Reading

In what can only be described as a major oversight, it took me until my last week to realize that there were probably newspapers I should be buying and investigating.

Sure enough, there are:

There were actually a gazillion more (as you might expect), but I was overwhelmed, and just asked them for the ones from here. I can't tell if they gave me Burkina newspapers, or Bobo newspapers, but at any rate, it's a good start.

They didn't have this week's issue of the Jeune Afrique magazine. The cover story is an interview with "Blaise" (Campaoré, the President). Actually, hunting down an issue was quite the task, since I wasn't the only one who wanted to know what the President had to say about his term coming to an end in May 2015. The current term limits mean that he cannot run again (he's actually been in power since a 1987 coup, but that's a long story for another time). The cover quote said "One has to step down one day. The question is when, and especially, how." This is particularly attention-grabbing, since politics these days are dominated by anticipation of a referendum to modify the constitution so that Blaise can run again.

After trying out a few places with no success, we went to the central librarie (bookstore). They had just gotten in a shipment from Ouaga, so I was in luck! In the meantime, I perused the other books ...

Here are all of the other magazines and newspapers (they even had Le Canard Enchainé!).

The classics, of course.

Incidentally, as one might expect, Blaise doesn't exactly go spilling the beans to his interviewer about his plans. It was still an interesting interview though. It will be interesting to see how the election plays out as things draw closer. I'm certainly rooting for a peaceful transition, and I know I'm not the only one. The CDP (ruling party) has backed itself into a bit of a corner by not prepping a new candidate, and there is a much stronger opposition than ever before -- three big players publicly left the CDP to form a new opposition party, the MPP.

For now, talk of a referendum on modifying the constitution continues, but nothing is official yet. So we wait.

Music and the Neighbor(s)

When I got home yesterday afternoon, I heard people playing instruments next door (I have a new neighbor, who is French). So of course I went over to see what was going on. She apparently does African dance in France, and came here once before with her dance instructor to visit his family. This time she came back for a vacation and to learn more about music and dance. She's pretty cool as far as I'm concerned.

At any rate, I found a group of guys holding these big string instruments, which turn out to be called goni (the internet seems to spell it n'goni, but it sounded like just goni). I guess they came over to have a jam session (she's learning to play too). The body is a callebasse, or gourd (of some huge variety) covered with some sort of animal skin. The online descriptions I have found seem to suggest that most goni have 8 strings, but these guys told me 8 strings is for beginners. This one has 16 strings! Even this one is for moderate players I guess, because he said he has another that's bigger at home -- 22 STRINGS!!! [I technically think the bigger ones have another name, but I can't remember what it was. Goni seems to be a general name anyway.]

  I asked about tuning, of course -- they said when it's new it's a pain, but otherwise it tends to stay put. They do re-tune for songs though, so they're not totally off the hook.

Because I'm hardly one to sit back and listen during a music session, I picked up the 8 string one and they explained how to hold it, and which fingers you use to play. The highest notes are closest to the body, and the lowest notes are closest to you. You use your pointer fingers to play the very highest notes, and your thumbs to play the rest -- until you graduate to the big instrument, and then they appear to have various positions (like the stringed instruments with which I am more familiar).

Drissa is playing here, and he's the one who started teaching me. I learned to play a few riffs pretty quickly, and he seemed pleased that I was picking it up. He offered to get together and teach me more, which would be fun, although I'm not sure how much I'll be able to learn in my last 10 days. I wish I could buy one to bring home and practice on, but it seems impractical (not to mention costly). Next time I'm here I'll have to start lessons right away.

There was also a calebasse drum (huge and you play on the dome part of it (resonance underneath). They had me try it out once, which provided confirmation that I cannot keep two separate beats at the same time (this is why piano and I were never friends, in spite of my efforts). I survived, but needless to say, I appear to have made a wise choice in sticking to the string family. They sang for most of the songs too, and I was happy that I'm slowly beginning to pick up a word here and there of Dioula.

I'll have to go exploring in Paris (and the US!) and see if the Burkinabè communities are making the goni there, or playing any concerts!

Beach vacation? (Just add water)

I sometimes forget how sandy the soil is here, until it doesn’t rain for awhile and it suddenly looks like we’re in a giant, overgrown sandbox. Sometimes you see kids playing in the sand like they’re at the beach – why not?

Now that Amadou has taught me how to ask 'what's your name' I have been out convincing the neighborhood army of children that I'm really not that scary. Also, that my name isn't "white." Today I was hanging out with a group of 15 or so, playing hand clapping games (hat tip to my elementary/middle school self for pulling through on that one), and playing other little games. Some of the older kids told me they're learning English in school, but they didn't want to prove it :) The younger ones take longer to convince, but slowly I think I'm nearing triumph (it's harder because they haven't learned French at school yet). The neighbor's two-year old shakes my hand when he tells her to, but she throws me a mean stink eye in the process. She's a tough cookie ... I like her.

