The day before Christmas Eve, I received a call from a Burkinabè acquaintance. His sister was deathly sick in a hospital in Tenkodogo and he desperately needed money to help her. When I asked how much he needed, he said at least 275,000 FCFA (about $550). This is quite a hefty chunk of money in a country where medical services are relatively cheap, so I asked what he planned to do with it. He replied that it was for medical supplies, hospital services, and the hospital stay. I said that I’d call him back.
Calling a Burkinabè colleague with connections in Tenkodogo, I asked him for help in verifying the details of my acquaintance’s story. He inquired at the hospital and a couple of clinics in Tenkodogo that would handle these kinds of cases, but could not find anyone registered under the name my acquaintance had given me. Questioning a doctor friend revealed that the kind of care required for this case would not exceed 50,000 FCFA.
Shortly after this, an expatriate colleague came into my office to talk about some issue. As he was leaving he said, “By the way, I just got a phone call from Mr. X asking for money for a medical emergency.” It turned out to be the same Burkinabè acquaintance who had called me! Now I was beginning to wonder what was going on here.
Further inquiries with various colleagues and friends revealed a disturbing pattern of events. Over the past several years, this man had been contacting a number of them with emotional appeals concerning a variety of medical emergencies or other urgent needs, like schooling for his children, or living accommodations for his family. From some, he was able to borrow substantial amounts of money, promising to pay them back in the near future. None of these people have yet received a cent. From others, he’s received substantial cash gifts.
I honestly don’t think he’s telling outright lies when presenting a need for money. But I’m convinced he’s grossly exaggerating the need and using the excess for some other purpose. Maybe this time he needed extra money for the holidays and a sister’s illness was his ticket to get it.
So how has this man been able to carry on such a pattern of bilking people for so long? Because none of those he approaches for money have been talking with each other about his requests and what they’ve given him. But that’s changing now. I’m talking with people, asking questions, and creating a network of folks who are aware of what’s going on and will keep each other informed. Unfortunately, chances are that none of those who have lent him money will ever get it back. You can’t take money back from someone who apparently never has enough. But hopefully he’ll no longer be able to play that game with this group.
However, it’s a big world out there, and my acquaintance is a pretty friendly guy who knows how to tell an emotional story. Maybe he’ll just learn to cast his net a little wider. Don’t say I didn’t warn you! :)
Friday, January 15, 2010
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
The Most Comfortable Chairs in Burkina
We’ve been hard pressed to find comfortable chairs here in Burkina. We found some nice ones at IKEA, but despite the fact that it is a global company, IKEA does not yet have a store in Burkina. The nice thing about IKEA products is that they come in pieces in nice compact packages that are much handier for shipping and transporting than furniture products that are already assembled. So when we were back in Canada last fall, we bought a couple of those comfortable IKEA chairs (the Poäng ones), along with a footstool for Kathy.
Kathy thought we could fit all the pieces into one of our large suitcases to take back to Burkina. But we couldn’t. Even our largest suitcase was a little too small. A call to Air France revealed that we could ship an oversize piece of baggage for an extra $300. So I packed both chairs and the footstool into a large, cardboard box, taped it up well, and swathed it in plastic wrap. There, that was easy!
Unfortunately, when we got to the airport and tried to check that box in, we were informed that there was also a weight limit of 32 kgs for oversize baggage, and we unfortunately were 6 kgs over that limit. So we had to get on the plane for Burkina without it and leave Josh to take it back to his place. There, he could cut open the box, take out the footstool and a few other items to lower the weight to 32 kgs, tape and wrap it back up, and wait for another opportunity to get it to us.
