Remember a time when you were walking down a dimly lit side street on your way home from work or a friends house. Even if you were stumbling out of a bar at 2 a.m., you'd only be slightly afraid if you were dodging cars in the middle of a busy intersection and you might only be slightly spooked as the gust of the car unsettled your toupee. You would just say "Shit, it's drafty in the middle of these intersections, I need to be over there on that there sidewalk." And you would laugh about it later. Or at least I would. Then you would start your long staggering drunk walk home. Drunk or sober. Somewhere familiar or foreign. The thought of being surrounded by darkness while walking home alone is just plain spooky. However, this story is about me, not you, so if you throw in the facts that I have only been in Ouagadougou for 2 weeks, 85% unsure of where I was in the city, in sandals, and speak French at a 2-year-old's level (2 year old parrot that is), it was an adventure of a walk home.
Now, let me start at the beginning. The French Canadian, we'll call him Billy (good French Canadian name), I met a few days ago invited me over for his house warming party. "Tits" I exclaimed to myself. "I'm meeting people left and right here." After I explained to him through SMS that I didn't know how to tell him where I lived (I still don't know my street's name) and didn't have the slightest clue where Budomogo 849 was located, he told me to just meet him at a well know restaurant, Chez Simon, to make it easier. So I was off to hail my first Burkinabe taxi. Oh, and something else useful to know about almost all people in Ouagadougou is that most of them aren't familiar with neighborhood street names. That's why I didn't just tell a taxi to take me there to Billy's house, versus meeting them at Chez Simon.
Hailing a cab wasn't too hard even where I live outside of the city's center in the dark. Explaining to him how to get there... well I had to call up Billy and after a 5 minute discussion he figured out the area of the restaurant. I mean, this is a well known restaurant people, and this "taxi driver" didn't know how to get me there!
Before I even sat in the cab to take off, I seemed to have noticed what must have been a smudge on the passenger side windshield. No wait, that's no smudge, that's a huge fucking busted part of the windshield that looked like he had hit a deer. It was taped up with cardboard and lots and lots of scotch tape. You see, because scotch tape is more see through. Perfect for repairing windshields. The thing is though, there are no deer around these here parts. There are donkeys and people on the roadways, and that's it. On the car ride there, through charades and baby French, I learned from the cabbie that he was from Cote D'Ivoire and that the windshield was cracked from a passenger's head hitting the windshield. I think he said it happened a couple weekends ago and he looked a little annoyed about the whole thing. So, as I was trying to calmly, but secretly franticly, put on my seat belt, I saw that there was no clip. He must have seen the concern all over my face and assured me that it was all good and we would be safe. So I just puckered up my asshole and listened to him talk him about how crazy the motor scooters (motos) drove around here and how cars were much safer. As he said that, a moto drove past all James-Bond-chase-scene-like and he said "See?" Of course I had to look out his side of the not cracked part of the windshield to see it. Also, apparently in Cote D'Ivoire they drive much safer than here.
You know how it seemed like I was pissed off and amazed that the guy didn't know how to get to this "famous" restaurant? Well, as we were driving down the main strip through the city looking for it, I noticed a place that I had eaten at a week before... then, you guessed it, I saw the sign that read 'Chez Simon.' In my defense, the sign was facing the street and I had walked in from the side before, so shut up. The cabbie doubled the price for me, thanks buddy, and I strolled into the club, cool as a cat from south central gettin' ready to rep America and the KY to my new Canadian counterparts... but not really. I always come off as casual to everyone.
I met about 8 canucks, forgot their names, talked for a few minutes, got a good vibe from the group, and we went for another taxi ride to Billy's new house. This taxi had a better interior than my 2000 Civic back home though, so no story here. We just chatted. I had to throw out there that I hated G. Bush so my approval rating with them would improve. It worked. One of them told me about how she was watching Deal or No Deal and she heard that Georgey-poo made a funny little joke-ster about "Yeah, I have to get ratings somewhere." hahaha. Ass. Anyway, it was the lowest ratings that Deal or No Deal ever had. What an ass. Oh yeah, this whole time I was supposed to be paying attention to where I was going.
We got dropped off a Billy's casa and had more good conversation. Like how the Canadian dollar is stronger than the American dollar now. Yeah, I know. What's the world coming to? No offense Canadians everywhere. I love you all. Also, I found out that there are elephants to be seen here in their National Forest and that I won't be able to go with my new friends because I'm working this weekend. Lame.
(I'm drinking peanuts out of a jar right now. Peanuts are about a dollar per pound over here. Sweet!)
After the house warming party, a very nice lady (whose name eludes me because it was too French for me to remember) took me to the main road so I could catch a taxi. "Merci, au revoir." Now here's where the night starts to get hairy. And not cute-cuddly-baby-donkey hairy. More like scary-Harry-Caray hairy. Not a taxi in site. So I start strolling down the road in the direction that I think might be the vicinity of my house. The main road is paved and lit up with street lights, but neighborhoods off to the side are mostly dark with the exception of the random fluorescent shop lights. Looking down those dirt neighborhood roads was like looking into the abyss - if some abysses had random shop lights. Also, these roads were lined with closed shops, and eight foot tall barrier walls of stucco and concrete. Nevertheless, I walked a quarter of a kilometer and saw an intersection that looked like it might head to where I thought I should go. I didn't see a taxi the whole time so I figured that I was ready for an adventure and should try it. The one thing that I did know was that I was on Charles De Gaulle Avenue and I knew that I needed to go west-ish from there. So I started tramping west into the neighborhood onto the slightly busy dirt road. I felt comfort in the islands of light that dotted the road. I knew if I walked west-ish I would eventually hit another paved road and it might even be the one that leads to my apartment.
