I cannot get away from Ouagadougou!

Just another chance to type the name......

Yesterday I walked for hours in the heat of the day, just to be reminded why I usually avoid it. Not very pleasant....... But it is the only way to get to know a place and I thoroughly enjoyed seeing all the myriad of activities that take place from small premises along the way... Africa in its own way is into recycling in a big way. The people may leave the streets dirty and filled with plastic packaging, but where saving materials of worth is concerned, there is nothing to beat them! But it saddenedd me to see how many sacks of rice come from countries like Pakistan, where we are lead to believe that there are food shortages after the earthquake. The whole movement of goods around the world alarms me. I watched perfectly good leather shoes being made from recycled things, but was constantly bagdered by sellers with cheap shoes from overseas. And there is already evidence of the Chinese invasion. Projects for which they have cleverly won contracts. They will change the face of Africa considerably, I think, as they do not come in with the 'we are the experts and you must be the workers' attitude. But I did finally find the bus-station for Togo. Just to be told that there are only two busses a week. So another day here as I leave tomorrow early in the morning.

Continuation of 21 kilos

(for those who do not know what this is about: the things on my back define my thoughts--and they come from my friends---in alphabetical order)

Anna Maria F.
I had never met AM until Francis's funeral. But she was huge in his life, and if anybody has had a child, you would know that their best friend's mother is always 'if only you could be like her' stuff. It was AM with whom Francis had deep converations in pubs or who fed him with her boys when it was more like a family for him than us two alone. And a few days before I left, she came over with a bottle of wine and a packet of rolling tobacco. We finished the former and I put the remainder of the tobacco in the waterproof pouch Ingrid had given me for my passport. When I was in my apartment in Nouakchott, I happily rolled cigarettes in front of my French TV and relaxed with the memories of an amazing woman who keeps her male-dominated family going under past, current and future pressures with all the strength of a very special person. And here in Africa, one also sees the amazing fortitude of the women. When I asked why women do not use the modern generated pounding machines for their daily millet cakes rather than spend back-breaking hours at the pestle and mortar (I tried and it is jolly difficult), my male guide told me indignantly that the taste is not the same and that it is womens' work. And to see the women balance large, full, water containers on their heads whilst negotiating steep stone steps to the village, one is left as amazed as if one had seen a complicated ballet take place.

Ann E.
Without whom I would be lost! That Western Union Gold Card of hers will no doubt be brought into use. Wherever one goes, one sees the yellow signs for Western Union. In the old days (I am thinking of nearly 50 years ago when I first became aware of it in Southern Rhodesia), one could drive for endless miles through the African bush and then, out of nowhere, would appear a red disk and the words 'Coca Cola' on them. Today I think that 'Western Union' is the winner. It means that I will never be without money, as their money-sending facility is so efficient, but it also shows how much Africa has changed. Surely the only reason for this is because workers in Europe or the USA send back money to their families. At a very high % cost to the earners. But many people are totally dependent upon this 'blackmarket' economy. My Guide in Mopti, called Sec, was in the process of negotiating a large contract with a German client. To secure a deposit, he asked them to send him the money via Western Union. I was a bit upset and told him to open a Bank Account which would make people more likely to want to pay to avoid the large charges. He had never considered this and I suppose lived so much from one client to the next, that the idea of saving was difficult to understand. I got him to get photos as the Bank required an identity pass and made sure that my payment went into the account as the initial deposit rather than be spent immediately amongst his friends and relatives as is the custom... It leads to a certain kind of un-African selfishness, but when I explained that he might be able to save for a motorbike, he was overjoyed and his emails to me are now full of gratitude that I have put his thinking on another level....... Ann not only offered to be my Emergency Bank, but she arrived with a parcel of a note-book and very clever torch-pen. It makes one remember those nights in Boarding School when, after 'lights out', one got under the blankets with a torch. This way I can cock a snook at the mosquitoes! And the note-book is already nearly empty as I make notes or tear out pages to have directions explained. I have not yet used them for toilet paper as one soon learns to adapt to the ways of the desert where water is used very effectively. No more description needed, but I assure you, it is effective! But I was amused by myself today in my Hotel. It is the first place I have been so far where toilet paper is actually provided. Quite a luxury! The roll was put in 'upside down' as far as I am concerned and I had to resist the temptation to turn it around. Some of my friends know of my obsession with having the roll the right way up.... Such are the things of small minds..... Today too, I had to change the $US Ann so kindly provided. I had hidden them in my English toilet roll (to continue the theme) between the cardboard cylinder and soft paper and I was proud of this 'hiding place'---although I will not divulge other similar places to you. A thief might be reading this Blog! My Hotel has overstretched my budget and I have finished the Euros I brought with me. Currently the exchange rate for $US is not very good and I do not know if it will get any better (as I have no idea of what is happening in the world). I have a whole pile of 1$US notes which are so battered that the exchange people (a man in a back street to whom someone directs you) refuse to take them. I am reluctant to give them out as tips or payments for favours, as I have been approached by too many poor young men who ask me to give them something in their own money for a euro or foreign coin they have obviously been given by a tourist. And a nice surprise is that the money in Mali, Burkino Faso and Togo is all the same! So none of that dreadful mental exercise I have to make every now and again when crossing borders. Lastly, one cannot forget Ann's great gift of medical items! We will not go into the where-froms of this. Sufficient to say that a small pharmacy could have been set up!!! And when she had offered and I had remembered reading that condoms are a very useful emergency item to have (tournique, water container..) I asked for some old ones. But she came up with masses of in-date-condoms amongst other things like sterile needles, plasters and bandages and all kinds of things I will never know how to use. Her instructions on how to set up a drip went way over my head! As somebody said to me; 'Africa heals' and I just hope I do not need any of these useful things.