In December, we learned of a friend from Canada coming over to Burkina to work at an orphanage. He said that he’d be willing to take our box as extra baggage. Josh met him at the airport. For some reason, the box was still nearly 2 kgs over the weight limit and Air France kicked up a fuss until our friend revealed that he was going to help out at an orphanage in Burkina Faso. Well, that was different! For that, they were willing to bend the rules a bit. And we finally got our chairs :)
Kathy thought we could fit all the pieces into one of our large suitcases to take back to Burkina. But we couldn’t. Even our largest suitcase was a little too small. A call to Air France revealed that we could ship an oversize piece of baggage for an extra $300. So I packed both chairs and the footstool into a large, cardboard box, taped it up well, and swathed it in plastic wrap. There, that was easy!
Unfortunately, when we got to the airport and tried to check that box in, we were informed that there was also a weight limit of 32 kgs for oversize baggage, and we unfortunately were 6 kgs over that limit. So we had to get on the plane for Burkina without it and leave Josh to take it back to his place. There, he could cut open the box, take out the footstool and a few other items to lower the weight to 32 kgs, tape and wrap it back up, and wait for another opportunity to get it to us.
In December, we learned of a friend from Canada coming over to Burkina to work at an orphanage. He said that he’d be willing to take our box as extra baggage. Josh met him at the airport. For some reason, the box was still nearly 2 kgs over the weight limit and Air France kicked up a fuss until our friend revealed that he was going to help out at an orphanage in Burkina Faso. Well, that was different! For that, they were willing to bend the rules a bit. And we finally got our chairs :)
Are they ever nice!
Monday, January 11, 2010
Bicycle Chicken
A Burkinabè friend who works as a server in a restaurant in downtown Ouaga came to see me a few days ago. After a very busy holiday season, he is now taking two weeks off. Christmas and New Year’s is one of the most profitable times of the year for restaurants here, so my friend not only had to work his regular hours, but also put in a lot of overtime.
However, he told me that he’s thinking of quitting this job and looking for another one. He doesn’t know what kind of job yet, but is researching his options, mostly by talking to his customers. I suspect that’s why he came to see me too :)
I asked him why he was thinking of quitting. “Because being a server is a dead-end job,” he replied. “If I were a cook, it would be different. I could learn more and improve myself and move up in the restaurant world. But not as a server. I’m still young right now and can learn new skills, but someday I’ll be too old to do that, so I have to do it now while I still have some time left.” I thought that was pretty astute thinking! I promised I’d keep an eye out for any job possibilities for him.
I mentioned that Kathy & I had tried a new restaurant lately, Le Papillon, where I’d had a curried chicken dish, but was disappointed that they’d used a tough, local, free-range chicken instead of a higher quality grain-fed one like the better restaurants do. “Oh,” said my friend, “you mean they served poulet bicyclette (bicycle chicken)!”
“Poulet bicyclette?” I queried. “What’s that?”
“That’s what we call the local chickens,” he answered. “The meat is tough and wiry, as if they’ve been out riding a bicycle all day. We actually like them better than the grain-fed ones. The meat of the latter is much too soft for our liking. We grew up with chickens that you can really chew on and that’s what we still like best.”
“That’s great,” I said. “You can have them! I can think of better things to do with a couple of hours of my time than to spend them chewing on some old chicken leg!”
However, he told me that he’s thinking of quitting this job and looking for another one. He doesn’t know what kind of job yet, but is researching his options, mostly by talking to his customers. I suspect that’s why he came to see me too :)
I asked him why he was thinking of quitting. “Because being a server is a dead-end job,” he replied. “If I were a cook, it would be different. I could learn more and improve myself and move up in the restaurant world. But not as a server. I’m still young right now and can learn new skills, but someday I’ll be too old to do that, so I have to do it now while I still have some time left.” I thought that was pretty astute thinking! I promised I’d keep an eye out for any job possibilities for him.
I mentioned that Kathy & I had tried a new restaurant lately, Le Papillon, where I’d had a curried chicken dish, but was disappointed that they’d used a tough, local, free-range chicken instead of a higher quality grain-fed one like the better restaurants do. “Oh,” said my friend, “you mean they served poulet bicyclette (bicycle chicken)!”
