bush (somewhere near the frontier), Burkina Faso

Village of the Bitter Tomatoes

We had left urban Ouaga late and it was becoming increasingly apparent that there was no way we would reach the Ghanaian border before nightfall. As the sun dropped in the sky, we passed sprawling village on top of village, offering no choice spots to get the Stingray off the road and a place to pitch our tents. Desperately hoping for a few kilometers of bush in which to find an access road to a remote village or abandoned mining quarry, we were continuously offered nothing of the sort. We were forced to compromise. While camping in close proximity to a village can sometimes be rewarding and is often safer than camping in an isolated location, it often has its frustrating and awkward moments as two diverse cultures collide.

Finding a suitable camping spot can sometimes be a tricky and timely process. First and foremost, it is important to get the vehicle off the road and out of site before dark for two reasons: 1. Finding that a drunk and/or tired truck driver has ploughed into the back of your car in the middle of the night is never a thing one wants to wake up to; 2. Drawing superfluous and unwanted attention to yourself is not always enjoyable. Most often, this will mean inquisitive visits by local herders, farmers, travelers and the hordes of children that always accompany them. While this can be rewarding at times, it can quickly grow tiresome when there are many people and the language barrier is insurmountable.

In such situations, observing proper etiquette is vital. This often means, for example, that if you are preparing food or eating that you invite the visitors to join. This is only a problem when you are not prepared to cook for additional people. However, the minor inconvenience this causes is usually acceptable because most rural West Africans you encounter in such circumstances are likely to offer the same in return and many will go a great deal out of their way in order to be friendly and provide whatever help they think you need.

In this particular case, help meant bitter tomatoes. Not to be confused with cherry tomatoes, green tomatoes, or even the yellow unripe varieties you occasionally find sold on the side of the road, bitter tomatoes come from an entirely different family of vegetables altogether. While the closest locally found relative to the bitter tomato is the eggplant, it is neither large, nor purple nor mild in taste. The greenishly yellow bitter tomato vaguely resembles the bastard offspring that wild pomegranate and cauliflower would produce after a long night of cavorting under the cruel influence of Zum Zum watered down with nondairy condensed milk products. At its ripest, it looks shrunken and vaguely cadaverous, yet is as firm and dense as any mature tuber you are likely to encounter. It is also so bitter that if used improperly, a single vegetable could quite possibly turn an entire cauldron of chili at a Southern cookout unpalatable to a frenzied mob of famished hillbillies.

Upon arrival at the village of the bitter tomatoes, we were offered nearly a bucket full before we even had the chance to begin setting up our tents. As more and more villagers made their pilgrimage to our camp, which was fast becoming a mecca for caustic fruits, our pile of bitter tomatoes grew dangerously large. With no common language and the impossibility of turning away such hospitality, we fixed ourselves to the fact that we would soon be left with an impossible number of bitter tomatoes. As the night waned, the visitors slowly tapered off and I went to sleep.
* posted by Sean at 6:55 PM