Anne K.
During her brief visit to the UK from SA, I was showered with presents, one of which was a sensible-shaped and sharp knife. Anne knew just how useful it would be. And so it proved. With the mango season in full swing and me being mindful of Ingrid's exhortation to always peel my fruit, the knife had been a godsend. Sadly, too popular. We were on the boat which I had hired to take me to Lake Debo along the Niger (4 days and 3 nights) and I had just finished peeling a mango. The cook asked to borrow the knife to prepare the fish we had just bought and disected for research purposes. I put my hand overboard to rinse the knife and was taken by surprise by the force of the water. It shot out of my hand never to be seen again. Sadly missed and finally replaced yesterday by another bought from the inevitable stand along the road. I promptly christened it with a mango needing peeling and of course, unaware of its sharpness, cut my finger. It was just something to suck clean and keep away from contact, but some blood had gotten onto my shirt and my hands. The locals were extremely upset and worried and I had to laugh it off quite forcefully. When I think of the thick red blood pouring out of the head of one of the accident victims yesterday....

Anne H.
Had it not been for Anne introducing me to 5W, none of this would ever have taken place. And if you are still with me, you would have been saved on a lot of reading. Anne is one of those people who effortlessly travels the world and knows all about its intricacies and knows how to inspire you about a plant or rock or road that seemed nondescript before she was there. She made me aware of the fact that there are many wonderful women about who like to travel and visit places, but do not neccesarily have the means. Through 5W you can stay with like-minded women who usually become instant friends. When I read about some of the journeys they ave undertsaken, I am filled with praise. Women are really being freed to explore like never before.

Anne M.
The extremely useful large plastic bag from which one can extract air, arrived by post just as I was packing. Anne had kindly asked if I was interested and promptly sent it. How did one travel without such conveniences before?! It is extremely useful for reducing ones' clothes to minimum size. I have put my 'best' clothes in it and not yet needed to unpack them. Although I no doubt have enough clothes, I tend to wear the same things all the time. Life becomes very simple and less stressful if you do not have too much stuff. It is a lesson we in the West find difficult to adjust to. However, I think I have managed. I have not yet worn a nightdress (too hot anyway and will only require more washing) and it is very easy, when one is with the locals, to do as they do; just find a place on a mattress and go to sleep. Having said that, I am always pleasantly pleased to see how scrupulous people are about hygiene and cleanliness. An African will not greet you in the morning until he has washed his face. At first I found it a bit disconcerting when I happily said 'good morning' to the bodies waking up aroud me and nobody responded. It is these subtle signs of cultural differences which make travelling so rewarding.

