Wednesday was a pretty normal day. Staff meeting in Accra, then my Communications team and I worked on cleaning up our office so that we could organize publications. I was headed off that evening for what should have been a 3-hour trip north to Ouaga, which was to include a brief stop in Abidjan in Cote d'Ivoire. We were flying Air Burkina -- not exactly one of the top 10 world airlines -- which wanted us to check in by 3:30 p.m. for a 5:50 p.m. flight. Go figure. I had two suitcases, one with my stuff, one loaded with brochures in French. The plane was late arriving at the Accra airport, wouldn't be there until 6:30 p.m. 6:30 p.m. came and went. It finally arrived after 8 p.m. No problems getting to CdI or to Burkina Faso, and the food was actually pretty good, but once we arrived in BF, it was raining, so we had to circle a bit. We finally landed somewhere after midnight -- the flight was supposed to land at 9 p.m.
It was raining. We're in the Sahel, which is that portion across Africa, just south of North Africa, that's desert. So there's lots and lots of red dirt, dust and sand. And when it rains, there's lots and lots of red ...mud. So picture this, I'm climbing down the stairs from the plane (don't even THINK jetway), carrying my heavy computer case, wearing high-heeled sandals, trying to negotiate my false knee, in the rain. I'm sure I shall have an auspicious arrival in Ouaga....in an ambulance (if there is one). Make it safely into the "terminal" -- which looks like a building where demolition has already begun -- and of course the hotel shuttle is no longer there. Have to take a taxi to the hotel where I have reservations -- except no one entered in their computer that I was coming that day, a day earlier (which, though, had been confirmed). So I had to be taken to another hotel, where I didn't have enough local currency (the "CFA") to pay for the room, as they didn't take dollars or my Visa (which doesn't have the right stamp on it, or something).
I fell asleep, finally, somewhere around 2-2:30 a.m. and was supposed to be picked up by an office driver at 8 a.m I slept through the alarm, and had the desk tell the driver I was running late. This ALL, mind you, is in French! I was supposed to meet the driver from the first hotel to be taken there, but we missed each other, so I took a taxi. But, the taxi broke down a couple of blocks from the hotel, so we walked -- pulling my luggage. And of course, I'm wearing the same damn (sorry grandkids!) high-heeled sandals. By this time, I've paid out so many CFAs in tips that I have absolutely no local currency left. We get to the (first) hotel and -- guess what?: The room isn't ready for me. So I have a cup of coffee in the bar, exchange some brief remarks with some guy who's drinking a beer or two (yep, it's 8:15 a.m!), and FINALLy, the room is ready, my office driver is there, and whew! The nightmare is over and I'm okay.
Well, not exactly. I get to the office, meet everyone again (I'd met them all when I was in Ghana before actually moving there), and everyone is so nice and fun and welcoming....AND, Raphael, the office director, presented me with a gorgeous bouquet of flowers for my birthday. But then...my laptop, brought from the office in Accra, isn't working. Turns out it's the keyboard ("clavier" in French). Then the internet connection isn't working -- it's the plug in the wall in the office I've been assigned. I get a new keyboard. It's a French keyboard ("AZERT" instead of QZERT, and they actually speak those acronyms and I have no idea what they're saying! Is this French...or?? Anyway, it's one thing to have to deal with the confusion of a different keyboard...but then -- internally, it's been converted! So, when I LOOK at it, everything comes out wrong. Well, no problem, I don't have to look.
Okay, the day moves on fairly well, and one of the drivers takes me back to the hotel. En route, he's saying (in French -- but I simply can NOT understand the West African accent, at least not yet) something about inviting me for a "chicken bicycle" ("poulet bicyclette"), and his elaborate explanation was something about housemaids riding on bicycles to get chickens, or something like that. Well, most of the "Ouaganais" ride bicyles, or "motos" and they don't even need a license to do so. So I politely declined, saying it was far too dangerous for me to take a ride on one of those. He laughed heartily -- no, "Poulet Bicyclette" is the local way of preparing grilled chicken!
Back at the hotel, I took a shower, put on make-up, nice clothes, then sprayed myself with an alluring dose of DEET (insect repellent) and went down to have a glass of wine before meeting Raphael for dinner. I wondered...hmmmm...it's been a long time, but I think I still look pretty good. Could I still be picked up? Sure enough, early a.m. beer man comes by, we strike up a conversation and he tries to make a date -- which I avoid (though he was interesting to talk to). When Raphael picks me up, I'm feeling pretty hot and told him about this -- and he made "moue", a face reflecting his distaste. He asked me if the man were African (Raphael is French, but everyone around us is African -- meaning black. What kind of question was that?). Hmph!, he sniffed. He probably was looking for your money. Sigh. AWA.
Raphael took me to a fabulous African restaurant, "Espace Gondwana" http://www.africartisanat.com/ with incredible artwork, gorgeous decor (we ate off unused funeral beds) and wonderful food. Had plenty of laughs and will have plenty of memories of my birthday in Burkina.
xoooxxooo Love, Grammy
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