Paying no Bribes

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It turns out to be butterfly high season as you wipe a hint of butterfly guts from your face. Despite the probable death of the colourful creature it is a good feeling - At last it’s just you and the road… and a motorbike weaving around the potholes of the African countryside.

The sun is shining and as the confidence picks up so too does the pace. As I cock my wrist to let loose on –at last - clear road I get stopped by the police. My moment of freedom had passed.

I was in Banfora, Burkina Faso, south-west, near the Ivory coast. I had hired a cheap Chinese motor bike for $10/day so I could see some weird limestone formations. Banfora was out of the way really with my revised itinerary. My next country Togo was back over the other side of the country but it was worth it.

Burkina Faso’s TCV buses are easily the best buses in West Africa (that I went to.) Once you’ve been on it, you grovel at the prospect of your next trip. A/C, European style buses, I moaned with pleasure as I boarded for Bobo-Dioulasso (the major city to Banfora)

Rainy season was starting and during the afternoon, most days the sky would crackle and release bucket loads of rain. Wind blew, shaking coconuts from its post and onto the roof making a frightening sound.

But during the day the weather was pleasant apart from the humidity. I meet my first real backpacker in West Africa since Mauritania. That was around 50 days earlier. The Irishman described the effects of the heat perfectly. He was in Gorom-Gorom in the north. A similar temperature to Mali when I was there – He said that he had to stop writing in his journal because the ink was smudging from the sweat dripping off his arm onto the paper.

Or how about this one it is so hot here that by the time the water from the shower reaches your legs it has heated up from your body temperature.

It was great to finally chat to someone going through the same emotions as me as he was travelling as a single traveller. Like the Rasta men following him from the moment he left the bus to our accommodation. They say to you they are artists but generally they are just okay at playing the drums or other art, which is just mimicking someone else’s art so you aren’t really an artist mate. It’s almost like a sign of reassurance that you are not the only crazy person travelling this area.

The Irishman was getting the shits with being called white and would reply “Hey Noir!” (French word for black). But he wasn’t in Bobo for a few days where I got my worst white man calls. I don’t get the shits with it really, I don’t get offended but this one was pretty close. The kids would say it in a derogatory way, dragging out the word, “Leeee Blonche… Leeeeee Blonche!” I did get a nice “le blanhe bonsoir!” once so that I accepted but I still can hear that long winded white man calls in various voices. “Hey Le Blonch… Leeeee Blonche… Leeeeee Blonche”

So as I was driving down the dusty red road through the green hinterland two policemen see a le blonche person coming towards them. I pull over and they ask for my papers including the bikes registration. I am thinking “No way am I giving shit to these guys. I don’t even care if I don’t see this site.”

You have to be a very patient person to travel for an extended period of time and also have an ability to be stubborn enough to think you are right when you have no idea if you are or not.

The Irish guy missed a park with hippos over two dollars, never seen hippos before but in principle he left as the fee was an added extra. I almost missed Banfora all together because of a Ratsa man. I thought I would have to pay extra for the hotel because he was with me. Had the hotel done that I was off and wouldn’t have got this experience.

I give them my passport but don’t have registration papers (I later discover the papers are tucked under the seat.) So they try and speak French and the best call, “No palour Francais.” Is my reply. I ask for my passport back, which they give to me and as I get on my bike they take the keys from my bike.

Voices raise and calmness has now been avoided. I decide to not show fear as that’s their power. Once you show you have no fear they feel beaten because from there it is intelligence. They are at least smart enough to realise you are smarter than them so they let you go before they get humiliated.

Well that started with me ridiculing the situation. “If there is a problem lets go to the police station. Make official! Come on!” I slap my bike seat and say. “Let’s go station.” Key words of understanding were – problem, station and official.

I then get my keys back and I say “Sindou? Okay or non? Oui or non?” They wave me on with a sulking look. But then it slightly spoils the rest of the trip because you start thinking shit in about 2 hours I’m back on that road to get back to town.

Sindou Peaks is an hour and a bit from Banfora. You pass green farm land and little villages on the way to these large boulders which pop up on the right side. I started gazing at it whilst moving slightly and next thing I know the road had given way during a recent rain storm and I have a huge ditch in front of me. I try to avoid and land straight into it. The bike stops and I am forced to do a pretty immaculate forward roll. It was stylish and keeps with tradition one stack a motorbike ride with me on the throttle.

I skipped the hippos as well and headed further north (avoiding the police this time) to Karfiguela falls and Domes de Fabedougou. The falls are surrounded by farm land and you can have a dip in there. The domes are not too far from there. You need to be careful because the locals the whole day try to be your guide.

I thought the domes were the best of the lot and if it weren’t for the heat I could have stayed longer and hiked. The domes are limestone formations and the drive to and from is like driving through sugar cane farm land.

Very rare in Africa is the opportunity to do an overnight bus ride so I jumped at TCV’s opportunity the next day to go back to the capital. Since Ouga is not that much I kicked onto Togo in what would be a 24 hour transport day.

From Bobo to Ouga it was an 11pm departure and even so on the streets and bus stops people were still trying to sell phone credit or SIM cards. They attach the credit cards on a stick and wave it trying to make eye contact. They’d make nothing from phone calls and SIM’s are about $2 and how many people need sim cards?

It’s things like this that show the lack of opportunities here for the masses. Some are annoying, others are nice and helpful. But what really makes the heart feel sympathy was seeing a kid during a stop for water on my motor-bike with a used sardine tin and a rope attached to it - this is his toy. The poor kid doesn’t get the brand new toy that gets discarded in a few days for another toy. He only gets last night’s dinner’s rubbish. Then you think of all the crap our kids get.

The overnight bus back had soldiers on it. Due to the curfew from the recent anti government protests it made a slightly nerving thought. Burkina’s history follows many of Africa’s. The first president was successful but heading to a socialist style but change was too quick for the people. And think about it no one likes change.

The first few years after colonialism and one guy gets to choose the direction. At the time there was no proof that this was the right formula it must have been a scary prospect. And no format of governance is the 100% way. The current president Blaise Compaore has been in since he assassinated the former successful president in 1987. The country is now 161st in the Human Development Index 2010.

To get to the Togon border you have to change and wait for 2 and a half hours at STMB bus station a lesser quality of bus but still well organised for African standards (I hate being derogatory like that – “African standard.” I feel like I’m a commentator re: the world cup last year but that’s how it goes over the course of time). I was pretty tired at this point and my best preserved Lonely Planet book (It even got complimented on by the Irish guy, the previous day) on the bus was ruined. I didn’t put the lid on the water bottle properly and saturated my book. It took two days to dry the 1214 pages.

I arrived at the border unaware that the orgiastic feast of mangos of all varieties would depart JP5. There was some in Togo but not the same. Burkina Faso was a quality mango destination and despite not having an all out must see site it’s more pleasant than Mali but definitely has the Mali influence with tourists. I would recommend to travel here just to have the experience of a well organised comfortable bus ride.

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