Burkina Faso

My backpacking trip through French West Africa is one that I will always remember. Everyday was something new, everyday I experienced something out of the norm, everyday was a day I felt was worth documenting, so I did (in my makeshift journal). This being said, this entry will be indubitably long but hopefully not TOO tedious! Read as interests you and I would love your feedback. I learned a lot about Africa and its people in my travels, inevitably comparing everything to Ghana, but can you blame me? Ghana is what I knew Africa as. Sure I’d been to the Ivory Coast, but Ghana was what I was most acquainted with. So despite however cliché this sounds, from my 3 week adventure in West Africa, I acquired a much greater understanding of the land, people, and cultures. In what ways and how you may ask? Let me share with you!

Now I could break this entry down by topics and lessons learned, but then the fun and lightheartedness would be stripped away and the entry would be fully introspective. The latter we can save for when I see you, over a hot beverage and a delicious pastry. As for now, enjoy the escapades and go-with-the-flow attitude that we learned in Ghana and let dictate the tone of our travels (for as we knew, nothing in Africa is ever certain or reliable).

So where did I go? Burkina Faso, Mali, and Senegal. Where am I now? South Africa. Where do I go next? England. Let me remind you that Stacy and I BOTH do not speak French and we were traveling FRENCH West Africa. We figured we would be able to get by… somehow! (And obviously we did, it was just a little more challenging than we expected).

Burkina Faso

Waterfalls, Giant Rocks, and Motorcycle Accidents

MAY 17-18

After 16 hours of traveling we finally made it to Hamale, the border town between Ghana and Burkina Faso. We missed the bus that goes to Bobo-Dioulasso, the second largest city in Burkina so we were stranded (in the MIDDLE OF NOWHERE I might add) unless we found a private vehicle traveling to Bobo. Fortunately enough, we were able to find a van that was transporting about 300 bike frames to Bobo that day. The frames were strapped to the roof and cargo lined the seats inside. Where did we sit? On top of the cargo of course! The ride should take 4-5 hours, but it took us 10. What was the delay? Well, there were a few…

We were driving for 5 minutes when stopped by the police. We waited for over an hour for this van to get the authorization to deliver bikes to Bobo. At least, that is what we gathered from the miming and little French we could understand. By 4pm we are on our way to Bobo. Five hours later we’re pulling off the main road. Are we here?! There are no lights. The road’s unpaved and we’re winding through the streets cautious not to hit anyone in the dark. Where are we?! What are we doing here? Stacy get out the pepper spray, I’ll get the knife. The five men get out of the car, and the van starts swaying with the weight of men climbing up its sides. Ooh! They are unloading the bikes here! What a relief, but did they have to choose such a sketchy drop point? Thirty minutes later, we are back on the main road. So we’re close right? It’s been 5 hours. Wrong. We had three more hours to go. I still don’t know why our supposed five hour journey turned into ten. I realize that we made three stops which took 30 mins each, and then we got into a 15 minute argument over payment, but it still shouldn’t have taken 10 hours! Regardless, we did eventually make it to our hotel and one thing was certain-- we had left Ghana and our adventure had begun!

MAY 19- 20

Waking up early, we had to get to Banfora as soon as possible. We only had one night there, but so much planned that we didn’t have a moment to lose. (We had our whole 3 weeks planned with what we WANTED to accomplish, but we didn’t know WHEN we’d make it to our destination, so we never booked hostels ahead of time). When we arrive at the Banfora bus station at 11, we have the whole day but still nowhere to stay. Two men approach us speaking French and the only word I recognize is ‘campement.’ I feel bombarded by these two and pull the “No francaise” card and walk away. Then one of the guys switches to English. “We have a campement 1 km from town. Very cheap, very nice, very close.” Then they show me their business card with a photo of the campement. Hmm.. It is very nice. Stacy and I check another hotel across the street just to compare prices but we decide to go with these two. Was it sketchy? Maybe. But we decided to go for it.

The campement was so legitimate! There were mud huts with grass roofs and no electricity, but that’s to be assumed. It was a little retreat with a large mango tree shading the intimate courtyard. They fed us lunch and then we went to town to buy the components for dinner. Here we are, two white girls, each riding behind one of our guides on a moto, driving through town. We definitely stand out! We got our vegetables, now we had to go get our chicken. We park our motos in front of the chicken vendors who each had their own coops filled with LIVE chickens. This was to be our dinner that night and we got to choose it. It almost made me consider vegetarianism, just because I was seeing the face of what I would be eating only hours later, but at the same time I was laughing at the situation I was in. First you have to look at the chicken and make sure it’s not too old. And then you have to make sure it’s heavy enough because you’re paying per chicken, not by weight. So here I am, with the guidance of our English speaking guide Youku, picking up chickens by their wings to choose the heavier one. What an interesting twist to buying pre-cut, de-boned, de-skinned, and de-faced chicken from the supermarket!

Again, we get behind our guides on the back of their motos, and Stacy is holding the chicken, whose legs are tied together as to inhibit movement. We drive back to the campement to drop off dinner, and then rent a moto to drive ourselves to the waterfalls nearby. (Stacy is designated driver).

