Meeting Papa

Save the Children dropped me back at the Maissa Hotel around 3 o'clock that afternoon. After we had sorted out which gifts I was keeping (half the mangoes, all the oranges and groundnuts and the various bowls, baskets and ladles) and giving Mr Coulibaly the rest to distribute amongst the staff, I said goodbye, told them it was very kind, but I didn't need a lift to Bamako the next day as I was meeting my guide and we had made other arrangements, and went to my room to stash my stuff. As I still had several hours before my scheduled meeting with Papa, I decided to walk along to the cyber cafe for a bit.

I had been sitting in the cyber cafe for about an hour, catching up on this blog and checking my emails, when I noticed I had two emails from Papa, and one was dated less than a minute ago. The first email, sent several days ago, said there had been a problem with the last deposit I'd sent, of 100 Euros, just a few days before I'd left Canada. Papa had sent me an email saying he needed another 100 Euros for his "locateur", a word that didn't translate properly but apparently meant the supplier of the 4by4. I'd duly sent it off, on May 25 I believe, but Papa was now saying that only 50 Euros had been received by his bank in Timbuktu. While I was still digesting this, I read his second email, which said something like "I am sitting here in a cyber cafe and there is a white woman four computers along to my right. Is that you?" I sent an email back saying "hi!" and then got up, and there he was! He had the 4by4 outside with the driver, so we quickly paid our bills, and after introducing me to Al Fady, the driver, we drove back to the Maissa, where they were also staying.

We went and sat out by the pool, and ordered cokes while we sorted out our finances and decided on the plan for tomorrow. I agreed to take his word about the 50 Euro shortage, until he could show me a statement from his bank, or we could talk to the bank directly. I asked him how much extra it was going to be for the two extra days caused by Save the Children's changing the day I was to meet Diarah, and he said 160 Euros. Instead of two lump payments, one now and one at the end of the trip, he asked if we could split it into 3 payments, two of 600 Euros and the final one 590 Euros. I said fine, and gave him the first 600, and had him sign for it. He asked if I wanted to eat at the hotel, but after the previous night, when I'd spent an hour waiting to be served, and then hadn't been told that all side dishes were extra, I said I'd prefer to eat somewhere a bit cheaper and faster, so we agreed to meet at 7:00 and go out somewhere to eat.

We ended up going to one of the little restaurants on the road between the hotel and the cyber cafe, where it was indeed much cheaper and faster than the Maissa, although if I remember correctly Al Fady had to go out to get drinks as they had none in stock. After supper we went back to the hotel and split up, agreeing to meet at 8 the next morning for a trip to a nearby grotto and a waterfall.

Three Live Chickens!

I gave my Diarah the two books I'd brought for her, the large 3-in-1 Jeremy Stilton book, about dinosaurs, the Middle Ages and Ancient Egypt, and 101 Dalmatians, and I gave her friend the little toy beanie-baby horse and some stickers. I also gave my Diarah stickers and a pen set for school, and I gave both girls individual pens. I signed the big book for Diarah, with her new pen. Then it was their turn. First, they brought out a huge bowl of mangoes, then two bowls of fresh milk. Then they gave me a huge wooden ladle, for the milk, I guess! Then a bag of guinea fowl eggs. Then Diarah presented me with a bowl, newly inscribed 'L'amitie de la ville de Heramokono' and the date. The coup de grace was when Diarah's father presented me with three live chickens! There were more photos taken, and then we ate, from a huge communal bowl of rice and chicken (yes, I know, but I tried to eat only the rice, I couldn't refuse, it would have been too rude after all the effort they put in).

After many goodbyes, and handshakes and waves, it was finally time to go. The drive back to town was a bit of an anticlimax, but it gave me time to wind down. And before you ask, I gave Mr Coulibaly the three chickens, the milk and the guinea fowl eggs to distribute to the Save the Children staff, and I just kept the mangoes, oranges and ground nuts (I forgot to mention those).

Dancing Queen

After the speeches, it was time for the music and dancing First, there was a children's band, from the Early Childhood Development Project run by Save the Children - really cute! Then the grownups got in on the act, and boy, did they get in on it! There were two different adult bands, one fixed in place, and one roaming. And everybody danced - even me! The dancing involved much intricate stamping of the feet, gyrating of buttocks, and was totally exhausting! Water was thrown down to keep the dust from rising too much, although in the heat it dried out very quickly. Some of the dance involved the use of scarves, and it all seemed quite competitive. Diarah's school principal was quite the accomplished dancer, and looked very spiffy in his cream liken suit. Several of the Save the Children staff, (the two women) really got into the dancing. Towards the end, some of the children were allowed to jon in, including the two Diarahs.

