Ouaga

Burkina Faso. West Africa. February 2010.

Previously known as the Upper Volta. The meaning of Burkina Faso is "Country of Honest Men." We are in Ouagadougou, the capital, for meetings on our new program: Park W. Park W straddles Niger, BF and Benin—named after the “W” shape of the Niger River, the northern boundary of the Park. It is a critical water catchment for West Africa and one of the most significant Parks in the region. Like many Parks though, it is a paper park, meaning not really functional. Our challenge to make it work, link it with other protected areas and generate income for the surrounding communities so as to alleviate poverty and pressure on the natural landscapes. This country is dreadfully poor. The difference between the infrastructure in Kenya is astonishing, but one cannot compare—they are worlds apart.

We had three days in the field, drove west to Park W, then south through another Park—along the border of Benin and back to the capital. It is hot. A stifling hot; like sitting in an oven. Watching the kids play football in the hot sun makes me sweat. They say tourism is not feasible come March because then it gets hot. Excuse me, then it gets hot?

The communities are growing cotton on the edge of the Park, the country has been divided and international companies have contracts on certain sections. To get access to a loan, communities have to grow cotton—monopoly. An alternative funding mechanism would break this chain. The cotton depletes the soil, does not generate significant income for communities and the chemical application is significant. They also grow millet and other food products as well as shea butter –a product used in cosmetics in the USA and Europe. If we can develop linkage to the market, and to the land conservation; this would be a significant win. There have been attempts at tourism facilities, but the investments lacked follow through. There are hunting concessions, but the money that goes back to the community is minimal. We met with a few communities living on the edge of the Park. They shared their concerns, challenges and ideas for opportunities.

We were to travel to Niger, but there was a coup and the border closed. This is the third coup in West Africa in the past 6 months. This was a clean coup, easy in and out, which has made people speculate who orchestrated it. Ivory Coast just blew up as well. Political stability is of course a challenge to working in Africa. International donors have pulled out of Niger, so focus shifts, people suffer.

Burkina is a former French colony. All of our meetings are in French. In the morning, I buy fresh baguettes from the lady at the kiosk for 20 cents (a rip off by local standards). Magnificent colors. The air pollution is horrid, many people riding mopeds. Best sighting to date: a woman in traditional wear riding her moped in city traffic with a basket of strawberries balanced on her head. A man rides his bike with ten chickens hanging from the handle bars.

With climate change the expanse of the desert is rapid. The doubters of climate change should come to Africa, then dare to doubt. The effect here means a mass migration of people from the north to the south, resulting in fierce competition for water and grass. Globally, this movement of people for resources will be a massive source of conflict. It has already started. The nomads from the north are wrapped in bright blue cloth or black, they are selling cloth, Turak leather and swords in Ouaga.

The challenge here is significant, but there are opportunities. But, like all of Africa, it is so very complicated. Nothing is as it appears.

Kids Waving

Burkina Faso. It always amazes me. Across Africa, driving through villages, kids come running out of homes, jumping and waving. Screaming “hello” “how are you?” Just plain yelling, dancing with enthusiasm. It brings a smile to your face. As with most African countries, I am blown away by the grace, courage and resilience of so many here. The way they make a living is so very challenging. And here we are, zipping through in our landrovers, they wave with grand smiles.

Rock Art

600 years old. Etched into stone with natural dye by the San. The bushman. We are in South Africa. Hiking in a nature preserve, through the bush. Seeing this magnificent landscape by foot is awesome. We come across a small cave, with art, ancient art. The picture shows people, looking at an eland. An eland, the largest antelope, is a mammal well respected. In fact, god like. The San worship many gods. In the image carved into this sacred cave, the god rises above the eland. It is said that when the bushman hunted the eland, they thanked the eland in prayer before taking his life. An amazing glimpse of time passed.

Wild Dogs

Lycaon pictus. The highlight of my holiday. I had never seen a wild dog until last month. It was my mission. Usually when you head out into the bush to find an animal, say a wild dog, they elude you. You pass a vehicle and they say, oh, we just saw a wild dog, just down the road. You follow their directions precisely, nothing. Or you return to the lodge and overhear people talking about watching wild dogs make a kill. This time we were lucky. One of the anti-poaching rangers saw the tracks. We radioed, met him on the road, and drove through the bush. There they were. Nine of them. Brilliant white tails. Beautiful patchy black, brown and white patterns. And, best of all, an exceptional head of hair, tawny colored and parted in the middle. Once common, their numbers have reduced drastically over the past years because of disease and persecution. Endangered. Threatened. Rare. In northern Kenya they are rebounding slightly. The scout we were with said “communities know that tourists want to see them, so they are trying to protect them.” I hope he is right.

Road Shopping

Kittens, puppies, adorable white baby rabbits, parrots. A dozen roses. Bannanas. Sunglasses. Phone plugs, cords, jumper cables. Batiks. Skirts, shirts, pants. DVDs. Newspapers, magazines: Vogue, Time, Economist, Good House Keeping. Rainbow colored dusters. A map of Africa. Phone cards. Pictures, paintings. Kenya flag air freshners. Bubbles. Passport holders. Gum, candy. A blow up plastic spider man. Stuffed animals. These are some of the things I can buy on my way to work without even leaving the car.

Lazy Lions

Maasai Mara, southern Kenya. An afternoon rest. Clearly the lion on the right wanted some more sleep, but her mate woke her up.

Maasai Song

It is dark. The elegant, small lodge is lit with lanterns. Lanterns that remind you of the Sultans. The fire roars in the massive fire place. An Irish man plays acoustic guitar and his voice carries off into the hills. The Maasai who work at the lodge listen intently, wide eyed. When the Irish man finishes, the Maasai are asked to sing. In their red shukas they gather and break into song and dance. It is an ancient tradition, a guttural song and pulsating dance. It is a privilege, an absolute privilege to listen and watch. To be a part of such an ancient custom. What will the world be like without these rich tribes? Will anyone notice?