Epilogue; My headlamp or why I went to Toussian-bandougou

Once again my thoughts focus on my lower back pains. My right hand searches for a new Rônier leaf on the courtyard dirt. I wonder how long until my second bee house will be finished weaving. Night has come four hours ago already. I observe the dancing shadow of a knife resting beside my oil lamp. Moussa is beside me, sitting on his tiny stool, as usual. He’s almost done his sixth bee house. It’s nicely symmetrical. His hands are agile. He adjusts his flashlight, and takes this chance to relax his neck. He felt my look, and turns to me. It is at that very moment, after five evening weaving beside him, that it finally dawn on me. At first, the thought just froze me in place with shame. I almost said nothing. Then I got up. In my hut, I searched my backpack. There it was, nicely wrapped, at the bottom of it: my headlamp. I showed it to Moussa. He didn’t know what it was. I installed it on his head and turned it on. He understood pretty quickly and looked at me. His eyes and his smile were a mix of surprise, amusement and impressed-ness. He was laughing at his own surprise.

In this look I understood that Moussa and I were friends. For a long second, neither of us spoke. Then he took the lamp off his head and gave it back to me. “It’s going to deplete your batteries; I’m going to work late again tonight.” I understood quite well, so I refused categorically and gave the lamp back to him. He put it back on his head, and started weaving. Sitting on my stool, I felt sad to see how hard Moussa is working everyday to make sure his daughter will go to school in a few years. Maybe being the same age contributed to my feeling. That evening, the only difference between Moussa and I was our birthplace. I was overwhelmed by that thought and had to get up and go to bed.

Once in my bed, I thought about Moussa’s situation. At thirty years old, with a three year old daughter, his fiancée and his remarried father, Moussa is a farmer full time, and a honey maker at night. His energy at work, his determination and his entrepreneurial spirit were inspiring to me. I wondered where this attitude came from. For sure, his own character is a reason. Necessity is another. But I think there is something else: the coaching relationship he and Safiatou have developed over the years. Safiatou lives in Orodara, not far from Toussian-bandougou. She is an enterprise counselor for the PAMER. Living in the area, she knows everybody, and she understands the life realities of the people she works with. She has earned their trust, and can adapt her coaching and encouragements to each of them.

To be able to offer such a service, the PAMER necessarily has to trust people like Safiatou to know what is best. In fact, leaders at the PAMER try as much as they can to engage the enterprise counselors in the planning process. They also try to plan their activities to answer demands from the project’s beneficiaries.

Coming back to Bobo Dioulasso, in the coordination office, after seven days in Toussian-bandougou, I am better able to make plans that fit Moussa’s reality. More importantly, I have understood that decision power is better used close to the field. From Ouagadougou, Paris or Rome, plans are good in theory. In Orodara, or in Toussian-bandougou, they are good in practice.