Bukina Faso

I am in Bukina Faso, a land of improbably named towns. Today finds me in Bobo Dioulasso, an exceedingly laid back place where the locals youths lounge away the day, hiding from the burning sun and waiting for the cool of evening when the fun can start. The Bukinabe may be among the poorest people in the World according to UN poverty index criteria, but that doesn't seem to interfere with their credentials as party people once the music starts.

Just before this I was in the capital city of Ougadougou (or 'Waga', as its known amongst the tongue twisted), comparatively a rather more frenetic place as laid-back cities go. My unremittingly unsuccesful attempts to get things done there rather captured the essence of this friendly country.

Grace and I headed off to visit the National Museum, which turned out not to be where it was supposed to be, and not anywhere else that our aimable, perplexed taxi driver could find either. So, anxious not to risk our disappointment, he dumped us near another unrelated museum instead. Well, we abandoned the attempt to be cultural, which was fortunate, since we later heard that when some of the others finally discovered the site of the museum, by that stage a mission akin to discovering the source of the Nile, it proved to be just that - a site. They're still building it! We went to a restaurant which didn't serve food, several internet cafes without the internet, including one place, seemingly open for business, which didn't have computers. The confusion was also kind to my wallet, since the crafts shop I'd set my sights on visiting didn't exist either, at least not at its advertised address. We were supposed to buy food for cooking at the famous Grande Marche, but that had burned down some time ago, and as far as one could tell nobody was in a hurry to rebuild it. That left the supermarket, only that turned out to be shut for half the afternoon for a siesta. Exhausted we popped into a cafe to have a cafe au lait, of course without the lait, they'd run out.

Given that we achieved precisely nothing at all in Ougadougou, I came away with surprisingly fond memories. Perhaps it is the thought of our gallows humour as we paced streets that were anvils to the beating heat of the sun joking about what was about to go wrong next. I suspect however it might be because of a later discovery that evening. Whatever the distance to be travelled between aspirations and reality in this optimistically minded place, the Burkinabe aren't exaggerating when they claim to know how to party. Give me a great band playing infectious beats on a balmy evening, a shaded courtyard to eat one of the best meals of the entire trip so far, and a girlfriend returned from distant places to enjoy these things with - well, who cares about a little background chaos after all that?