Saturday, August 13, 2005
Banfora, Karifaguela, Sindou, Boromo-Burkina Faso (August 13, 2005)
I count eighty-seven mosquito bites on my body. There are bites on my back that I cannot see to count. On my left arm there are thirty-seven bites. My elbows alone contribute twenty-five. Counting these bites makes it somewhat easier not to scratch them; but I've been losing that self-control, scratching the skin from my limbs while my eyes roll back in my head with immeasurable bliss.
Burkina Faso is much much wetter than Mali. We are in the most fertile, low lying and moist region of the country during the rainy season in the malaria belt, so the bugs don't really come as a surprise; it is just their ability to infiltrate all tents that is making them such an incredible irritant. This is the region of Banfora. It is immediately adjacent to the Ivory Coast, one of West Africa's most AIDS infected countries and also one of its least stable. As a result of its proximity to this troubled country, Banfora has a significantly higher infection rate than other regions of Burkina Faso and the belief that AIDS comes from the Ivory Coast is widespread amongst the Burkinabe there. We have been visiting with health workers in the villages scattered throughout this region; they face serious challenges and are far from the resources and amenities of the capital.
Oddly, we have seen more white people in this region than anywhere else to date. Large tour groups of them crossed our path on several occasions, trekking between one scenic place and another. At one point a group of middle-aged French women entered the clearing where we were cooking our lunch and began taking their clothes off in the bushes. We assumed that they planned to swim in the waterfall. This was not their intention. They emerged in stretch pants and baggy t-shirts and, to the skillful percussion of their accompanying Burkinabe travel mates who came from nowhere with four massive drums, they began to attempt a fairly difficult flailing West African dance in formed unison, gawkily following the example of a younger, fitter and more talented local woman. Their dance instructor seemed miffed that we did not invite him to join our picnic. We were too stunned by the absurdity of the situation.
It seems strange to me that Burkina Faso is attracting so many Europeans and I am unused to seeing young white people wandering around in new tailored print fabric silly suits, sun burnt under their hair extensions or notice-me braids. I suppose they are good for the economy; but it causes people to form unflattering assumptions about my presence here and raises my profile, which is never desirable in Africa. Anyway, it is clearly the scenery of this region that pulls them down here by the busload. Unfortunately, the three of us were fairly spoiled by Dogon. The cascades and rock formations of lower Faso are diminished by comparison.
I count eighty-seven mosquito bites on my body. There are bites on my back that I cannot see to count. On my left arm there are thirty-seven bites. My elbows alone contribute twenty-five. Counting these bites makes it somewhat easier not to scratch them; but I've been losing that self-control, scratching the skin from my limbs while my eyes roll back in my head with immeasurable bliss.
Burkina Faso is much much wetter than Mali. We are in the most fertile, low lying and moist region of the country during the rainy season in the malaria belt, so the bugs don't really come as a surprise; it is just their ability to infiltrate all tents that is making them such an incredible irritant. This is the region of Banfora. It is immediately adjacent to the Ivory Coast, one of West Africa's most AIDS infected countries and also one of its least stable. As a result of its proximity to this troubled country, Banfora has a significantly higher infection rate than other regions of Burkina Faso and the belief that AIDS comes from the Ivory Coast is widespread amongst the Burkinabe there. We have been visiting with health workers in the villages scattered throughout this region; they face serious challenges and are far from the resources and amenities of the capital.
Oddly, we have seen more white people in this region than anywhere else to date. Large tour groups of them crossed our path on several occasions, trekking between one scenic place and another. At one point a group of middle-aged French women entered the clearing where we were cooking our lunch and began taking their clothes off in the bushes. We assumed that they planned to swim in the waterfall. This was not their intention. They emerged in stretch pants and baggy t-shirts and, to the skillful percussion of their accompanying Burkinabe travel mates who came from nowhere with four massive drums, they began to attempt a fairly difficult flailing West African dance in formed unison, gawkily following the example of a younger, fitter and more talented local woman. Their dance instructor seemed miffed that we did not invite him to join our picnic. We were too stunned by the absurdity of the situation.
It seems strange to me that Burkina Faso is attracting so many Europeans and I am unused to seeing young white people wandering around in new tailored print fabric silly suits, sun burnt under their hair extensions or notice-me braids. I suppose they are good for the economy; but it causes people to form unflattering assumptions about my presence here and raises my profile, which is never desirable in Africa. Anyway, it is clearly the scenery of this region that pulls them down here by the busload. Unfortunately, the three of us were fairly spoiled by Dogon. The cascades and rock formations of lower Faso are diminished by comparison.
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