Dragoman out of the goodness of its heart has given us a full day to explore Bobo-Dioulasso. Later we’ll take a tour of the Old Quarter, but first Christi has a yearning to visit the local market. It is the largest market in Burkina Faso and the hawkers and peddlers are the most persistent and aggressive we have encountered. I’m not sure that Christi and I had a particular agenda going in – and certainly not to purchase anything – yet we depart exhausted an hour later with an armful of souvenirs, including a fan and a full-length dress. The locals look very happy, which probably means they got the better of the deals. A Tuareg man even offers me an exquisite carved dagger for CFA 30,000 (US$60), which I nervously decline. He gives me a cold stare, but then disappears into the depths of the market. Refusing a Tuareg is a brave move let me tell you; these guys are tough desert fighters and don’t forgive perceived slights easily. (Note the Tuareg are not of Arab descent, but rather they are Berbers who are traditionally nomadic pastoralists and the principal inhabitants of the Sahara).
Later, after visiting the catholic cathedral and getting kicked out of the train station for taking photos Christi and I begin our tour of the Old Quarter in the company of a local Bobo guy called Ibraham. First up is the local Sudanese-style Grand Mosque which was built in 1880, making it the second oldest mud mosque in West Africa (after the mosque in Djenne, Mali). The interior is a rather basic affair – a few prayer mats with men dozing on them – but at least it’s pleasantly cool after the intense heat of the town.
The Old Quarter of Bobo-Dioulasso is a mix of animists, Muslims, Griots, and Forgeron that seem to live in relative harmony. We wander along many alleyways snooping into the private world of the villagers. We see a chief making drums, a woman stirring maize and cooking caterpillars (rather crunchy; not my favorite). We visit an animist house, which is used to resolve disputes and requires the use of fetishes. We try some millet beer, which Christi thinks tastes like cider, and finish off with some yummy donut bread. The oldest house in the Old Quarter (also known as Kibidwe) dates to the 11th century and is called kansasso. The River Houet runs through the center of Kibidwe and it is a disgusting rubbish-strewn, semi-stagnant stretch of water that amazingly supports many sacred catfish. And all the time we walk, we are surrounded by children staring, touching, posing for the camera, and asking for a cadeau (present). It is a fascinating day, but so intense that Christi and I are happy to escape back to relative calm of the hotel.
Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart – a gut-wrenching tale of broken hearts and broken test tubes.
Speak Your Mind