Donkey Counting on the Road

The reservoir in April after a long dry season.



The reservoir in August after a summer full of rain.



My village lies 27 kilometers southwest of Ouahigouya, the regional capital and fourth largest city in Burkina. On the same road, another 350k southwest, is Bobo-Dioulasso, Burkina’s second city. Continue even further and eventually you reach Cote D’Ivoire, a major market for livestock and produce. Given these landmarks, you might expect the road through Zogoré to be a major commercial artery. However, though periodically graded flat, the road is unpaved, which means that to travel from Ouahigouya to Bobo it is significantly faster to go 180k out of the way and pass through the nation’s capital, Ouagadougou. That road, on commercial buses and on asphalt all the way, takes about eight hours for the whole 530k journey. If you take the more direct, dirt road, you have to flag down a passing truck, climb up on top of the cargo, and sit . . . maybe 15 hours, maybe two days; it all depends on the state of the road, the state of the vehicle, and in how much of a hurry the driver is.

The road is going to be paved someday, it’s just a question of when. It was actually scheduled to happen this spring, but this is Africa. When I first arrived in village, they told me that cell phone reception was coming in two weeks. Every time I asked, the answer was the same: two weeks. I asked the volunteer who had been in Zogoré before me, and she said when she first arrived, two years previously, she heard the same thing: Cell phone reception in two weeks.

Eventually, about eight months into my stay, cell service did turn on, and it seems everyone in village got a phone. People play with them all day long, calling each other and hanging up, and complaining that they never have any money to make calls. So, too, the road will come someday, and will be a huge boost to the village economy, with the increase in city to city traffic. However, I must admit that I am secretly pleased that construction has been delayed, at the very least, until I finish my service. It is selfish, but the bike ride back and forth to Ouahigouya is one of my favorite pastimes, whereas having to fight with and dodge road crews would only turn it into a hassle.

A 54k round trip, and I long ago lost track of how many times I’ve made it. It probably averages something like twice a month, to see friends, check mail, buy supplies, maybe continue on to Ouagadougou or beyond.

The ride changes with the seasons. In the cold season, you have to fight the harmattan, heavy winds coming from the Sahara in the northeast. The wind’s impact is substantial. Facing the wind on the way into the city can take two hours or more, but when you turn around to come home the ride can be done in as little as an hour, with the gusts pushing you along from behind. The other obstacle is dust. Every time a vehicle passes, it kicks up a cloud thick enough to blind and choke you all at the same time. It’s best to just pull off the road and wait for it to disperse.

In the hot season, the wind is calmer and there’s less dust, but the sun is the new enemy. The solution is to leave very early in the morning, 5:30 or 6 AM, or wait until evening, or even nighttime if there is a moon.

In the rainy season, the wind is back, only now it comes from the opposite direction. After a storm, it is necessary to wait a few hours for the road to dry off a bit, unless plowing through several inches of mud sounds appealing.

From my house, in lieu of passing through the village center, there is a trail that goes by the health clinic, then the elementary school, where all the children yell “bye-bye” and wave me on my way. The trail joins the main road about a kilometer past the village, not much distance saved but a shortcut all the same.

The first major landmark is the reservoir, another kilometer or so up the road. When the road crews originally graded the road, they created a dam at the same time, to collect water in the naturally low lying area. Gardeners grow onions, tomatoes, and other vegetables along the banks, using man powered pumps to irrigate the crops. As the waters receded over the course of the dry season, the gardens advance, profiting from the land previously underwater. Everything depends on the rain. If there is a lot, the reservoir becomes vast, big enough that a canoe ride along the outskirts would take a good chunk of the afternoon. After a very heavy rain, the entire basin fills up, and water rushes through the spillways, creating fast flowing, frothing creeks in stream beds that are dry 99% of the year. It’s exciting.

Last spring, however, the reservoir was empty by March, nothing but a basin of cracked dirt. The ensuing rainy season was much more prolific, and as of mid May this year there is plenty of water left, promising it won’t run out before the rains come to refill it once again.

The less water left, also, the easier to spot the crocodiles, who come out to sun themselves on the banks. They occasionally take careless sheep and goats, but never, as far as anyone remembers, a person. Good thing, too, since the children like to amuse themselves by chasing them and shooting at them with slingshots. Where do the crocodiles go when the water dries up, I asked. Down into some holes in the earth, to sleep until the rains return again.

After the reservoir, the road passes by Boulousi and Teonsgo, two of the smaller villages in Zogore’s department, or political unit. Here, there is a smaller pond for half the year, not big enough to support serious gardening but a favorite watering hole for the local donkeys- I counted thirty once. Between villages are stretches of land, mostly empty in the dry season, but all designated for millet fields once the rains come. Passing people at work with their fields, you shout “Ne tuuma!” meaning good work, to which they reply, “Kende” or welcome. The response here is “Mbah,” which is not an imitation of a sheep but rather means something, roughly, like “Right on!” I tried to count the number of times I say mbah in a day but I quickly lost track around thirty, and it was still early in the morning.

Next along the road comes Lei, a small town right on the road most notable for its two shiny white mosques. Lei is not in the department of Zogore, but in a trick of geography, or perhaps gerrymandering, the next town, Koro, is. Then comes Passago and Rallo, barely towns at all but collections of huts. Next is another reservoir, of a different character. This one rivals the first in size but doesn’t hold its water nearly as long. For whatever reason, gardening isn’t practiced here and instead it is one of the few places left with a good stock of native trees. Calling it a forest might be a stretch but it is still a pleasant part of the ride, along which you pass the midway point to Ouahigouya.

Next comes the hill. Now, Americans would probably scoff at the notion of this being a hill, though Kansans might be more understanding. Rather, it might be called a slight uphill grade for a kilometer or so. But in Burkina, with only a 550 meter elevation difference over the entire country, it nearly counts as a mountain, especially when there’s a heavy head wind. Arriving at the top, huffing and puffing, you come to the village of Sassamba. Sissamba was a Peace Corps training village in the past, and when I pass one of the family compounds, the kids still come running, screaming, “Sally! Sally!” Now . . . to the trained eye, perhaps Sally and I don’t look all that similar; there are some pronounced difference in height, hair color, and other things. But I guess we do ride the same type of bike, and have the same skin tone, after a fashion.

After Sissamba there’s not much left. Zimba, then Bouri, and you start to spot the radio towers of Ouahigouya. Soon enough, the houses get closer together, and made of concrete, not mud. There is a customs building, a few soccer fields, and then, a paved road, welcoming you to the city with all its amenities: Omelets, yogurt, a cold drink. Even an internet connection, to remind you there is a world outside of village, with wars, credit crunches, presidential elections- and with that, maybe, it’s time to get out of here and start the ride back home.