A few weekends ago, I decided to make the short, 2 hour trip to Ouaga for the weekend. This is the story of my trip back to Yako on a Sunday afternoon and the many lessons I learned from it. While I’m certainly not a fabulous writer, I hope my experiences paint a picture of life in Burkina.
After checking out of the SIM guesthouse, I walked a few blocks to the main road to catch a taxi. While walking, I happened to see one of the locals, Isaaka, who occasionally works for SIM. He recognized me (imagine that) on the side of the road, while driving on his moto and offered to give me a lift to the bus station. Such a blessing! I’ve found the trick to a comfortable bus ride is to get to the bus station early and reserve a window seat. Because Isaaka gave me a lift to the bus station, it saved me time from having to flag down a taxi on the road and bargain a price. Upon arriving at the bus station early, I got my ticket and was allowed on the bus early to reserve a window seat. Many of the Burkinabé typically like to keep the windows closed on the bus for a number of reasons, but mainly because they think it will prevent germs from entering the bus. As much as I want to respect culture, sometimes it’s hard to do this, especially when everyone is sweating loads from the 100+ degree temperatures.
While sitting at my seat on the bus, waiting for other passengers to get on, I couldn’t help but notice all of the different sights and sounds. There were men getting into taxis shoving huge grain sacks full of their belongings into the back of taxis, to the point the taxi driver could not shut the trunk. There were mommas putting their babies on their back, women walking around trying to sell items they were carrying on their head (mangos, bananas, sodas, peanuts). The bus station was packed with many people waiting for their bus to arrive, which wasn’t anything too out of the ordinary. There were men taking motos apart to be put on the bus. The men who work for the bus company take pieces of passengers’ motos as collateral before they pack them underneath the bus.
Shortly after watching all of the action outside the bus, I focused my attention back inside of the bus where three mommas traveling together got on with their three babies and two toddlers. They managed to fit into one row of three seats. Again, I’m always amazed at the Burkinabé’s ability to make just about anything work. I greeted the women in Moore when they got on the bus, to which they snickered and said to each other, “The white lady knows Moore.” Really, it is not true. I know a few basic greetings and phrases, but to a lot of the Burkinabé they are so impressed when a foreigner attempts to learn their native tongue. Moore is an extremely difficult language, but it has been a lot of fun to attempt to learn a few basic phrases.
Next, a man got on the bus and sat down next to me. He greeted me and asked me the typical questions most Burkinabé ask, “How are you?” “How is your day?” “How is your family?” “How is your work?” After sitting down, the man who appeared to have pink eye, quickly pulled out a rag and began wiping the sweat off his face and armpits. Then he used his rag to fan himself while fanning it all in my direction. I just had to laugh and stick my head out the window to breathe in the fresh air, which coincidentally smelled like animal feces, human feces, food cooking on the streets and fumes from the cars and motos. Compared to my last bus ride though, I felt lucky.
On the bus ride prior, there was a man who almost fell asleep on my shoulder, while drooling a lot. When we stopped on the road for a bathroom stop, I turned my head and this man literally had drool pouring out of his mouth. I admit it was kind of comical, but the part about the fact he kept stepping on my foot every time he moved in his seat wasn’t so comical and required me to exercise a bit more grace.
Okay….back to my bus ride….soon after the bus was almost at maximum capacity, the bus departed. Before arriving at the toll booth to exit Ouagadougou and head to Yako, the bus stopped to pick up a few more passengers. While at our stop, the passengers on the bus began whistling at a boy on the side of the road who was selling bags of water. The man next to me bought two bags and another man nearby wanted to buy a bag but did not have the correct change. It would have been so easy for the man next to me to think, “These are my water bags I just bought and that is too bad the man doesn’t have enough money to buy one.” But, that is not what happened. The man next to me said, “You can have one of the bags I bought.” Another lesson on generosity? I think so.
Seconds after this happened, a woman and her baby got on the bus along with a bag full of stuff and an oscillating fan. The aisles were packed with people as she passed her belongings down the aisle. Luckily, only a few heads were smacked in the process as the full size fan traveled from the back of the bus to the front. However, after searching for a place, the woman was unable to find a spot, so the man next to me, who already gave up one of his water bags, gave up his seat for this woman, Adissa, and her sweet baby boy. Again, I was overwhelmed by the generosity this man expressed. Later after talking to the woman, I found out she knew the man who was sitting next to me. She also shared with me that she is a teacher in a village outside of Yako. I was quite impressed to hear that she only had 36 students in her class, instead of 70-140 students, which is much more common in a village school.
Shortly after the bus departed again, I noticed a mother, father, and son seated behind me. The child looked like he was in his first or second year of school. I asked him his age, but was given a blank stare in return. The woman next to me told me how to ask the question in Moore. When I asked, he held up one finger and said he was 1 years old and in CP1 (also known as first grade). It was sad to hear him not know how old he was, but this is a common occurrence. The boy and I quickly began to play a game of peek-a-boo and many of the Burkinabé around me were once again laughing at the nassara. However, this time they weren’t laughing at my inability to speak Moore, they were laughing at how ridiculous I looked playing peek-a-boo with a child on the bus.
As the bus finally came to the payage (toll booth), a mad rush of street vendors ran to the windows of the bus selling water bags, bananas, bread cakes, bread, apples, etc. Once they saw me, they rushed to my window and shouted “Nassara, buy a present from me.” “Nassara, buy my apples.” “Nassara, I want your water bottle.” All of which, I politely refused. Sometimes it is harder to refuse than others, especially when some of the street vendors are young children who flash a grin that would melt your heart. It is hard to think that is their job and how they bring money home to support their family. Knowing this certainly makes it difficult to turn them down every time they rush to the windows to try and sell me something. But on this day, I honestly didn’t need anything.
The rest of the bus ride was rather peaceful. The bus driver played a lot of African music, which I LOVE! Upon my arrival in Yako, Abdoulaye (my Wed. night guard and Lynn’s Sunday guard) greeted me and brought me home on the moto.
Each time I take the bus to and from Yako, I find I have two really great hours to think and reflect on my experiences here. In contrast to America, Burkina is a collectivist society where people help one another because to them one’s belongings are everyone’s belongings. They are extremely generous. Now, don’t get me wrong…we have extremely generous people in the U.S. too. Had it not been for the generosity of so many back home, I wouldn’t be here right now.
Anywho, Jesus was generous and as Christians, we are called to be generous. However, even living in a third world country, I fail miserably at this. The children at school recently heard the story of the widow who gave all the money she had to live on as an offering (Mark 12). I am in a country where this type of generosity is being exercised daily, with money, with time, with things, etc. So many of the Burkinabé have reminded me of what it means to be generous and the man on the bus, who gave up his seat and bag of water, was simply another reminder. What I thought was just going to be another Sunday afternoon bus ride back to Yako, turned out to be a whole lot more.
Lord, in the five remaining weeks I have here and even after I arrive home, help me to be generous, to love people, and to be a witness through my words and actions. Help us as Christians to love people just like you loved the church, to exercise generosity often, and to make everything we do a testament to proclaim your goodness.
