Last shreds of light were hanging off the sky when we arrived in Dori. Thereby I started the final leg of my West African tour, before the return to Ouaga and ultimately flight back home. I got out of the bus, collected my luggage and looked around for a taxi. Before I could make five steps, I didn’t as much as leave the gare routière grounds, when a small bunch of three guys surrounded me. They were very communicative, friendly enough, even if by now I knew exactly that they hadn’t singled me out from among all passengers for my natural beauty. I was there the only white guy and it translated into possible profit for them.
And they hardly sought to hide it.
„My name is Amadou,“ said the one who spoke English best.
We shook hands and he added:
„I am a guide here.“
Right. As they often are. So he naturally asked me what the reason was of my arrival in Dori. I told him that it was the Gorom-Gorom market on the next day.
„I can find you a taxi to Gorom-Gorom.“
„Can you? When?“
„Now.“
„But I go tomorrow.“
„Yes, but you can pay now so I find it for you.“
Of course, they all posed like guides and they all could do anything you wanted. You just name it. And you pay. So before I was ready to commit myself to anything, I said:
„Look, I first need to get me a taxi and find a hotel. And then we can talk about this.“
If Ouahigouya had no taxis and you made do with people who had motorcycles and basically risked both their and your lives by standing in for taxis, loading both you and your luggage on their two wheels, Dori was certainly one up on Ouahigouya. Amadou – this very possibly self-styled guide – said without bobbing an eyelid:
„Yes, donkey. No problem!“
And then he called a guy who owned a donkey and a two-wheel cart.
„This is taxi in Dori,“ he said.
Where would I go? To the „Oasis“ hotel. So I loaded my luggage on this donkey two-wheel cart and we, the five of us, had a nice stroll through dusty and dark Dori streets to the „Oasis“ hotel. Most certainly, I preferred this to a bike ride.
When we got there, the cabbie, well, the donkey-cart driver, entirely straight-faced, demanded three thousand CFA francs from me. Of course, I mimicked anger. Which confused him. All we were saying to each other was going through Amadou. So he could only see my expression and gestures. I explained elaborately how the 260-kilometre, five-hour bus ride from Ouagadougou to Dori had cost me five thousand, and this brief fifteen-minute stroll should cost me three?
The young guy just looked at me, as if he didn’t quite understand what I was driving at. Then I played the deadly trump by asking the driver if he was a Muslim. He nodded and said he was.
I lashed out by telling him to ask the God if he was doing the right thing.
„Do you think that the God you believe in teaches you to rip off the people like this?“
A sheepish smile on his face belied his discomfort, but all along I had a feeling this discomfort ensued merely from my apparent anger, and not because he understood my point. He understood anger, but it seemed to me that the concepts I was trying to play at were completely incomprehensible to him. He must have been taught to survive and in such poor countries like Burkina Faso, in places like Dori, survival didn’t recognise all the subtleties of moral standards. I’m sure violence and open theft were out of question, but overcharging a foreigner was bound to be perfectly fine for him.
Eventually, I dismissed him with one thousand. Which was way too much, as well, but on the other hand it was no money worth mentioning. So I left it at that.
But then again, I couldn’t help remembering the good Abdulaziz in Ouahigouya. It’s interesting to see how people like him melt your heart and you feel a tosser if you don’t give them some money. But scoundrels like this one wouldn’t make you feel guilty at all even if you slashed their price down to the very root.
Anyway, when he left, I checked in and it was down to Amadou and me. So in order to strengthen his credentials, he repeated:
„I am a guide here. Ask him,“ and pointed at the guy at the reception.
„Is he?“ I asked.
Receptionist nodded.
I decided I’d risk it. My departure to Gororm-Gorom would have to be early in the morning at any rate. I didn’t want to waste any time tomorrow in search of a transport if that could be avoided. So I agreed to his deal. He asked me to give him two thousand CFA francs up front and that was going to cover his services and taxi tomorrow morning. Or whatever transport he was going to find.
I gave him the money, we shook hands and that would have to do.
„Be there at seven,“ were his final words.