“Poulet bicyclette?” I queried. “What’s that?”
“That’s what we call the local chickens,” he answered. “The meat is tough and wiry, as if they’ve been out riding a bicycle all day. We actually like them better than the grain-fed ones. The meat of the latter is much too soft for our liking. We grew up with chickens that you can really chew on and that’s what we still like best.”
“That’s great,” I said. “You can have them! I can think of better things to do with a couple of hours of my time than to spend them chewing on some old chicken leg!”
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Glad To Know I'm Not The Only Sucker Here!
A Burkinabè colleague came into my office a couple of mornings ago to talk about a difficult situation in which he currently found himself. Prior to going on a trip, an expatriate colleague had given him money to purchase a number of bamboo-type mats at the local market. To what purpose, I don’t know. But the amount of money given was equal to about a week’s salary for the Burkinabè.
Going to a local vendor, he found only a few mats in stock. The vendor told him to come back the next day since he was expecting a new shipment shortly. The next day, there were still only a few mats in stock. The vendor said that the shipment had come in, but had sold out quickly. He asked my Burkinabè colleague to give him the money for the mats to help purchase another shipment, and to come back the following day to collect both the mats and a receipt.
Can you guess what happened? That’s right. My colleague has never seen the vendor since. Oh, his store is still there, with someone looking after sales, but the vendor himself is never present.
I just stared across the desk at my Burkinabè colleague in utter disbelief. He is, after all, not an inexperienced child or a foreign tourist, but a grown man born and raised in this country. Yet he gave a large sum of money that doesn’t even belong to him to a man he doesn’t even know and walked away without even getting a receipt for it! I find it utterly amazing the number of times I hear of local people getting taken to the cleaner’s like this! It utterly defies explanation.
“So what do you plan to do about it?” I asked him. “Well, I’ve got a summons from the police to give to him,” he replied. “But whenever I go to his store, he’s never there for me to give it to him! If I don’t get this settled before the man who gave me the money gets back, he’ll never trust me again!”
“Is anyone from the vendor’s family ever there?” asked another Burkinabè co-worker. “Yes, his wife,” said the first man. “Well, give the summons to her, then,” advised the second man.
“Are there ever any mats when you go there?” I asked. “Yes, a few,” he said. “Well, take whatever there is whenever you go there,” I continued. “Eventually, you’ll get all the mats you paid for. There’s probably a better chance of that happening than of getting him to answer a police summons.”
“But what will I do,” wailed my Burkinabè colleague, “if the guy who gave me the money comes back before I either get the money back or get all the mats he asked me to buy?”
“Just tell him the truth about what happened,” I advised. “He won’t be happy, but he’ll probably understand.” (I hope!)
Going to a local vendor, he found only a few mats in stock. The vendor told him to come back the next day since he was expecting a new shipment shortly. The next day, there were still only a few mats in stock. The vendor said that the shipment had come in, but had sold out quickly. He asked my Burkinabè colleague to give him the money for the mats to help purchase another shipment, and to come back the following day to collect both the mats and a receipt.
Can you guess what happened? That’s right. My colleague has never seen the vendor since. Oh, his store is still there, with someone looking after sales, but the vendor himself is never present.
I just stared across the desk at my Burkinabè colleague in utter disbelief. He is, after all, not an inexperienced child or a foreign tourist, but a grown man born and raised in this country. Yet he gave a large sum of money that doesn’t even belong to him to a man he doesn’t even know and walked away without even getting a receipt for it! I find it utterly amazing the number of times I hear of local people getting taken to the cleaner’s like this! It utterly defies explanation.
“So what do you plan to do about it?” I asked him. “Well, I’ve got a summons from the police to give to him,” he replied. “But whenever I go to his store, he’s never there for me to give it to him! If I don’t get this settled before the man who gave me the money gets back, he’ll never trust me again!”
