tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38243697320426780762024-03-21T13:29:29.532-07:00Boris in Burkina FasoMy values and perspective on life are being challenged everyday.
After seven years in Canada, I now live in Burkina Faso. In my blog I try to give you a sense of how my perceptions are changing, with the hope that it will open horizons and debates.
I hope you enjoy it.Boris Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15374968248822929196noreply@blogger.comBlogger16125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3824369732042678076.post-30705035718364867182008-06-24T04:55:00.000-07:002008-06-24T04:57:12.842-07:00Lessons learned on killing a tarantula<p class="MsoNormal">If you try to kill a tarantula with your flip-flop, make sure you’re wearing closed toe shoes.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br /></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">At <st1:time minute="0" hour="6">six a.m.</st1:time> a few days ago, just awaken Alanna opened the door to what first looked to us like a massive hairball. I searched my foggy morning brain to recall if I had seen anyone having a hairdo in the courtyard the day before – a pretty common sight - when one of the hairball’s legs moved.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">My reaction was surprisingly rational, for someone who still screams high-pitch at the sight of an eight-legged bug in the shower: I wondered how come it was only the first time in nine months I had ever seen a big spider or a dangerous bug for that matter. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">As I was searching for a solution (the flip-flop) I remembered my last evening in <st1:country-region><st1:place>Canada</st1:place></st1:country-region>, right before taking the plane for Burkina…</p> <p class="MsoNormal">It was early August 2007. I had a pretty good idea what <st1:place>Africa</st1:place> looked like, as I had watched TV, read the papers and lookup up the internet: <st1:place>Africa</st1:place> was an inhospitable, dangerous bug-ridden, arid and dusty landscape overcrowded with hungry kids in ragged clothing. I was lying in my bed, literally paralyzed with fear, imagining the malaria loaded swarms of mosquitoes that I knew would attack me the very next day, the instant I would get off the plane. I could not even begin to imagine how many spiders, scorpions, snakes and other lovely creatures I would have to fight over the course of a year. I did not feel ready. I felt terrified, yet too proud to mention it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">That fear did not leave me until a few weeks in Burkina and it did gradually. So much so that, had it not been for that spider, I would have forgotten my preconception of <st1:place>Africa</st1:place>. As I was lifting the flip flop up in the air, focused on the motionless yet intimidating creature I realized that whatever I had thought I knew about <st1:place>Africa</st1:place> had been wrong. The hopelessness and danger picture I had built could not be further from the truth.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">As I quickly slammed down the flip-flop on the spider, crude fear made my hand miss half of it. I jumped back. I had crushed its back legs and part of the body I think. The spider sprung on its back legs, showing its face to me, waving its front arms at me. I could see the two pronged teeth under its mustache aggressively trying to bite; its mouth was gasping open and closing in a trance. I was frozen. That’s when I realized I wasn’t wearing anything but a cloth – traditionally a women’s clothing – and that our whole host family was watching me. Despite the ridicule, it gave me ego-fueled courage to hit again twice, making the incident history and a big stain on the concrete floor.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Killing a big spider revealed surprisingly easy for someone with a visceral fear of that species. Yet it served me a good lesson: there is a big responsibility in being people’s window into a different world. I could have told a breath taking story (re-read paragraph two and six alone, you’ll see…) about the killing of a spider. You would have thought there are spiders everywhere in <st1:place>Africa</st1:place> and would have built the same fear I left with. You would have never considered coming here on holidays. By watching the news, you probably think <st1:place>Africa</st1:place> is hopeless. You would never consider investing in it. Yet this is definitely not what I have seen either.</p>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3824369732042678076.post-21983686494812070302008-05-12T10:46:00.000-07:002008-06-24T05:12:15.616-07:00Optimism for a change…<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Thank you.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Your comments and reactions on the price of cereal and subsidies were much appreciated. You made me realize that my last message wasn’t really happy and encouraging. And since media has taken over the food price increase subject, I bet you’re feeling even worse now.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Yet the past two months have shown me that there are tremendous opportunities in Burkina. It’s some of that good spirit I would like to share with you. The march and april sun contributed largely to the mood, so I’ll make sure to share images with you. Let’s start with mangoes…</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Mango flowers came out almost three months ago. <o:p></o:p></p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/borisauburkina/SCiESC35r_I/AAAAAAAAAZw/lqVyZkfk-OE/DSC01677.JPG?imgmax=512"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px;" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/borisauburkina/SCiESC35r_I/AAAAAAAAAZw/lqVyZkfk-OE/DSC01677.JPG?imgmax=512" alt="" border="0" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">They progressively yielded tiny green balls.