leave Bamako behind. I spent the last day running around town, buying silver bracelets and a copy of the Communist Manifesto to tease Soumano with. He gave me a beautiful small kora (a musical instrument used in this region) in return. 'Pour la princesse', he said, using the nickname I had adopted by now.

In the airplane to Ouaga, I played with my new silver bracelet, as princesses tend to do. The bracelet hugging my arm was at least a little bit of Bamako holding on to me. It wasn't love at first sight, I must admit, but when I fell in love with it, it came with such force, that I actually don't need any souvenirs to carry Bamako with me: I've already got it under my skin.