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.

Koro

 Yesterday Amadou took me to visit the scenic village of Koro. It's about 20 km or so outside of Bobo, so first we took the highway towards Ouaga (I think it's R.1).

 

There were women working in the fields in groups. Amadou said they were cultivating corn.

(Funny to see other culture's gender roles: Men do the tailoring, women work in the fields.)

They we got off the highway onto a gravelly road ... And then off of that onto a normal dirt road.

Then we arrived at the scenic tourist village.

 Then, after walking a little ways up a normal trail, we started to climb.

 

And climb some more. (Note the lady carrying the HUGE metal pot on her head. She was climbing up too.)

I turned around partway through my climb to get a good shot behind me ...

 

Of course not thinking about the fact that there would be ample time for more pictures at the very top. We perched on a giant (think like a shaded Pride Rock) and I snapped a few overlooks that included the village itself.

Then my guide took me through the three parts of the village -- the farmers, who won't be back until after the harvest, the blacksmiths, and the Dioula.

In the first part of the village she showed me the place where important meetings and decisions are held (the thatched room open thing), and told me that women are forbidden to enter it -- so women aren't allowed to make any decisions. Some traditional gender roles are universal, huh?

(Resisted the urge to run underneath to prove a point.)

She talked to me a bit, and asked if I had any kids. I told her I wasn't planning on it anytime soon, and she asked how old I am. She's carrying her baby Houssmane, who is 18 months. She told me she'll be 23 in October. She asked about women who choose not to have kids in Europe, she had said she heard they had to sign a piece of paper or pay a fine or something, but I told her that wasn't true. I explained that women can choose to have as many (or as few) children as they want, and she said you have to have at least one. She kept saying that God would help you find a way through everything. 

But she said that it was good that I was living my life first -- and she said that people here "sont pas civilisés." (are uncivilized). It struck me.

 Houssmane and I became friends (and yes, he's wearing all fleece in 90 degrees). And we stopped to play with another group of three kids who were probably 5 or 6 that we came across (two boys and a girl). This was in the blacksmiths' part of the village -- my guide explained that the men do the metal-working, and the women make pottery.

Then we finished the visit and climbed back down. It was interesting to see so many huge rocks. I need to look up what was going on, geologically speaking, that made for all the huge grey rocks and the bright red-orange soil.

Her comments about childbearing really struck a chord, especially given the political debates in the US. It was beautiful to see the overlooks, but I think talking with her will stick with me forever.

Eating MOAR things.

So I’ve been eating (and drinking) new things lately.

Some of them have been typical, like bananas. Only these bananas are better than whatever bred-to-look-perfect ones we get in the US/France. They taste more tropical, if that makes any sense.

Some of them have been less typical, like these. I can’t tell you what they’re called, because Amadou didn’t know/remember, he said they’re “un truc sauvage quoi.” Wild fruits. You have to crack them open (which can be fairly challenging), and then you suck on the little sections of fruit and spit them out (each little section has a big seed in the middle). Amadou said they’re like candy, and he’s totally right. They’re like natural Warheads (do those even exist anymore?!); they start out sweet, and the longer you suck on them the more sour they get. Since I like sour things, I think they’re awesome.

 

I also have tried chicken soup now, to go along with the fish soup. That basically means that they give you soup broth (which is very tasty) with a part of a chicken in it. Last time I got the chunk that involves the rib cage, so that was a little beyond my usual skill level (but I figured it out). This is not a good place to wimp out on foods. Every time I order something new I’m never quite sure what’s going to end up in front of me – but so far, I’ve liked just about everything.

… But that might change, because it must be caterpillar season. Everyone is out selling them in giant tubs. Apparently they need to be grilled before you eat them. I admit I cringed when we stopped to get some. I haven’t tried any yet (Amadou is in charge of them being grilled at home), but I swore that I would try one. Because seriously, what better story for the next time I’m in front of a bunch of kids than to tell them that I have eaten a giant caterpillar? Also, I have a strict policy of trying [almost] anything once. It’s better if I don’t know what it is first though (i.e. blood sausage). I draw the line at brain though. I don’t eat brain.

The other thing I discovered last night is that “aloco” is the Burkinabé code for fried plantains. This is a problem because I love fried plantains, ever since my roommates introduced me to them many summers ago (thanks Karina and Antoinette). So this might become another food that I am unable to control myself over.