<o:p></o:p></p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/borisauburkina/SCiEYS35sAI/AAAAAAAAAZ4/vvYglujUFRE/DSC01679.JPG?imgmax=512"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px;" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/borisauburkina/SCiEYS35sAI/AAAAAAAAAZ4/vvYglujUFRE/DSC01679.JPG?imgmax=512" alt="" border="0" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Those grew steadily…<o:p></o:p></p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/borisauburkina/SCiEey35sBI/AAAAAAAAAaA/Gh7wMU3o-Tw/DSC01683.JPG?imgmax=512"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px;" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/borisauburkina/SCiEey35sBI/AAAAAAAAAaA/Gh7wMU3o-Tw/DSC01683.JPG?imgmax=512" alt="" border="0" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">and changed color<o:p></o:p></p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/borisauburkina/SBYX3FdXywI/AAAAAAAAAWs/9T84lt4wMbQ/DSC01862.JPG?imgmax=512"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px;" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/borisauburkina/SBYX3FdXywI/AAAAAAAAAWs/9T84lt4wMbQ/DSC01862.JPG?imgmax=512" alt="" border="0" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Such that today, it’s harvest time.</p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/borisauburkina/SBYYFVdXyxI/AAAAAAAAAW0/7uspa8XT3n8/DSC01866.JPG?imgmax=512"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px;" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/borisauburkina/SBYYFVdXyxI/AAAAAAAAAW0/7uspa8XT3n8/DSC01866.JPG?imgmax=512" alt="" border="0" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Mango is the fruit Burkina exports the most. Have you ever bought a mango at your grocery store?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Did you get lucky enough to find a big one, just ripe, not too green, not to rotten?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Did you delicately slice it and tasted the sweet yellow flesh?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Then you have not even scratched the surface of how good a mango can be.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I recommend you make the trip to Burkina in late April. Tasting one mango will make flying worthwhile. Or you can go back to your grocery store and ask for West African mangoes. You can also ask Alanna more details about mangoes, she’s the expert in our team.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">April is also the months when cashew nuts ripen. They take much less time, and the harvest is shorter. Maybe three weeks, maximum.<o:p></o:p></p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/borisauburkina/SBYXv1dXyvI/AAAAAAAAAWk/yr1yA6BTEVE/DSC01850.JPG?imgmax=512"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px;" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/borisauburkina/SBYXv1dXyvI/AAAAAAAAAWk/yr1yA6BTEVE/DSC01850.JPG?imgmax=512" alt="" border="0" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">At that time, we start to see women walking into town with neatly arranged cashew apples on platters, on their heads. The apples are really juicy and sweet. They taste a bit like strawberry gum. One can process them into juice, wine or liquor. The nuts are collected and sold for export or for local processing (5 to 10% of total production). </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Below I am in Banfora. I just bargained an 80kg bag for 10,000 Fcfa (~CDN25). It’s <st1:date year="2008" day="4" month="4">April 4<sup>th</sup>, 2008</st1:date>. The date is important as the cashew price fluctuates very fast. <o:p></o:p></p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/borisauburkina/SBYXV1dXysI/AAAAAAAAAWM/Y6xqeJpM6MU/DSC02043.JPG?imgmax=512"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px;" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/borisauburkina/SBYXV1dXysI/AAAAAAAAAWM/Y6xqeJpM6MU/DSC02043.JPG?imgmax=512" alt="" border="0" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">That’s why many of the small collectors are tempted to speculate with the nuts.<o:p></o:p></p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/borisauburkina/SBYXhFdXytI/AAAAAAAAAWU/UR5M2kJxbHQ/DSC02044.JPG?imgmax=512"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px;" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/borisauburkina/SBYXhFdXytI/AAAAAAAAAWU/UR5M2kJxbHQ/DSC02044.JPG?imgmax=512" alt="" border="0" /></a>One of the major influences on the nut price is the arrival and departure of the major international purchasers from <st1:country-region><st1:place>India</st1:place></st1:country-region>. Once they get in the region, the nut price increases, as their collectors are searching for nuts quickly rather than cheaply. When they leave, the price drops, and small purchasers and local processors come into the game.