Burgert R.
Not that Burgerts' contribution is anything in my rucsac. His are the praise-poems and exhortations via the internet which lift the spirit and make one feel special. I met him 40 years ago and we have grown old in our recognition of each other's lives....but the spark that creates friendships which overcome time is still very much there. Nice to know that a spirit guards one's memories. I set off for Togo tomorrow and will no doubt be fascinated by the voodoo practices I hope to encounter. Here in Burkino Faso, there are hardly any animals left in the so-called National Parks due to poaching. In SA, Burgert fought a tremendous battle to save a rare colony of birds in trees on the edge of his village. But the developers won. It is not just the hungry local who is destroying the Goose that Lays the Golden Egg. When one sees all the plastic detrius on the ground, one despairs. But a culture which depended on nature (and the wonderful goat!) to decompose whatever is thrown down, cannot be expected to change overnight and adopt recycle/tidy habits.

Bush House.
It is always a thrill to go into Bush House where the Shop stocks wonderful items to do with the good works of the BBC World Service. It was originally set up as a bit of an opposition to the German service before WWll. Today it has lost out to a certain extent to CNN and other TV stations, but where there is no TV, its clear radio programmes in different languages can be found. Sadly, now reduced from an optimum of 45, I think. This is where I found my little books of African Phrases and 'The Wisdom of Africa' apart from the radio frequency timetables. The last few weeks have been very frustrating for me as I am not a natural linguist and I have been deprived of my phrase-book. It really is a bit of an insult to visit a country and not be able to communicate. I was quite amused when people who do not often come across foreigners, found it difficult to understand that I did not speak at least French (" you mean there are countries where they don't speak French?!"). So I try to learn a few greetings and am rewarded with looks of appreciation. Most of the people I have encountered know at least two or three languages. I was amazed at how Sec could instantly define the tribe someone came from and start talking to them in their language. And the subtleties were lost on me: some were traditional enemies, others were of the same grouping, others were from a tribe with whom they have a taboo due to ancient history, others are 'brothers' and are spoken to in a bantering way. And the Dogon form of greeting is the most complicated in the world! I used to think the Arabic greeting a long one, but the Dogon win by far. Every time you meet someone you have to go through a ritual of phrases which does not allow for editing. It allows one to appreciate that time is not important. And that is something I have happily accepted during these travels. If you have to wait 5 hours for a delayed bus, you do. And not being able to speak a language but trying to be polite in company by not bringing out a book to read (terrible temptation!), means that I have been able to observe the subtle relationships within a family. How people defer to each other and how the children, who have no toys, learn to define their dependancy on other members of the family. There is an extremely strong bond and inter-related social structure which gives the children a place in the hierachy. What nonsence I talk! Get the Anthropologists to define this and leave me to just smile and greet......

Dad.
My father's family originated in Germany and went to SA in 1883 when his great-grandfather emigrated for health reasons with 8 children and a governess. His grandfather was interned during WWl and his father during WWll---as though they might have been enemies. Both died as a result of hardships encountered in the camps. My father was not allowed to join the SA forces in Egypt, but was given guarding duties near home. I remember as a child using his wonderful tin helmet as a potty. But what did survive, is a whistle with which he was no doubt meant to alert the country that it was being invaded by the dreaded Hun (shades of Dad's Army?). I took this whistle after his death when sorting out the house and now have it on a long rope in my pouch in case I ever need to call for help. How one can do so in the stress of the moment is impossible to imagine, but one does these things in the vain hope that they would act as a talisman. Ingrid told me of the trick of adding a rope or string to small items like keys so that they do not get lost. And very useful it is... At night in 'bed' I can tie the little Mosquito bite zapper to my wrist so that it is easily available and not lost amongst the other items one has around one: waterbottle, torch, book, glasses, moneybag, mosquito repellant, damp facecloth, small sucsac, drying clothes and so on..... I realise what a tortoise-like existence I now live.

