Sunday afternoon in Banfora was spent on the grand market.
We had lunch at a place covered in funky art called Mc Donald. I had a hamburger, of course, decent. And some tamarind juice. I had no idea, but one of all those wild bushes that I had been shown during my transect walks in the villages, produced the fruit that the tamarind juice was made of. It was sour, and a bit too sweet, but still, quite good.
At the market, they sold a lot of stuff. Vegetables and fruits, plastic bowls and buckets, toiletries, second-hand clothes, fabrics and cheap jewelry. We bought a bottle of half-frozen bissap juice, which almost tasted like sorbet. The most delicious, amazingly cold drinkable sorbet. It was so good, I didn’t even mind all the young men shouting “Blanche!” after us and the children following us around with puppy eyes. I don’t believe in giving children money. They should learn a profession, not to beg.
I didn’t buy anything, but I like watching people. And markets are excellent places to do just that.
He still popped up where we least expected it, Kaddafi. It felt so weird, seeing his face on t-shirts worn by kids, as if he was an idol, or as the name on taxis and busses. But it was similar in Liberia. Kaddafi invested a lot in West Africa. And the people here can’t afford to throw away a t-shirt or redecorate a car, just because a North African leader happens to have been murdered by his own people. There simply isn’t that kind of margin here.
But the people that have money, like to spend it on large buildings. With large, geometric, colorful decorations. Say what you want about the architecture style of present-day Burkina Faso, but it sure isn’t particularly influenced by western fashions.
Katja Malmborg 