“Is anyone from the vendor’s family ever there?” asked another Burkinabè co-worker. “Yes, his wife,” said the first man. “Well, give the summons to her, then,” advised the second man.
“Are there ever any mats when you go there?” I asked. “Yes, a few,” he said. “Well, take whatever there is whenever you go there,” I continued. “Eventually, you’ll get all the mats you paid for. There’s probably a better chance of that happening than of getting him to answer a police summons.”
“But what will I do,” wailed my Burkinabè colleague, “if the guy who gave me the money comes back before I either get the money back or get all the mats he asked me to buy?”
“Just tell him the truth about what happened,” I advised. “He won’t be happy, but he’ll probably understand.” (I hope!)
Friday, January 8, 2010
Le Papillon
Not long ago when I was in downtown Ouaga, I bought a booklet from a street vendor that I thought might be useful. Kathy & I are always looking for new restaurants to try in the city, and this booklet listed several pages of them, many of which we’d never heard of before. So one night earlier this week, we decided to try one near the airport.
After some time spent in looking for this restaurant in vain (we suspect it has moved to the Ouaga 2000 area), we decided to try another place that we discovered during our search: Le Papillon (The Butterfly). Interestingly, it wasn’t listed in the book, and we soon found out why. It had just newly opened on Dec 18th.
The restaurant was a converted villa. The veranda had been enclosed with aluminum and glass to form an attractive bar with space for several tables. The living room had been turned into the main dining room with large comfortable chairs and tables, and decorated with numerous pieces of local artwork. Two former bedrooms had been converted into private dining areas with even more comfortable leather chairs.
All these rooms were air-conditioned, something to keep in mind for the upcoming hot season. But because it was nice and cool that evening, we elected to sit outside in the courtyard. Various species of trees and bamboo lined the high courtyard wall. Tables and chairs were set up on a surface of paving stones that surrounded a tranquil swimming pool in the middle. A row of decorative lights around the entire perimeter of the pool provided ambient lighting for the whole area.
When we first regarded the menu, we feared we were perhaps a bit out of our league! Ordinary bottles of soft drinks cost 1,000 FCFA (about $2.00), significantly higher than what we’d pay at most other restaurants. But a second glance showed that the meals were not as exorbitant. I tend to look for something on the menu that is not the usual, something that is perhaps unique to a particular restaurant. Here I found several curry dishes (the restaurant turned out to be owned and operated by East Indians), and ended up ordering a curried chicken dish. It turned out to be pretty good, but the chicken was definitely of the Burkinabè free range type: lean and tough. Kathy noted that her beef dish was also somewhat tough, and the portion was smaller than when she would normally expect for that item.
The verdict? The meal was okay, but not outstanding. For the prices we paid, we really expected a little more than we got. But the ambience was nice, the service was top-notch, and the owners were friendly. After the meal, they invited us to come inside, told us a bit about themselves, and gave us a tour of their establishment. Now, if they could just increase the size of their servings a bit, and use better portions of meat, they’d have a truly winning combination!
After some time spent in looking for this restaurant in vain (we suspect it has moved to the Ouaga 2000 area), we decided to try another place that we discovered during our search: Le Papillon (The Butterfly). Interestingly, it wasn’t listed in the book, and we soon found out why. It had just newly opened on Dec 18th.
The restaurant was a converted villa. The veranda had been enclosed with aluminum and glass to form an attractive bar with space for several tables. The living room had been turned into the main dining room with large comfortable chairs and tables, and decorated with numerous pieces of local artwork. Two former bedrooms had been converted into private dining areas with even more comfortable leather chairs.
All these rooms were air-conditioned, something to keep in mind for the upcoming hot season. But because it was nice and cool that evening, we elected to sit outside in the courtyard. Various species of trees and bamboo lined the high courtyard wall. Tables and chairs were set up on a surface of paving stones that surrounded a tranquil swimming pool in the middle. A row of decorative lights around the entire perimeter of the pool provided ambient lighting for the whole area.