We drive 30 minutes through the countryside of Burkina Faso (think Motorcycle Diaries but African style and two girls!) until we reach the park with the waterfalls. We’re driving through the park when too late! We see we’re about to hit a ditch! Our front wheel hits and can’t make it over. I jump off the back before it falls and Stacy goes down with the bike. The bike is on top of Stacy’s leg and I’m thinking “HER LEG IS SMASHED! GET IT OFF!” Haha and then I remember our bike probably weighs only 100 pounds. But still, I quickly get it off of Stacy and she’s fine except for scrapes on her hand, knee, and elbow. They weren’t pretty, but nothing serious. I, on the other hand, had two tire burns on the back of my leg. The friction between the moving rubber and my skin provided two nice burns. Again, nothing too serious, but nothing pretty or painless either. Even more, our bike is also a little injured. Our peddle of our bike got stuck and you (literally) have to kick start the engine. We haven’t made it to the waterfall yet, and we’re already stranded!

A few women who were tilling the land nearby saw that we crashed and walked over to help us. They bring their hoes and start pulling at the stuck peddle. Stacy and I are pulling the bike one way while the ladies are using their hoes to pull the peddle the opposite direction. Nothing worked, but we realized we could actually kick start from the left side even if the peddle on the right was still stuck.

We make our way to the waterfall and finally arrive. We hike up and it’s absolutely wonderful. It’s a series of waterfalls, each with their own view, and regardless of which point of the waterfall you were standing, you were always at the highest point within view.

We were the only ones there until two men start running passed us down the side of the waterfall. They speak English and are Banfora locals. Their names are Isau (pronounced Ee-saw) and George. They are hunting dinner with a pellet gun and a slingshot. When we met them, they were shooting at a ravine of flying bats with their respective weapons. They taught us how to shoot and invited us to dinner of bat and quail which they were in the midst of hunting, but unfortunately, we had already picked out our chicken, which was assuredly already beheaded and would be waiting for us at the campement. Tempting offer though, I know!

On our way out of the park, we get stuck in a swamp of thick goopy mud, similar consistency to mud clay. The bike BARELY makes it through (we had to walk it through while straddling the bike) but then Stacy’s sandal gets stuck in the thick mess! I have to go back and get it because Stacy is driving and needs to keep the engine running. She’s yelling at me to hurry up, but she doesn’t realize that the mud is sucking me in and my feet are STUCK! So I’m trying to slide through this mud to get the sandal while trying not to fall myself. I’m crying with laughter at the situation, she’s yelling, our feet are covered in a goopy mud mask, as are my hands from digging out her sandal. I make my way back to Stacy, when her other sandal breaks! Of course. Haha so now I’m in charge of holding the muddy sandals while she drives the semi-disfigured bike with the two semi-disfigured passengers. Gooood Times!

Once we return to our campement, our hosts freak out about our injuries and rush for treatment. It was very sweet! We immediately take our bucket showers to cleanse ourselves of the day and the mud. Afterwards we had a delicious local dish with the chicken we bought, and ate with our hands family style. (I love how communal eating is here). We go to bed early because we were waking up at 6am the next day for Sindou Peaks, a geological formation of awesome rocks!

MAY 21

Today we got a larger moto because our drive was going to be 2 hours on rougher terrain. Stacy is driving again because I proved incompetent of doing so. We leave by 8am, and again, it’s like motorcycle diaries through the countryside of Burkina. We’re passing through villages, children wave ’Hello!’ and chase after us giggling. We are forced to slow down when we meet a herd of cows in the road and they don’t move until the herders give them a little slap.

After an hour and a half we make it to the peaks. They are nothing like we’ve ever seen before. I’ve seen my share of rocks-- Bryce Canyon, Grand Canyon, Yosemite-- but nothing like this. It’s a mountain range of rocks 5 kilometers long and 1 kilometer wide. The layers of rock form peaks that look like fingers. The pictures don’t do the range justice, but give some idea.

On our way back, our engine stalls so we have to pull over. To start the engine , you have to put the moto in neutral and then put in the gas. Well, Stacy’s hands are too small to start the engine because you have to flick one thing while twisting the other, so I’m in charge of starting the engine. No big deal. Stacy and I are on either side of the moto. I’m on the side with the handle that starts the engine which is the same side as the exhaust pipe. I pull the trigger and twist the gas and voila! We have power! But right as the engine starts, the moto jerks forward, grazing my leg with the burning exhaust pipe. Stacy forgot to put the car in neutral! So now I have a 3 inch by 2 inch burn on my leg, and it is on FIRE. But there was nothing we could do about it at the moment, so we just drove off, with the harsh wind further affecting my burn. My legs were disgusting for the rest of my time in West Africa. People would see me on a bus or in the street and literally stop to ask me what happened to my legs! All I could do was say “moto” with a sad face and then mime crashing, so they could understand I wasn’t diseased or anything. Haha, thanks Stacy!