When the dancing wound down, it was time to head to Diarah's family compound for the next phase of the party. Again, we were all seated in the shade of a large tree, and I was re-introduced to her parents, grandparents, and to her friend's parents. Then it was time for the gifts. As I hadn't planned for her friend, I had to split the gifts I'd brought between the two girls, reserving the larger portion for MY Diarah.

Queen for a Day

I got up around 7 and washed some clothes, then went to breakfast about 8. At 9 I went to the lobby to wait for Save the Children (at least, I thought it was 9, I found out later that there was a one hour time change betwee Burkina Faso and Mali, so I was operating an hour earlier than everybody else). When they hadn't arrived by 9:10 I decided to walk over to their office. I was greeted warmly by Mr Coulibaly, then sat in his office for 20 minutes or so while he finished some paperwork. Then he took me around and introduced me to everyone in the office.

When I'd met everyone, he and I and a driver boarded a Toyota Landcruiser and drove to Heremakono. First, though, we stopped at the market to buy nuts to give as a ceremonial gift to the village elders. Mr Coulibaly's cell phone rang fairly constantly on the drive out, but in between calls he pointed out highlights of the drive, and we stopped several times so I could take pictures, something I hadn't been able to do on the mini-bus. The trip also went much faster than it had on the mini-bus, without the constant need to stop and get the lights working!

We pulled up near the school I'd seen before, and to my amazement there waere people, mostly children, lined up on both sides of the path from the highway, winding past the school and to a large cleared area, and they were all clapping! At the roadside, in the centre of the child-lined path, two little girls in identical linen dresses, with their hair beautifully decorated with tiny shells, stood waiting to greet me. The taller, darker-skinned girl was my sponsored child, Diarah Coulibaly (no relation to Mr Coulibaly, it is a common name in Mali). The other little girl was her best friend, also named Diarah. First, the girls presented me with a bowl of oranges, which was handed temporarily to the driver, then they took my hands and led me ceremoniously down the path between the shouting, clapping children, to a row of seats under the shade of a big tree in the cleared area. This large area was also lined with people, the entire village of Heremakono, to be exact. Before I could sit down, I was led over to a double row of seats where all the elders of the village (male, of course) were seated, where I greeted, and was greeted by, all of them. They all wanted to shake my hand. Then I was introduced to Diarah's parents, her grandparents, her friend's parents, the principal of the school, and various Save the Childen officials who had helped the elders arrange my reception.

Then the speeches began. Everyone made speeches - Mr Coulibaly, the elders, the principal, Diarah's grandmother, and all the speeches were repeated in a very loud voice by a man dressed all in white who acted as a human megaphone (with one addition - he threw in the occasional joke also). Then it was my turn. I could only tell them that I was speechless, that their reception had touched my heart, and I was sure that not even the Prime Minister of Canada, or even the Queen, had ever been greeted like this§

Killing time in Sikasso

Breakfast was included with the price at the Maissa, so I got up at 7 but the restaurant was completely dark. I wandered around and had a look at the pool, photographed 3 sheep who seemed to have the run of the hotel, and tried to take pictures of some small, dusty red finch-like birds, and some of the Agama lizards that were everywhere, but they proved too fast for me. About 7:30 I found someone who was willing to open up the dining room for me, and wake up the waiter who was dozing at one of the tables. breakfast was Continental-style, a baguette (half), a cup of instant coffee with powdered milk, and a pat of butter and jam.

After eating, I asked at the reception for directions to a cyber cafe, and to the Save the Children offices. Save the Children turned out to be just a block away, behind the hotel, so I went there first. Since it was Sunday, neither of my contacts were there (I hadn't expected they would be) so I left a written message for Mr Coulibaly saying I had arrived safely and was staying at the Maissa Hotel, as he had suggested.

The directions I had been given for a cyber cafe were pretty vague (that way - and pointing) so I just walked out to the main road and headed back in the direction of the centre of town, figuring at least that way I couldn't get lost. My instincts proved correct, and after about a 20 minute walk, I found a cyber cafe, where I happily spent the next 3 hours. The only thing they couldn't do was download my photos, as they had no disks.

I stopped at a roadside store on the way back to the hotel and had a refreshingly cold Orange Quench (a brand I haven't found since). Back at the hotel I discovered that both Mr Coulibaly and Papa had phoned while I was out. The receptionist charged me 1000CFA to use his phone to call them back. I arranged to meet Save the Children next morning as we'd previously arranged, and agreed to meet Papa at the hotel at 6pm, once I was finished with S t C.