When we first regarded the menu, we feared we were perhaps a bit out of our league! Ordinary bottles of soft drinks cost 1,000 FCFA (about $2.00), significantly higher than what we’d pay at most other restaurants. But a second glance showed that the meals were not as exorbitant. I tend to look for something on the menu that is not the usual, something that is perhaps unique to a particular restaurant. Here I found several curry dishes (the restaurant turned out to be owned and operated by East Indians), and ended up ordering a curried chicken dish. It turned out to be pretty good, but the chicken was definitely of the Burkinabè free range type: lean and tough. Kathy noted that her beef dish was also somewhat tough, and the portion was smaller than when she would normally expect for that item.
The verdict? The meal was okay, but not outstanding. For the prices we paid, we really expected a little more than we got. But the ambience was nice, the service was top-notch, and the owners were friendly. After the meal, they invited us to come inside, told us a bit about themselves, and gave us a tour of their establishment. Now, if they could just increase the size of their servings a bit, and use better portions of meat, they’d have a truly winning combination!
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Back Off, Buster!
The other day I ran into something unusual: a couple of obnoxious street vendors. Those of you who have lived in Burkina might be tempted to laugh at this statement. After all, aren’t most if not all street vendors in Burkina obnoxious? Well, I guess it depends on your perspective and your tolerance level :) From my standpoint, I'd say that many of them can be persistent. But it isn't until they turn nasty that I’d call them obnoxious!
A friend and I were downtown looking for a place to exchange American dollars, something we found to be challenge on a holiday weekend. As we were walking from my truck to yet another exchange place, two vendors latched on to us and began to pester us to have a look at their products. Normally, if I smile politely, wave them off, and say, “No, thanks,” they take the hint and leave us alone. Not these two. In fact, they were so close to us that we were nearly tripping over them.
Finally I'd had enough. I stopped, turned around, put my hands up in front of their faces and told them bluntly to back off and leave us alone. We were NOT interested in their wares!
When we came out of the exchange place again, the two guys were still there and they began once more to follow us and harangue us. What was it with these guys?!!! Which part of NO did they not understand? Once more, I stopped, turned around, and told them to back off and leave us alone. But they wouldn’t stop.
“You can’t speak for your friend,” they said. “Just because you aren’t interested doesn’t mean your friend isn’t. Let him look at our stuff. Maybe he wants to buy something.” Up to this point, my friend had never so much as even cast a glance in their direction. I said, “No he doesn’t. He doesn’t understand French, and he isn’t interested in your stuff either.”
Then they started to get nasty. “What, are you just going to brush us off and treat us like garbage? Who do you think you are?!!!”
There’s no use arguing with people like that. I knew from experience that things would just go from bad to worse, so I just shut up and we kept walking, breathing sighs of relief when we finally reached my truck and were able to shut the doors on those two loudmouths!
A friend and I were downtown looking for a place to exchange American dollars, something we found to be challenge on a holiday weekend. As we were walking from my truck to yet another exchange place, two vendors latched on to us and began to pester us to have a look at their products. Normally, if I smile politely, wave them off, and say, “No, thanks,” they take the hint and leave us alone. Not these two. In fact, they were so close to us that we were nearly tripping over them.
Finally I'd had enough. I stopped, turned around, put my hands up in front of their faces and told them bluntly to back off and leave us alone. We were NOT interested in their wares!
When we came out of the exchange place again, the two guys were still there and they began once more to follow us and harangue us. What was it with these guys?!!! Which part of NO did they not understand? Once more, I stopped, turned around, and told them to back off and leave us alone. But they wouldn’t stop.
