Not yet 72 hours in Africa, and already I feel like I have been here forever… but in a good way. So here is how it all went down. There was a mix-up at the Ottawa offices of CUSO-VSO with my paper work and I almost missed my departure, but everyone pulled together and in the end, I boarded the Royal Air Maroc flight to Casablanca with 5 other CUSO-VSO peeps: Michelle, Rachid, Nathalie, Tania and Lépold. The flights were uneventful, which is how flying should be in my opinion, if you ignore the fact that Royal Air Maroc never seems to be able to leave or arrive on schedule… but hey! Arriving in 1 piece with all my luggage in Ouagadougo at 3am GMT is appreciated!

We spent the first day in Casablanca. I have summarized my thoughts in this video.

The plane ride to Ouagadougou from Moroco was almost 4 hours and went by soooo fast because I slept the entire way. A really cute flight attendant had to shake me from my slumber to eat dinner and that was the only time I spent conscious on the flight prior to the decent. Then we landed. I don’t know what I was expecting but, it certainly was not this… I don’t know where to begin to describe the airport itself. It was so small… and we had to climb down the Boeing 737 by way of stairs they had rolled over to the exits, and not a bridge like they do in modern airports. Then, a reconditioned bus drove us from one side of the runway to the main (and only) terminal. A French lady informed me that the buses came from Paris that were sent down to Ouagadougou. I am not sure I believe her.

Stepping down from the bus, and getting my first close up glimpse of the terminal… Wow. The ceiling had holes in it. Some of the concrete structures had visible wear and tear marks, bits of concrete having fallen over the years. Hand written instructions for travellers posted on the walls. Windows were boarded up. Dusty. Dirty. Damp. Hot. 22 degrees outside at 3am (and this is not the hot season). Like a flock of sheep we herded into a tiny, fenced in, waiting room about 40 square feet where all the passengers of the 737 were trying to cram into, and figure out what the hell you are supposed to do next. I stood by the entrance watching the madness and thought to myself : “Holy shit. This is it. What the hell am I doing?!”

My colleagues and I did some snooping around and Michelle found the required forms for immigration. We promptly filled them in, and lined up for the customs. The entire process was surprisingly quick. And the customs officers were much more pleasant than any customs officials I have ever dealt with, but they were thorough in checking my passport and entrance visa.

Now, just to give you an idea of how small this airport was, the distance from the entrance to the terminal, to the baggage belt, was no more than 100 feet. And then, maybe 25 feet to the left of the baggage claim area, was the exit… and what an exit. Stepping out of the airport means stepping onto the city street. There are people everywhere. There must have been 15 people begging to carry my luggage to the car. I felt swarmed. And I learned an important lesson that night. Prepare your tipping money in advance. These people are good. I had 25 euros (about 40$ Canadian) in my pocket before the baggage claim. I had 0 euros after the baggage claim lol. I need to learn to say no. Not an easy thing to do when you are walking around all these beautifully skinny Africans as an overweight, laptop carrying “rich” North-American. Three days here, and already I can feel something changing in my head.

Burkina Faso is 187^th on the Human Development index out of 202 countries. Just to give you an idea, to those who have been to the Caribbean, a country like the Dominican Republic is 92^nd (approximately if my memory is not playing tricks on me), and I think we can all agree that the DR is poor. Really poor. Canada in comparison is 5^th or somewhere around there.

Burkina Faso… There are no words. None that I know. You see it just by looking at the people here. You see it on their dust laden skin, ragged clothes, dirty hands, and the odor. Ooooh, the Odors of Africa. Anti-Persperant is not an option. It just isn’t. Even the waiters at our hotel have a very musky smell. I wouldn’t say that they stink, they are very clean… but smell very natural. I will learn to appreciate it. The other smell I have noticed, and herein lies my personal challenge, is the odor of smoke. There is always a fire burning somewhere. And, if I were to venture a guess, they seem to be burning everything but wood. It’s awful. My hotel room is not too far from someone’s backyard and they burn everything; I can smell rubber, plastic, organic materials (probably from cooking), and sometimes, I swear, it is the exact same odor I remember from my childhood when my father used to take me to the municipal dumping site to bring our trash. The streets are littered with trash. It is everywhere, but the trash doesn’t bother me as much as having to constantly side-step the donkey shit, dog shit, and whatever other flavor of shit might be de rigueur that day.

So that’s the not so pleasant side of BF. Now forget all that for a minute. Forget that these guys have no money and virtually no assets. However, the value that is placed on human relationships outweighs any amount of money you can find in North-America. I am completely charmed by their warmth. They are so genuine, a simple smile and I feel like this is my home. They really take the time to listen to you. Everybody smiles and waves and says hello. It’s quite remarkable. I wish I could put this in a bottle and bring it back to North America and give it away to everybody.

We went for a walk around the neighborhood yesterday. The VSO offices are not too far from the Hotel and we will be going there tomorrow for the start of our Orientation. What we saw was a typical Ouagadougou neighborhood, filled with people peering out of the shanties yelling “Nassarah” (White) as we walked around perusing the shops and maquis as we went along. Children find us especially fascinating, waving and staring, some even going as far as asking to shake our hands. The children are especially beautiful. I am really moved by their innocence and their tiny dark hands waving at me with such energy and potential. I thought about how much potential these children have. I thought about the fact that 35% of them will die of malaria at some point in their lives. I thought of the 40% literacy rate. But I see their bright smiles and I am completely moved… to a happy place.

It is a very strange thing to experience. Never before have I felt attributed so much meaning to the color of my skin. I feel white here. I have never felt white before. I am not saying it is a negative feeling, it’s just a feeling. Different. “Nassarah”. I wonder what they are telling each other as we are walking through their neighborhood. I wonder if they know just how happy I am to be sharing their land. Do they know how much I have fallen in love with their country? And then the stars align properly and we are sent a present. A young man by the name of Yacou comes to greet us with a big smile and an extended hand. He enquires about our visit, and when we tell him we are not French, but French-Canadian, his demeanor is transformed, he is genuinely happy to meet us. It seems, Canadians are well liked here.

Excited to tell us about his city, his friends and his music, Yacou showed us ratted old pictures of him and his friends that were taken by a friend, a photographer. The pictures are visibly old and were taken quite a few years ago, yet he keeps them in his vest, close to his chest. I can tell by the quality of the images, the framing, composition and control of light that these were taken by a professional photographer. Yacou knows how to make friends. He walks with us for a while and he insists that we come listen to his band but we cannot, the whole experience is beginning to weigh heavy on us and we start longing for our hotel rooms and cold drinks. The sun is shining, it is 35 degrees. There is no cloud in sight. It is time to head back to the Hotel.

The hotel is incredible. There are monkeys hanging out behind the kitchen and there is an eagle who just roams around, and will let you walk up to him, as close as about a foot before he puffs up his plumage and shows you just how tough he is.

The service at Village Nong-Taaba is incredible, they bend over backwards. The food is delicious. Couscous, lamb, vegetables, ice-cream, pine-apple, fruit salad, potatoes, french-fries, pizza, apricot marmalade, bread and the most flavorful butter I have ever tasted. I cannot get enough of the butter. However, I think from now on I will pass on the coffee. They only serve instant coffee and well… gross. They do however keep a very well stocked refrigerator. Coca-Cola for me and beer for my colleagues. I don’t know if it’s the sun, the air or the people, but somehow, my cold Coca-Cola, has never tasted so good. Life is beautiful.