Once we return back to our campement, we gather everything so we can get the bus back to Bobo. Once at Bobo we hoped to get a bus straight to Ouahigouya (Northern Burkina). There are no busses that go to Ouahi, so we decide to make some progress and go to Ouagadougou. We take a taxi to the next station and Stacy goes to the ticket booth while I’m in charge of taking care of the bags. She is automatically hounded by people as am I . Stacy yells from the ticket booth that the bus is leaving right now! A couple men take our bags from the taxi and put them in the bus. I’m just waiting for the tickets from Stacy when the bus starts driving off. I’m outside the bus door, hitting the outside and yelling “No, No!” It stops. Phew! Our bags are on their already, we HAVE to get on this bus! One minute later, it honks and starts moving AGAIN! “No, No!” I’m yelling and then I shout for Stacy but she’s too overwhelmed by people to respond. She is still trying to buy tickets when the bus starts inching forward again! I yell anything I think they’ll understand-- “Stop, No, Espera, Halte, NO!” People on the bus are laughing at my desperation to make the bus wait just a LITTLE longer. Finally, Stacy is coming towards me with the tickets with 3-4 men surrounding her asking for money in exchange for their “help.” Isn’t a “merci vous cous” good enough? Apparently not.

We get on the bus for Ouagadougou and arrive around midnight in the capital. The next bus to Ouahigouya was leaving at 10am so we had to find a hotel. And the only hotel was $25 a night. Are you kidding me?! And it didn’t even have air conditioning! We were paying $6 at the campement. It was midnight and we had nowhere else to go, so we paid the money…

MAY 21

We get on the 10am bus to Ouahi and meet a man (Corefu) who lives there. His English is good enough to have a simple conversation, but nothing more. We get to Ouahi, hoping to catch a same day bus to the Mali border. Corefu drives us on his moto to the bus station that goes to the border town of Koro. We buy tickets for that evening, with the time of departure depending on when the seats fill up. So we have 6 hours to kill. What to do in a city that acts as only as a passageway to Dogon Country for tourists? We go home with our new friend Corefu, of course!

Stacy and I meet his father, and Corefu has his own shack on his father’s property. Considering Corefu had his own living space complete with a full size bed, small couch, a 12-inch TV, stereo, and fan (which all imply the presence of electricity!), I’d consider him upper-middle class. It was quite comfortable!

First thing is first-- Corefu suggests and offers us water to bathe (this is more to cool down in the high heat of landlocked, sub-Saharan Burkina than to clean oneself). I think this has to be one of my favorite showers or at least most memorable showers. Corefu’s younger sister prepares a bucket of water us and tells us the shower is ready. She hands me a towel and points to the walled structure ahead. It has no roof and looks like the bathrooms you use at parks, where there is no door but a 5 foot L-shaped corridor leading to the toilet. That is exactly what this was-- the toilet. You choose right and you get the urinal, you choose left and you get the toilet hole/ shower room. So I took my ever so refreshing bucket shower next to the hole which acts as the toilet for the family. And you know what, I had no problem with that. I was thankful for that shower because I did feel better after having it.

After we all showered, we sat down to a traditional Burkina Faso meal. It was quite similar to Ghanaian food, but a little less flavor and more fishy. After our meal, Corefu invited us to his friend’s house across the road for some tea. His friends spoke broken English, so there wasn’t so much conversing but rather a lot of miming, giggles, and confused faces. I think I was actually proposed to at one point in the conversation. At least that is what I gathered!

The tea was quite tasty, unlike anything I’ve ever had before. They brew green tea with literally a cup of sugar and serve it in shots because it’s very strong and very sweet. This is the only type of tea we found throughout West Africa and everywhere we would see small cliques of friends on the streets socializing over shots of tea. It didn’t matter that it was over 100 degrees outside, people would still be outside drinking their boiled water and sugar, and we always enjoyed joining them!

Corefu visits the station to check the status of the bus and finds out that it won’t be leaving tonight because not enough tickets were sold to make it worthwhile for the company. OH NO! We cannot stay here another night because then we lose another day! There are no more days to be lost! There HAS to be a way to Koro tonight! We literally searched the city for another ride to Koro, but found nothing. So we unfortunately stayed the night in Ouahigouya, thus losing another day. Our new plan was to wake up at 5.30am to try and get the locals’ bus to Koro.

That night at our hostel we meet a group of French Canadian boys who were also backpacking West Africa, except in the reverse order of our trip. As we were going to Dogon country and ending in Dakar, they started in Dakar and just came from Dogon country. We literally had the same itinerary, and had conveniently met halfway in our journeys so we were able to swap stories and give advice. The most daunting thing they told us? The only form of transportation from Bamako, Mali to Dakar, Senegal (besides an expensive flight) is a 40 hour bus ride. Not THAT big of a deal, until they also added that this bus has NO windows and NO air conditioning. Must I also remind you that we’re traveling through SUB-SAHARAN AFRICA?! Well this should be… memorable!

TO BE CONTINUED….

Up next on Annabelle in Africa--

Part II- Mali and Dogon Country, the EPIC bus journey, and the beach city of Dakar.

I would really love some feedback!

We’ll be in touch very soon!

Take care,

Annabelle