“You can’t speak for your friend,” they said. “Just because you aren’t interested doesn’t mean your friend isn’t. Let him look at our stuff. Maybe he wants to buy something.” Up to this point, my friend had never so much as even cast a glance in their direction. I said, “No he doesn’t. He doesn’t understand French, and he isn’t interested in your stuff either.”
Then they started to get nasty. “What, are you just going to brush us off and treat us like garbage? Who do you think you are?!!!”
There’s no use arguing with people like that. I knew from experience that things would just go from bad to worse, so I just shut up and we kept walking, breathing sighs of relief when we finally reached my truck and were able to shut the doors on those two loudmouths!
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
A Late Night At The Airport
I was recently scheduled to pick up a friend at the Ouaga airport. Initially, he was supposed to arrive at a decent time of the day (5:30 p.m.) on an Air France flight from Canada via Paris. However, the plane from Toronto to Paris was delayed due to technical difficulties, so he missed his connecting flight to Ouaga. The airline offered to put him up in a hotel for two days until the next flight, but he wanted to make the most of his time and asked for an alternate flight. So Air France flew him to Casablanca and then put him on a Royal Air Maroc flight to Ouaga. Now he was scheduled to arrive at 3 o’clock in the morning.
I dutifully set my alarm and managed to grab a few hours of sleep before getting up again, climbing into the truck, and driving the virtually deserted streets over to the airport. The airport was virtually deserted too. As I walked across the parking area towards the arrivals area, a white man on a 4-wheeler asked me if I was waiting for the Royal Air Maroc plane. When I said yes, he said that it was delayed. It wouldn’t be in for another hour and a half!
We initially both considered heading back to our respective homes until the appointed hour, but instead ended up talking for a while. He turned out to be a Frenchman who was operating a guesthouse not far from the airport. Not long after, we were joined by another Frenchman and some African ladies associated with these two guys. At this point, we all decided to go to a nearby place to sit down, talk some more, and get something to drink. I was looking forward to a nice, hot coffee because I felt it was rather chilly outside at this time of the night and I was actually starting to shiver! Not thinking the plane would be so long delayed, I was just wearing jeans and a t-shirt.
The two Frenchmen ordered coffee along with me. The ladies, however, ordered beer! Several rounds, in fact! One lady didn’t even bother to wait for the bottle opener. She opened her bottle with her teeth! After a while the ladies began to get rather loud and obnoxious to the point that we guys had trouble hearing and understanding each other. I was glad when the Royal Air Maroc plane finally arrived... at nearly 5:30 a.m. I always enjoy opportunities to meet different people and have different kinds of experiences, but I’d had enough of this one :)
I dutifully set my alarm and managed to grab a few hours of sleep before getting up again, climbing into the truck, and driving the virtually deserted streets over to the airport. The airport was virtually deserted too. As I walked across the parking area towards the arrivals area, a white man on a 4-wheeler asked me if I was waiting for the Royal Air Maroc plane. When I said yes, he said that it was delayed. It wouldn’t be in for another hour and a half!
We initially both considered heading back to our respective homes until the appointed hour, but instead ended up talking for a while. He turned out to be a Frenchman who was operating a guesthouse not far from the airport. Not long after, we were joined by another Frenchman and some African ladies associated with these two guys. At this point, we all decided to go to a nearby place to sit down, talk some more, and get something to drink. I was looking forward to a nice, hot coffee because I felt it was rather chilly outside at this time of the night and I was actually starting to shiver! Not thinking the plane would be so long delayed, I was just wearing jeans and a t-shirt.
The two Frenchmen ordered coffee along with me. The ladies, however, ordered beer! Several rounds, in fact! One lady didn’t even bother to wait for the bottle opener. She opened her bottle with her teeth! After a while the ladies began to get rather loud and obnoxious to the point that we guys had trouble hearing and understanding each other. I was glad when the Royal Air Maroc plane finally arrived... at nearly 5:30 a.m. I always enjoy opportunities to meet different people and have different kinds of experiences, but I’d had enough of this one :)
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