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/borisauburkina/SCiD5y35r8I/AAAAAAAAAZY/wZIDpuYCgNo/DSC02046.JPG?imgmax=512"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px;" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/borisauburkina/SCiD5y35r8I/AAAAAAAAAZY/wZIDpuYCgNo/DSC02046.JPG?imgmax=512" alt="" border="0" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Since no one wants to get stuck with a bunch of bags at their farm gate, producers tend to sell fast, to the first client they get, whatever the price. This tendancy is changing with the recent creation of producers groups.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">March and April are also the period for irrigated vegetable growing. Bobo is privileged to be served by many farmers with tomatoes, lettuce and cucumbers all year round. <o:p></o:p></p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/borisauburkina/SCiDti35r7I/AAAAAAAAAZQ/p1chEhHd4ew/DSC01060.JPG?imgmax=512"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px;" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/borisauburkina/SCiDti35r7I/AAAAAAAAAZQ/p1chEhHd4ew/DSC01060.JPG?imgmax=512" alt="" border="0" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">It is also the period for tree blossoms. Quite a sight.</p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/borisauburkina/SBYYNFdXyyI/AAAAAAAAAXA/m2nEbe3AsL4/DSC01872.JPG?imgmax=512"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px;" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/borisauburkina/SBYYNFdXyyI/AAAAAAAAAXA/m2nEbe3AsL4/DSC01872.JPG?imgmax=512" alt="" border="0" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Néré flowers are intense red balls. They yielded long beans late april. Those dried and their seeds are now pounded into a flour called soumbala. This is a spice flavoring a lot of dishes here. Yummy.<o:p></o:p></p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/borisauburkina/SCiELi35r-I/AAAAAAAAAZo/nbF6H9_nRFY/DSC02069.JPG?imgmax=512"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px;" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/borisauburkina/SCiELi35r-I/AAAAAAAAAZo/nbF6H9_nRFY/DSC02069.JPG?imgmax=512" alt="" border="0" /></a>Bougainvilleas are also in full blossom<br /><br /><o:p></o:p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/borisauburkina/SBYXEldXyqI/AAAAAAAAAV8/UEll9JVk0R8/DSC02081.JPG?imgmax=512"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px;" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/borisauburkina/SBYXEldXyqI/AAAAAAAAAV8/UEll9JVk0R8/DSC02081.JPG?imgmax=512" alt="" border="0" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">And we found tiny flowers which we don’t know the name of, but are nice anyways. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">In April we also had the pleasure to welcome seven newcomers in our home. They don’t take much room. I can’t wait for the chicken soup…<o:p></o:p></p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/borisauburkina/SBnz8VdXy0I/AAAAAAAAAYA/iGs7fOgBRTc/DSC01996.JPG?imgmax=512"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px;" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/borisauburkina/SBnz8VdXy0I/AAAAAAAAAYA/iGs7fOgBRTc/DSC01996.JPG?imgmax=512" alt="" border="0" /></a>This one just got out of its shell. Its eyes are still shut.<br /><br /><o:p></o:p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/borisauburkina/SBnzzFdXyzI/AAAAAAAAAX4/PT7_GRPJMLE/DSC02110.JPG?imgmax=512"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px;" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/borisauburkina/SBnzzFdXyzI/AAAAAAAAAX4/PT7_GRPJMLE/DSC02110.JPG?imgmax=512" alt="" border="0" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The two mothers help the chicks find stuff in the backyard’s gravel.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">We also recently welcomed a guinea fowl (can’t wait for the soup either…) It’s a one-legged male. The thights are still there though, it’s just missing one foot so no worries for the soup. Its foot was lost as it stepped on a trapper’s trap. You’d think it won’t be hard to catch it on soup day. Well, Alanna and I have tried and failed. Two people outsmarted by a one-legged guinea fowl…<br /></p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/borisauburkina/SBn0TldXy2I/AAAAAAAAAYQ/DwiV694KbU0/DSC02113.JPG?imgmax=512"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px;" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/borisauburkina/SBn0TldXy2I/AAAAAAAAAYQ/DwiV694KbU0/DSC02113.JPG?imgmax=512" alt="" border="0" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">So there it is. Possibilities for enterprise here are enormous. It boggles my mind how much one could do with the land, the sun, the animals, the flowers here in Burkina. Not all is gloomy and desperate, quite the contrary. Yet I think you and I have a big role to play in making sure everyone lives a life of opportunities. Here is a small attempt at two steps:</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: -18pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="">-<span style=""> </span></span><!--[endif]-->Make sure that people in the north and the west are more open to free trade. Subsidies at home kill entrepreneurialism everywhere else. It means that when our government assures you they will keep subsidizing our country’s cattle with hopes you’ll vote for them, remember that it means someone in Burkina will have to sell his cattle at a loss.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: -18pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="">-<span style=""> </span></span><!--[endif]-->Make sure that our government sticks up to the commitment it made in 1970 in front of all western heads of states but has yet to respect: to attribute 0.7% of GNP to bilateral aid.