Which brings me to all the new things I’ve been drinking. Number one is “hochata.” I have only ever had “horchata” once in the US, but since they’re both milk based, I kind of wonder if they’re related. At any rate, I can tell you that it’s sweetened milk with something I can’t identify in it (which is kind of like a powdered spice maybe? But not one I recognize). And it’s delicious. I have to remind myself to scale it back, because I could probably knock back a liter of it without a second thought. I also tried ginger juice, which is sweetened, but it is SO strong. I forced myself to drink almost all of it (it was a big glass full). It wasn’t that I didn’t like it (it was actually really tasty), just really, REALLY gingery. I also tried tamarind juice, which was a total shot in the dark, because I don’t even know what a tamarind is in English. It turns out to be some sort of fruit, and in juice form it almost looks like a dark iced tea. It was sweet and pretty good, too. 

 

On a completely unrelated note, I’ve been wondering why I keep finding dead bugs all over the floor of my bedroom. Only my bedroom. Like, why are you all coming here to die? It’s kind of gross, could you not?

Annnnnnnd then I remembered that half of my bedroom is taken up by an insecticide-treated bednet. Not so much that they’re coming here to die, more that they’re coming here, and then they die.

You can tell a lot of stories from the same facts.

Pagnes

Pagnes are a standard measurement of cloth (although I forget what the actual dimensions are). It’s also the word for the cloth skirts lots of people wear. There’s a special way to tie them, but I haven’t had a chance to ask someone to teach me.

Yesterday we went to the pagne shop that one of Amadou’s sisters runs. We’d been once before so I could look around, but this time I was on a mission: I wanted to pick out a material so I could have a dress made. Or more accurately, a top plus a skirt. My reasons are two-fold: 1)Because I love all the fabrics, and they look awesome, and I want one; and 2)It could potentially be practical if I were ever to get invited to an event, because I don’t think I own any nice clothes that would be appropriate here (and I didn’t bother bringing any nice clothes this time around). 

It was raining. Hard.

Here's the inside of the shop, sort of:

Here are what I think are supply fabrics that haven’t been cut down to size yet:

 

Here are some of the ones on display:

I forgot to take a picture of the fabric I picked out, but you’ll see it as the finished project soon enough! She gave me three pagnes-worth instead of one (I told her it was for a dress). 

Then we took it to a tailor, and I leafed through lots of pattern sample magazines and printed photos until I finally gave up and drew a picture of what I wanted (everything in the magazines was complicated, and what I want is simple). The tailor took my measurements and told us it would be ready in a week! I’m pretty excited, although I think it’s going to be a bit of a surprise. I’m never quite sure if anyone understands exactly what I mean in these situations (not in English or French), but I’m confident that I was specific enough so that it will be generally in line with what I expect. 

Maybe.

Museum Field Trip

One day where we didn’t have any interviews planned, I went to see the Museum in Bobo. 

 

There were two rooms – one is contemporary art from a competition held every few years, and one is traditional art. I wasn’t allowed to take any pictures inside, so unfortunately I can’t show you. But I can tell you that the modern art was awesome (and those of you who know my feelings on MoMA will be shocked to hear me say that). Some of it was batik paintings that had incredible detail (and each was accompanied by a brief explanation from the artist). There were some really neat mixed media pieces too. Then there were bronze and wood sculptures, too.

The traditional art room had some pictures of the Bobo people in the early 1900s ( pictures were dated from 1900 to 1930 as I recall). It also had some samples of different traditional cloth-weaving styles. There was a collection of traditional masks that were pretty neat, as well as traditional sculptures.

After that, the guide took me outside to tour two replica houses.

This one, in the regional reddish color sand-mud-stone, is a traditional style village house. We even went inside, and climbed up to the second story, so I could get a view from the balcony. The tree trunk out front is a ladder to the top, but, well, I'm older than I used to be, and I don't need to break anything in a foreign country.

This one in straw is a tradional Peul house (they’re a nomadic people, scattered throughout a number of countries).

 

He also took me behind the museum to the stream to get a look at the sacred fish of Bobo-Dioulasso. He threw chunks of bread to get the fish to come up. I have no idea what kind of fish they are, but they were long and seemed black (or dark at least). You aren’t supposed to eat them, what with them being sacred and all.

Not sure if you can actually see even their shadows in this picture:

 

But here’s what the little ledge overlooking the stream looked like:

 

Also the museum gives a lot of artists workspaces back here. There were lots of sculptures and other works in progress, and I stopped to take a picture of this musical instrument. I don’t know what it’s called, but it sort of looks like a sled-xylophone. The maker was busy cutting the tops off the gourds to get the right acoustic, because the gourds get attached under the bars to create the resonance. It was neat to hear him working, because even though the instrument was so unfamiliar, tuning is universal. It was like an alternate universe piano-tuning of sorts.