Dervla Murphy.
Whom I have not met, but who has been my inspiration ever since Margaret introduced me to her travel books. She is simply my heroine and there are often occasions when I say to myself "what would Dervla have done?". Having her travels and great knowledge as an inspiration/example gives one the confidence to proceed. There is no way in which I am trying to emulate her (she is far too tough and knowlegeable), but so many people asked me to let them know what I was up to, that it became a bit of a challenge to do this Blog. I doubt that I would keep it up and am only now doing this list as it came as a surprise when I thought about my posessions; but it is also because I have suddenly acquired the time due to bus timetables and can use an Internet Cafe which has wonderful modern flat-screens, is air-conditioned and actually works!! And they provide free coffee......... None of which would interest Dervla.

Donna D.
A loyal 'Garden Tours' client who has become a friend. Always generous with presents and books, I am just sorry that I cannot celebrate with her our 10 years of working together this month. The Chelsea Flower show seems another world away...which it is. Why do we use such useless phrases?! One of last year's presents was a make-up bag. This is not crammed with make-up, as those of you who know me will instantly recognise (I have mentioned the non-used lipstick), but it is a superb square shape and is crammed with medical things. All you ever wanted to have on your travels and never used, says I cynically. Judging by the storage instructions, most of the antibiotics have been exposed to more than 40%C and must therefor be useless. But one carries them in any case in case...... Sec, the Guide, had stomach ache and I gave him a Rescue Remedy pill, which he assured me made him feel instantly better. Later one day, when we were walking on the banks of the Niger river, we came across one of the many little temporary settlements of the Bozo people who are fishermen. We stopped to talk to the family and I was admiring the dexterity with which the woman was taking still-live little fish from a basket and then turning the fish body sideways and pulling free a hard fin which she then used as a peg on which to fix the tail. In other words, the fish is now a round shape and is then left to die and dry out in this way. Later I saw many like this in the market and was assurd that they are exported to Europe. While I was thus occupied, I noticed that Sec had disappeared into the hut with the husband. Later, after questioning, Sec told me that he had had a session with the man who is a Healer and that the man had passed incantations across his stomach which instantly cured the problem. I am not doubting thses cures and just repeat that there are many ways to heal. I always maintain that 80% of healing is in the mind and we choose to be healed by the 'science' which suits our personality. Simplistic Hilda!! I might talk later about my own health which is currently very rude.

Esther P.
Before I left, Esther, who has a very strong faith for which I admire her very much, gave me a little wooden cross and tract with my favourite Dali painting depicted on it. The original Dali of Christ on the Cross can be seen in St Mungo's Museum of Religion in Glasgow. It is certainly worth an effort if you are ever near Glasgow and reaffirms to me the fact that all kinds of religions are there for all kinds of cultures. No one is of more value than another. Just before I left, I went to say goodbye to Dick (my ex-husband). He was dying and I did not expect that he would live for more than a few days. He died the day after I left. I was sorry to have missed the funeral, but Ingrid gave a detailed description of it and I could just imagine it as he is buried with Francis. He had a tremendous faith and he was totally resigned to his death and was happy in the knowledge that he would be joining Francis in Heaven and be buried with him. All this was a great comfort to him and I accept unreservedly that his Faith helped him through the last days. When trying to discuss religion with some people here, it was useful to bring out the little cross to show how we all have symbols (the Islamic Star and Moon is the equivalent). I kept it in my Passport bag, and no doubt, because of the frequent extraction of the passport in the middle of the night, I accidentally dropped the cross because it has disappeared. But the memory remains. Here I love the way the Islamic religion permeates life. No matter where you are, if it is time for prayers, you get down to it. So often the taxi is stopped in the middle of nowhere and everyone gets out to face Mecca. In the streets, there is nothing to stop someone from just standing still amongst the bustle of the town and to then get down to praying. In houses especially, the women use a stone, which I learnt is the equivalent to touching the earth, to say their prayers amidst heated conversations. You just let them get on with it whilst talking to others. I was in a taxi in the town of Segou in Mali one Friday at about 2pm. We were about to cross the main road when it suddenly filled with thousands of pedestrians, cyclists and cars. A tide of mainly men were all directed towards the local Mosque. My driver just stopped the car and we showed respect for about 10 minutes before proceeding across the road.