Then, as always in life, I came to a place where it was very apparent that my next choice would alter the rest of... my life? Well, it didn't feel that dramatic, but even though I was miles from home, didn't know where I was, in the dark, and couldn't ask for directions home even if I did speak French, I knew I was going to get home. This decision maker was a dirt road round-a-bout with dilapidated tires stacked on each other for the center piece. It looked familiar, but I thought "Naw. Naw. Naw. That can't be the one I saw a couple days ago." I was pretty sure I wasn't going to back my next choice on hoping that there was only one pile of tires used as a round-a-bout in Ouagadougou. They "recycle" everything except plastic bags around here. So I looked down each road: (left) It was semi-dark, semi-safe-ish looking, and unfamiliar. (straight) Give me an AK-47 before I go down that bitch. No lights. (right) "Ooo la la," shiney lights, people, and cars. Yeah, I went right.
I walked to the road paved road, everything getting brighter as I did so, and actually recognized the place. It was Charles De Gaulle Ave. again, but at a place where I knew how to get home. The problem was that I knew it was a good 40 minute+ walk. The time was 23:40. I had to go to work at 5:00. Even though my sandals are amazing, but I've never seen one that could take an hour and a half straight of walking. It also could've been that I paid 80 cents for them 3 years ago. They were starting to cut into my feet so I wanted to take a short cut to get home. Following CDG Ave, I would've gone northwest then taken a left and gone southwest to get home. So common sense told me that if I just walked west through the dark dirt roads then I would get home or be damn close; all the while cutting 20 minutes out of my walk time. Adventurous and slightly frustrated, I told myself that it was an idea. So I turned away from the lights and civilization and headed back in to Funland; The "left" direction that I walked away from when I took the right at the tires.
I'll skip to the end of the story with this paragraph so that I can end the story by drawing back to the beginning, which happens to be the middle. Got it. Good. I ended up walking to a "T" in the road, took a left when I should've gone right and ended up back on Charles De Gualle Ave. where I first got out of the very nice lady's car. It was about a quarter past midnight and I was back at square one and not so eager for adventure anymore. I was sweating, confused, frustrated, hailing a cab, and laughing at/with myself. So I was laughing with myself laughing at myself, which means there were three of me at that point.
The good news was that I was finally heading in the right direction. The bad news was that I didn't know it. I hailed a cab, finally, and the driver told me that I was walking in the wrong direction and that he wasn't going to do his damn job and take me that way (no, I wasn't bitter at all). So after crossing the road again and walking down the wrong direction, which at this point was right to me, I felt like the world was spinning. Yeah right, as if the world spins, I know, but that's what it felt like. I was actually in pretty high spirits though. The kind of high spirits that a dog has 2 seconds after you scold him, put him in his cage, and offer him a treat because you feel bad. The other good news is that a guy on a moto stopped and asked if I was lost (remember that all my "conversations" with people are what I interpret because I don't speak freaky deaky French, yet) and I told him where I lived and that I would give him a dollar if he could take me there. He said he would and that I was walking the wrong way and we would have to turn around first. I hoped on the back of his moto and we flipped a bitch. I soon found out that this guy knew what was up and the taxi driver was a Class A jerk. The guy, Issah, dropped me off and I gave him 2 bucks. I could tell that he didn't want to take it and he probably would have done it for 50 cents, but only for gas purposes. He didn't want to make money off of me. I think I insulted him a little, but I "Merci beaucoup"-ed him and tried to tell him that it meant a lot to me.
Back to the thought that inspired this story, I walked alone in the dark a lot that night. More than I should have probably; especially, considering how I was completely lost. I know people who would worry about me and think I did it out of stupidity or ignorance, but the whole time I felt like I did it out of intelligence and awareness; walking alone that is, not the whole directional mistake thing. Plus, I think I love my life more than anyone else does, so I wouldn't want to put it in unneeded danger.
There is a very friendly and positive vibe in this part of the globe. Don't get me wrong, I know crime happens here in Ouaga. Even though it happens mainly in certain parts city, I know that it can happen in the neighborhood I walked through too. The atmosphere here doesn't carry tension in most parts of this place and there is a sense of community that one could only understand by experiencing it. I can say that it's one of my favorite things about here and in Niamey, Niger where I used to live. I appreciate a good mixture of community and individuality. During my walk down the dark roads people were never too far away; hanging out at a shop, eating, or working at a shop. There are a lot of shops in these neighborhoods. I had a lot of people saying good evening and a couple people asking if I needed any help. During one of the darkest spots in the road I passed a lady carrying her baby with her and we were basically the only ones around. As I passed her I smiled and said "Bonsoir." She smiled and said "Bonsoir." Not a touch of awkwardness or fear.
Oh, also, that road that I could've taken that I said I would want an AK-47 to go down because it was so dark... yeah, it was the road that would've come out about 5 minutes from my house.
LA FIN
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