I chilled out in my room for a few hours before spending 2 blissful hours in the pool!

Ouaga to Bobo; Bobo to Sikasso

The bus station was full of buses, none anywhere near ready to leave. There were big heaps of luggage piled between the buses, and people stretched out on the ground sleeping. I found the bus for Bobo, and positioned myself next to it. Beside me was a little girl sitting on a heap of luggage labelled Niamey. The station master came by and told her and her father to move the pile, as they were nowhere near the Niamey bus. On the other side of me a young man was sleeping on a mattress, with the rest of the bed piled next to him. One of the men loading the buses was the spitting image of Will Smith. I saw a white woman pushing a bike, and a white couple got on the bus next to me.

I managed to get a window seat, but the bus was packed, so I had to ride the whole 5 1:2 hour trip with my pack on my knees. This time my seat mate was a young boy, maybe fifteen or sixteen. I think I may have taken his seat, as for the first time the tickets were numbered, but if so he didn't complain, although I'm pretty sure it was his first major bus trip. He was curious about everything. Once again the trip was actually fairly cool, and I was able to open my window. I persuaded one of my fellow passengers to take my picture.

When we reached the bus station in Bobo, I was mobbed by the usual swarm of taxi drivers, but when I said I wanted to go to Sikasso, a young man led me down the street to a much smaller bus depot where for 4500 CFA I purchased a ticket for Sikasso. The ticket seller told me the bus would leave at 3 pm, in two hours, and suggested I get something to eat. That seemed like a good idea to me. The young man, who told me his name was Ilyasa, led me across the busy street to a little local restaurant where we shared a plate of rice and peanut sauce, and draughts of icy cold water. Then he led me around the corner to a slightly more upmarket cafe where we had cokes while he tried to talk me into visiting various local sights (no time), and then told me about a charity he was connected to that had something to do with a children's dance troupe, if I understood him correctly. Apparently there were 15 children involved, but somehow there was something about African film in there as well.

After we went back to the bus station, I gave him 2000 CFA, which was all I could afford, and he stayed with me until 3. Of course, the bus didn't actually leave at 3! Around 4 o'clock, a man came and led me down the road to where a group of the most decrepit looking minibuses were being piled high with teetering loads of produce and other luggage. Of course, the bus for Sikasso was the most decrepit!

I was told it would be another 15 minutes, so I went and joined a group of women behind the bus in the shade of a large tree, who were making switches from sweet-smelling grasses. I took a few pictures, and soon my camera was being handed around from woman to woman as they all looked at the pictures and commented on them. After about fifteen minutes the passengers were sent across the street to wait for the bus, and a few minutes later we were on our way.

The bus was as decrepit inside as out, with badly tattered seats. My bag was shoved under one of the front seats, and by shoving a bit, I was able to get a window seat behind it. The bus was packed to the limit, with even the jump seats in use. This time my seat mate was a very large young man, who at one of the border posts bought oranges for all of the women, myself included.
It was a very cramped ride, but for the most part, I was impressed at how well the seemingly decrepit bus managed.

The border posts were repeats of the Niger/BurkinaFaso ones, with passport details being hand written in large ledgers. At both country's posts, there were trees full of weaver birds, but it was too dark to really get any pictures. The border town on the Mali side turned out to be Heremakono, where I would be coming on Monday to visit Diarah, my sponsored child with Save the Children.

It was at Heremakono that we encountered a problem - the bus' battery was dying, and therefore, so did our headlights periodically. With frequent stops, it was about 10 pm when we finally reached Sikasso. I found a taxi, who said he knew where the Maissa hotel was, although it turned out he had to stop frequently to ask directions. Like the taxi I'd taken in Ouaga, this one had to be hotwired to start. At least it did start - my English-speaking taxi driver in Ouaga had needed a push to get his taxi started.

Ouaga

The previous evening, on my return to Niamey, I had been directed to the driver of the Ouaga bus to buy my ticket. The Ouaga buses were a different company, STMB. The driver had told me the bus would be leaving at 6 am, and I should be at the station about 5:30 am, when loading and boarding would commence.

This was the first and only bus to actually leave pretty much on time. Unlike the SNTV buses, this was a battered old veteran that made no pretence of being air-conditioned. It was also less than half full, so I was able to take my bag on board with me, and put it on the empty seat next to me. This time I sat on the opposite side of the bus, in one of the two-seat rows. Across the aisle from me the three-seat row was occupied by two well-built older women in traditional dress. After my sweltering experiences on the buses to and from Maradi, I had not worn the hijab this time, and now I wondered if this might have contributed to the attack that morning. Would the man have still tried to steal my bag if I had been wearing the hijab? I guess I will never know.

