Mornings in Burkina Faso are quite beautiful, in fact. If you wake up earlier, which I usually would, then the sun is not so high up and pounding everything in sight yet, and the air temperature is still in its lower twenties. Degrees centigrade, of course. And every hotel I’d stayed in so far either had a terrace or a yard garden. Later on only mad dogs and nutty European tourists would expose themselves. Everyone else, or everyone in their right mind, would run for cover. But now, with hours of the day not in their double digits yet, it was an idyll.
As usual, Annette slept in and skipped the breakfast. And I came out, with my book, travel guide and diary under my arm, sought out a table under a tree, and learned to appreciate the time it took locals to prepare every meal, including breakfast. The birds were always chirping up in tree-top branches and that was about the only sound I could hear in sleepy Banfora at first. Not half as bad for the start of the day.
By the time Annette was out and ready for her day, I’d already been done with my breakfast. However, she was still on time and nobody was really waiting for her. And when Oumar showed up for the part two of our arrangement, he found us both ready.
So, off to Tengrela lake it was. But before we were really headed there, we asked Oumar for a stop-over at the Rakieta bus station, so we could buy bus tickets for our return to Bobo-Dioulasso the next day. Again it immediately proved to be a smart decision as queue for the few buses on disposal was very long. I couldn’t know for sure, but since it would be Christmas tomorrow, even in a country like Burkina Faso where Yuletide traditions were not as we had them in Europe, it was thoroughly possible that the number of buses commuting between Banfora and Bobo would be reduced. Annette agreed to get in the queue while I was casting about for good pictures. In fact, as I’d realised by now, her inner sense of unease when we were in the crowd generally preferred her not to be around whenever I did something she perceived as out of line. Taking pictures seemed to be one of those things.
And as for good pictures, there was hardly a thing not worth photographing around there. Of course, by now I’d developed a technique of taking pictures from the waist with my camera hanging on the strap off of my neck. If someone looked closely, indeed, they would have still noticed I was taking pictures just the same. However, it was pretty inconspicuous and I was getting away with it absolutely hassle free. Certainly, it meant that a number of pictures would inevitably turn out to be unusable for any number of reasons. But that was a small price to pay and everyone was happy at the end of the day.
Gare de routière was bustling with activity same as yesterday when we’d arrived. Mickey Mouse was still happily brandishing a phone receiver in his hand on the façade of the „centre informatique“. Below him, a few guys were leaning against the wall eyeing the crowd. There were beggars carrying lidless cans around in hope of wheedling some money. Motorcycles were coming in and out, and women dressed in those impossibly bright and glaring African colours were carrying all sorts of things on top of their heads. Several minibuses headed to who knows where were in the phase of just being loaded. Both taxis and private vehicles – even if the line between the two was often rather blurred - were parked all over at the ready for possible customers. Owners and their friends were leaning against them, chatting and occasionally calling out „taxi“ towards the likes of me. Some people, mostly women, were trying to sell their goods to whoever they could. And many people were just going to and fro, some talking on cell phones, some looking for those they knew, some waiting for the next connection to wherever. Rakieta gare de routière almost had a feel of the town market.
I did enjoy myself immensely.
Yet, we would be here again. So when Annette finally bought the tickets, it was time to leave. And it grew rather hot again. It was not the sizzling oven of sub-Saharan West Africa yet, but we were firmly on our way there.