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Once again, I greatly appreciated your comments. I hope to have left you with a sense of optimism this time and that you won’t hesitate to comment again.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Talk to you soon.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Boris<o:p></o:p></p>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3824369732042678076.post-50487458966747374822008-03-03T08:26:00.000-08:002008-12-09T15:25:36.112-08:00EWB Day in DedougouDear friends,<br /><br /><span style="">March 6th is Engineers Without Borders Day (E</span><span style="">WB Day). Student members will get out in the streets and organize a big information campaign throughout their hometown. The aim is to get people to realize that national choices affect people’s lives everywhere. Hence EWB members talk ab</span><span style="">out fair trade, agricultural subsidies and public scrutiny in the administration of the national aid budget.</span> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">Alanna and I were in Dédougou last weekend. We told a few people what Canadians will be doing in just a few days... They got pretty excited, and we filmed thei</span><span style="">r reaction. Check it out for yourself.</span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_EEEtezIN2mk/R82N_0LrSRI/AAAAAAAAAT0/BbFBrV0kaVk/s1600-h/tomato2.gif"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxj_YjEjJdc_LpqnWqb2yZ6mJ55R8on3ea7FZ-cx51lyjtPLdUY0yz5I1JUTFtxfyoeXx9UCzmYpdNNjADpvQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></a></div> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">Joke aside (It was a mask festival, dummy) ; knowing that Canadian students are rallying against international injustices is very important for EWB overseas staff (a least it is for Alanna and I). We often have the feeling that the work we do here won’t go far without a more responsible attitude of global citizens such as </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="">Canada</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="">. We even feel that Canadians should become a role model in this quest. They’ve done it before a</span><span style="">nd many times on other cases!</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">Two concrete examples: PAMER assists entrep</span><span style="">reneurs in their e</span><span style="">nterprise creation and in the expansion of their activities. The Bobo office follow</span><span style="">s the progress of their portfolio of beneficiaries through a database. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">One of my first activities here has been to organize and implement a census campaign of the reasons for failure of micro enterprises in our portfolio. In fact, while our office had a good idea of the net gains of active micro enterprises, we had no information on those who had stopped their activity. Knowing why would have great interest in fine tuning our activities!<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">Amongst the most numerous failures were dyers and w</span><span style="">eavers of traditional cloths (The pattern on my blog is that of a traditional Faso Danfani). The reason all of them gave: competition from imported second hand clothes (they come from our donations, and are sold at unbeatable prices on local markets here) and the arrival of </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="">China</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="">, </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="">Ghana</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style=""> or </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="">Ivor</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="">y Coast</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style=""> made cloths which are cheaper, albeit of lower quality. (I added a photo of a proud weaver on my french blog)<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">Amongst failures were also tomato paste makers. Unan</span><span style="">imously, they mentioned that the activity was not profitable. Meanwhile, on our trip to Dédougou, we visited a vegetable growers union.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_EEEtezIN2mk/R9AGQO4LdGI/AAAAAAAAAVA/FMf3nqXuKTk/s1600-h/groupDi.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_EEEtezIN2mk/R9AGQO4LdGI/AAAAAAAAAVA/FMf3nqXuKTk/s400/groupDi.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5174642847790101602" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Veggie growers group in Di, north of Dedougou. Did you notice the second hand shirts?</span></span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EEEtezIN2mk/R82MzULrSQI/AAAAAAAAATs/4ZqJXOFUlSU/s1600-h/FarmerSpraying.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EEEtezIN2mk/R82MzULrSQI/AAAAAAAAATs/4ZqJXOFUlSU/s400/FarmerSpraying.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5173946360137468162" border="0" /></a></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">In the field around Di, north of Dedougou (Upper west Burkina)</span></span><br /></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">They cultivate 7 irrigated hectares of tomatoes and pro</span><span style="">duce several hundred tons of fresh tomato a year. Lately, they lost a portion of</span><span style=""> their crop, which rot in the sun, for lack of a buyer. Yet, in Bobo, if I want to buy tomato paste, I have only one choice, and it comes from </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="">Italy</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="">.