Eva D.
Years ago, when spending a holiday with my favourite aunt (Dad's sister), she gave me a pair of 'African' earrings. They are ideal for this trip, although I have not yet worn them. One does not look in mirrors and I certainly do not try to change looks every day. So another pair is being used at the moment. However, I now have an attractive necklace around my neck which was given to me by Sec. It came from a store of stuff in his room, and just as the hat he gave me came from the same supply, I ask no questions. Sec wanted to shower me with gifts because I had taken an interest in his Guiding skills and taught him quite a few things which he assured me would make him the best Guide in the whole of Mali. He was a pleasure to teach and would retain the most obscure phrases, to come out with them later and take delight in my surprise. One of his favourites became 'to indulge in a bit of banter'. I had asked about the conversations women had and he said, although the loud calling sounded like arguments, it was just the way they communicated. So I used the phrase. One night we were ready to sleep on the rooftop of a Dogon household and below there was a gathering of women and babies. I asked what it was about. Unusually, the husband was alone to one side of this gathering. It turned out that the couple were newly married and that the local young wives had been invited to meet the new bride and tell her about the village and its inhabitants. Amongst the converation translated to me was the sentiment expressed by the visitors; "she did not come to my child's naming ceremony, so you must not invite her..." (Small-town sentiments!) But as I fell asleep in that glorious area of isolated villages inaccesible by road, the banter drifted up and I heard words like 'Orange' and 'Nokia'. In one village I did see a sign of sophistication: an elongated cart with straps across it and one inflated wheel. I asked if that was to be used to transport tourists when they sprain and ankle or break a leg (which often happens) and I was told that it was actually for women in difficult labour to take them to the only hospital in a nearby village. When we came to that village, one of Sec's hangers-on (for want of a better word for the many related people who wanted to share in our walk -- Sec is Dogon himself, so you can imagine the greeting which went on!) decided that he wanted to see the doctor about his stomach aches and we were asked to accompany him. The hospital was built on the outskirts of the village and it was 'closing time'. The French female doctor was sitting on a bench in the fading light with a colleague. She is part of a rotating medical team from overseas and was most pleasant. She sent the man off to wet a urine sample strip around the corner (well, OK, in the area known as the toilets) and he duly returned with the evidence. She decided that his liver is not good from too much drinking and gave him some tablets to take. I hesitatingly asked if she could diagnose me as well and offered to pay. She declined and just gave me a urine strip with the same instructions. When I think of the way in which, over the years, I have given urine to be tested in sterile bottles etc etc, I wonder why we are so obsessed with germs in the West.... Yes, as I thought, I had a urine infection. I thanked her and told her I shall drink even more water. She agreed and that was the end of the consultation. And I drank more water and am cured....

Felicity C.
Felicity sent me a generous contribution which I used to buy a map. This sentence sounds so banal. It does not reflect the great present it is! Without the map-book I would be lost!! It was the only one in Stanfords and covers the whole of Africa. No-one has ever seen another and it stays close to my back in a special pocket in the little rucsac. On it I mark my route and plan the next move. It is detailed enough to show all major/minor roads, National Parks, World Heritage sites etc. and gives substantial information about countries and places. The size of Africa cannot be underestimated and I shall be happy to have crossed a few of the pages of this book. A more valuable aquisition cannot be found.