It's funny, because now that school is over, the kids roam in packs, playing. It reminds me a bit of my neighborhood in a weird parallel way. Nobody is worried about constantly keeping an eye on their kids, nobody is on their case if they hit each other, and they work it out on their own. And they range from probably 8 months to 14 years old. Doing their own thing, watching out for each other. I feel like a parenting book should be written by Burkinabè parents, not some expat who thinks they've seen the light (I'm looking at you Pamela Druckerman). 

Foutou, Littering, etc.

I tried foutou de banane the other day:

It’s basically a tô made out of plantains (and whatever else) instead of corn-based. I had it with the sauce arachide (peanut sauce), operating under the theory that it would be like peanut butter and banana. I was pretty far off, but it was still good. BUT HUGE. I feel like I ate mountains of it, but visibly it only looked like I had taken two bites. Oh well.

We also drove over so that I could see the big stadium that’s at the end of the major street you turn off of to get to my place.

I didn’t realize that my boulevard basically dead-ended at the stadium until we got up close.

I had been collecting all of my trash into a busted plastic basket, figuring that sooner or later I’d take care of it (besides, most of my trash is those stupid black plastic bags).

Well, the other day, my neighbor came along to check on things, and saw the basket. He said he’d take care of it, and as I stood by and watched, he took the basket, walked across the street to the schoolyard wall, and dumped it out, before walking back to me and handing me the basket.  I knew that pollution was bad, especially because you see trash lying around everywhere, but something about that really hit it home.

The evidence of my crime:

I’m going to have to adopt a highway or something to do penance when I get home. 

Incognito ... Sort of.

I got my dress !!! I've been waiting impatiently for the whole week.

Here's the fabric I picked out (I had a pagne's worth left over):

And because Jakana gave me a hard time for not including any pictures of myself (and it's easier to see the dress on a person), here's the dress (and me)! Also, that's the gate to my courtyard behind me.

Got lots of compliments on my stylistic choices, and everyone seems quite pleased that my most desired souvenir was a legit outfit. The only thing I'm not wearing is the hemmed hunk of cloth the tailor gave me to be used as a head wrap (or shawl I suppose). I don't know how to do it, so I'm waiting for someone to teach me. My neighbor said his sister will show me. 

All of the people working at the tailor's shop seemed very pleased with the outcome when I tried it on (and probably also pleased that I was grinning like a kid on Christmas morning). After he adjusted the skirt a little (because I'm short, womp womp), he seemed surprised that I was going to wear the top home. What I didn't explain is that getting into the fitted top was a production (there's no GIVE), and I knew that getting out of it was going to be panic-attack-inducing. So I was waiting for the comfort of my air conditioned bedroom to escape.

And I probably would have wanted to wear it home anyway. Because it's awesome, duh.

ps: Hochata

... Is not dairy-based at all. Apparently it is the juice of a nut-like thing that looks something like a misshapen almond (at least that's dried, I haven't seen a fresh one yet). So that nut-thing plus water is hochata, calling into question my earlier thought that horchata might be related. There's probably some historical confusion to be discovered in here ...

Meanwhile, the other day I realized I've been all paranoid about eating raw vegetables that might have been washed in untreated water and avoiding ice cubes, and it occurred to me that JUICE is made with water. I mean, I hadn't gotten sick, so I wasn't too concerned, but Amadou assured me that the water used for juices is boiled.

So that's good.

O Canada!

My mom will be proud: Today, a man we had seen a few times in a restaurant we go to frequently stopped at our table and asked if I’m Québécoise. I was surprised, but I told him I was American (but from Central NY, so he gets almost-partial credit). He laughed and said he knew I couldn’t possibly be French, because I smile too much. It was kind of hilarious. It turns out he is here for six weeks volunteering by giving hostelry courses. Pretty interesting to see who you meet … I guess that’s why I’m the annoying person on planes who sometimes likes to meet the “neighbors!” 

I also tried Malta, which is apparently made by Guinness. I think I might have been drinking straight up yeast? It seems like the kind of thing Brits/and company would be into (take your vegamite, you lunatics!!). That said, it was good – better cold than after it had started to get luke warm. It’s dark and sweet, and I swear it tasted familiar. The only thing I could come up with was the taste of pure Chex (the cereal) in extract form, but I have to ponder it a bit more because it really reminded me of something I can’t place.