Several of the women on this bus were not wearing head-coverings, and in fact, once we reached Burkina Faso, over two thirds of the women I saw did not wear any kind of head covering, either hijab or traditional African headwraps.

We crossed the Niger border fairly soon after leaving Niamey and crossing the Niger River. We were told to get off the bus and hand over our documents to a soldier, who took them off to a nearby office. About ten minutes later, he brought back all the identity cards, but not the passports. Those of us with passports (about 3 other than myself) were directed to the office, where we were handed the passports and told we were free to go. We walked across the border and climbed back on the bus. It was at least another 20 km before we reached the Burkina Faso border. Here we handed over our documents and those of us with passports were directed to an office where a very pleasant man laboriously wrote out our details in longhand in an enormous ledger, before stamping our passports and giving them back to us. After reboarding the bus we drove a short distance to another post, where we were told to disembark with our luggage this time, and directed to a shed where a man in uniform made a very perfunctory search of our bags. This time, after putting our bags back on the bus, the bus pulled over and parked next to a row of other buses, and the passengers all mingled as they bought food and drinks from nearby stalls. Instead of buying anything, as I was very low on CFAs, I took some pictures of two vultures that were hopping around near some women and children.

This bus trip was very pleasant. The bus windows were dirty, so I couldn't take pictures, but several were open, creating a nice breeze, and the temperature generally was nowhere near as hot. The countryside gradually got greener than Niger, and I noticed several differences. I saw dogs for the first time, lots of them. In Niger, I occasionally heard dogs, but never saw any. In Burkina Faso, I also saw lots of pigs. The villages were different, seeming to consist of more individual compounds than actual villages. Mosques were less frequent, but generally larger and more elaborate. In Niger, I only saw men working in the fields, hoeing and ploughing, generally with oxen. In Burkina Faso, I saw women and children working in the fields, as well as men. Ploughing was generally with a donkey, rather than an ox, and consisted of a man steering the plough, which was pulled by the donkey, and a woman or child generally walked in front of the donkey. As we neared Ouagadougou, I began to see more and more bicycles, and mopeds as well as motorcycles. I didn't see any mopeds in Niger.

Ouaga is a large city, with a population of about two million, I'm told. There were many modern buildings, and we passed a park with traditional forest, a large hospital, a TB centre, and many government buildings. Of course, it was still a typical African city, with tiny businesses lining every street, and many rough dirt roads between the large paved thoroughfares. There seemed to be a lot of construction going on around the city outskirts.

When we arrived at the bus station, I was directed (by another taxi driver) to a taxi driver who spoke English. For 5000 CFA he agreed to drive me to where I could change money, bring me back to the bus station to buy a ticket to Bobo Diolasso for tomorrow, and then drive me to my hotel. In stead of taking me to a bank, he took me to some friends of his who changed 200 Euros at the 650 rate, then we came back to the station, got my ticke to Bobo, and then he drove me to the hotel I chose, Le Pavillon Vert. He agreed to come back tomorrow morning at 6 to drive me back to the bus station, as I didn't want a repeat of that morning!

I got a room with an overhead fan for 8700 CFA. It was a pretty basic room, with a shared toilet and shower down the hall, but the hotel was lovely and shady, with a very nice courtyard and its own restaurant, so I wasn't worried about being too hot.

I had a shower, and recharged my camera battery at a socket in the courtyard, since there wasn't one in my room. While I was waiting for it to charge, I had a look at the handicraft store attached to the hotel, and bought myself a new handbag, since it occurred to me that having an obvious bag, which didn't really have anything valuable in it, was a good distraction, and my ancient little handbag from Costa Rica hadn't survived the morning encounter. The bag I bought was larger, and actually more reminiscent of Ghana than Burkina Faso, as it has a Kente cloth design on one side. I also had a nice chat with an older Belgian man who was staying at the hotel. This was another difference between B.F. and Niger - other than at the Maradi Guest House, I didn't see any foreign tourists in Niger, but in Burkina I saw several at the bus station, and the Pavillon Vert seemed to be populated almost entirely by foreign tourists rather than locals.

I had a good night, and almost overslept, only waking abruptly at 5 am. I went out to wait for my taxi about 5:45, and had to wake up the receptionist to unlock the gate for me. There was already a fair bit of traffic on the road, and when my taxi hadn4t arrived by a few minutes past 6, I flagged another down that was parked across the street. He only charged me 500 CFA to take me to the bus depot.