Francis.
Without knowing about it, Francis has supplied me with many happy hours of reading. Books from his extensive and varied library which I brought with me to swap whenever I came across an English-speaking tourist, included 'Hard Times' (the world of Dickens's characters no doubt reflected in parts of Africa) and Tennessee Williams's script for the 1955 film of 'BabyDoll' (how easy it is to change a life through a chance remark or a twist of emotions). Francis's down sleeping bag was too bulky to bring and has now happily been transferred to Ingrid who needed a new one, but his silk sheet-sleeping-bag has already proved very useful when sleeping in the open where there might be mosquitoes. The highlighter he used at work marks my progress on the map and his camping spoon and mug were items I have subsequently discarded. The mug was soon superfluous to needs and I happily gave it to a lady who was laboriously emptying a bag of grain into smalll plastic bags for resale. Everything seems to be in these thin plastic tube/bags, which litter wherever one moves. But it is clever to sell cold water this way and things like oil or sugar all come in these containers. The thing that strikes me is that nobody has a store of goods in the house. When you decide to make tea, you go out and buy some leaves and some sugar. The little portable charcoal burners are fed by small piles of newly-bought charcoal and bread is bought as it is needed. So a breakfast could involve quite a few trips to the bakery. The spoon was given to Sec, who thinks it sophisticated to eat with one. Francis had had a very large bottle of Marmite in his store of things which I sorted out after his death. There was still a lot left when I was clearing out my cupboards and I suddenly thought that it could be useful. It is a great source of Vitamin B and salt. Just what one needs in the desert and against mosquitoes. I filled a little plastic jar with Marmite and every morning I have a fingertip lick. Hope it works!

Francoise.
I never met Heather's aunt, but after Francoise's death, Heather summoned me to visit her in Brittany where she was clearing out Francoise's house. My taste in clothes is simple, but here was a mound of lovely things still in original packaging or hardly worn by somebody roughly my size. I returned with enough clothes to last for the rest of my life! So it means that the coulotte, cashmere jumper, gloves, knickers (unopened packets of Christian Dior), nightie and kaftan are all very welcome. In other words, 'clothes for Africa', as the saying goes. I was made very aware of my insensitivity to local customs the other day when I asked Sec to take my clothes for washing to the women he always uses. He returned quite agitated and had to explain that my pretty Dior knickers had caused great offence and he could only placate the women by paying them double the usual charge. As African women do not wear knickers (and it is a custom I happily embrace now), they would never dream of giving someone else anything so personal to wash. The wearing of the local dress has also made me aware of how non-local people are viewed. We are far too ready to impart our customs on others, without realising quite how offensive we can be. Mauritania is actually called the Islamic Republic of... so one was more aware of the womens' dress there than here in the relative sophistication of Ouagadougou. But the women here dress in the most sophisticated clothes, adapted to African customs. I take great delight in watching them fly past on their scooters of moterbikes whilst showing great elegance. Sadly, I gave away the gloves and jumper when I realised that they were not going to be needed for a long time. The next morning I noticed that the ancient man in the house where I was staying, was wearing the jumper and I was glad to know his bones are being warmed.

Franziska S.
My last, magical, family Christmas was spent in Austria where Franziska gave me a little 'Africa' cotton passport holder. It hangs around my neck and has proved to be most useful in keeping the necessary documents ready for production at any time. It also contained the African Phrase Book with its 300 expressions in 12 languages. I am aware though that, as I move South, my need for French and other languages will become less acute. But I will still try to learn a few necessary phrases.

French Railways.
In February I shared a couchette (sp?) from Cannes with 5 ladies who disembarked in Toulouse whilst I continued to Bordeaux. In the morning I raided their un-used 'goodie-bags' and took the earplugs provided, from them. Small items but jolly useful if I want to keep friends and we have to share sleeping quarters! I have offered them to people sharing rooftops with me, but they were refused. So I can but hope that my snoring is not too much! Personal habits are soon forgotten when we all share and one just has to accept these ways of life. Thus if the bush-taxi stops, everyone just goes to the side of the road and does the necessary in front of everyone else.

Guy H.
The Arabic translation of my passport which Guy supplied has not been required yet. I really have had no problems at borders although one sometimes has to suppress a smile. But hey, if I had to try and read Arabic........Once a border official became a bit angry because he said my visa was out of date. But then I had to explain that that was the date I applied for it and that they had stupidly written the valid dates on another line... Watching someone laboriously copy my details in Roman script can be heartbreaking. And we had 26 police checks in Morocco where the disputed area of Western Sahara is still full of landmines... Thankfully many checks no more than a glance at my photo.

.