</span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_EEEtezIN2mk/R82N_0LrSRI/AAAAAAAAAT0/BbFBrV0kaVk/s1600-h/tomato2.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_EEEtezIN2mk/R82N_0LrSRI/AAAAAAAAAT0/BbFBrV0kaVk/s400/tomato2.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5173947674397460754" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">The one choice of canned tomat</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">o paste, held for you by my friend Aime</span></span><br /></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><span style=""> </span>If you want to know how many euros or dollars one kilo of your national tomatoes receives in the form of subventions, please, ask your local MP. Remember that they are also the ones carrying your voice to government. If your country’s behavior is</span><span style="">n’t aligned with your values, they should know. People here are not poor for no reason.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3824369732042678076.post-50083878515532701852008-02-22T06:01:00.000-08:002008-02-22T06:02:49.248-08:00Riots, global trends and poverty<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Wednesday, Feb. 20<sup>th</sup>. This evening is remarkably quiet in Bobo Dioulasso. No one really ventures out. The day has been marked by violent looting and rampage in all the major streets of the city. Youth have left virtually no street light, no road sign and no side road stalls functional. As the night sets and radios announce a day off school and work tomorrow, I try to recap what I heard in the course of today.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">People gathered this morning at city hall, to sign an official protest against price rises, and about government hypocrisy in pointing to the shop keepers for raising them. They were met with tear gas, spread into factions, and walked back to their neighborhoods, breaking and burning everything on their path. Shopkeepers breaking side road shops…</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Karim, 25, turned violent in the streets today. He explains: “The government has raised taxes on commerce. When you had to pay 30,000 Fcfa annually for your business, today you have to pay 80,000 Fcfa. I import motorbikes to Bobo. I have to pay 130,000 cfa per bike (worth 250,000) at the border. After that, they accuse the shop keepers of raising their prices for no reason!”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Indeed. The price of cooking oil has jumped from 850 to 1050 Fcfa per liter in the past few days. Rice, sugar, gas and basic necessity products have followed suit. In the second poorest country in the world, gas is more expensive than in <st1:country-region><st1:place>Canada</st1:place></st1:country-region>, almost the same price as in <st1:country-region><st1:place>France</st1:place></st1:country-region>, with 40% tax on it. More than one person in three here makes less than a dollar a day. The end of 2007 has seen the rise of bread prices from 100 Fcfa for a baguette, to 125 until last week, and 130 today in Bobo. Overall, a 30% increase in prices in just a few months.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">It doesn’t help that the agricultural season has been disastrous this year. “People are worried” says Aimé, 30, “the rains have started late, and stopped early last rainy season, not giving time for crops to mature. Now maïs prices are already sky high.” In fact, yields in the region have been five times less than that in good years in some areas. The 100kg bag of corn is worth between 10,000 and 12,500 cfa today, for 8,000 last year at the same period, almost 50% more expensive. Maïs is the main staple for Burkinabés and many people in the city don’t grow enough of it to sustain their family and therefore need to purchase it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Yet on the other hand, only half of the streets in Bobo are paved, and one cannot help but notice that the government here needs funds, desperately. People here seem to have no trust in a government that is believed to be wasting the funds. People notice small details, not big projects. Lamine, 35 and father of two, shows his frustration: “To officially launch the construction of a small city hall in a small city 500km from <st1:city><st1:place>Ouagadougou</st1:place></st1:City>, the capital, the government sends a cortege of 20 SUVs full of officials instead of sending the local representative. People want cheaper goods, but we explode loads of fireworks for the 20<sup>th</sup> anniversary of democracy instead”.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">How does a government collect taxes in a country where a great majority grows their own food, runs informal businesses and does not trust it for the use of the money? How will the poor get basic services like access to roads, electricity and water, if the money is funneled into repairing the damage, trip stipends and blowing fireworks? How does a government face trends like global warming, leading to the shortening of the already tight agricultural season, and increasing oil prices, when people are already stretched?</p>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3824369732042678076.post-61675387875365476162008-02-12T09:10:00.000-08:002008-12-09T15:25:37.072-08:00The truth about SUVs and my workYou know… the foreign-funded, all mighty, white trucks that big projects drive around the country looking all important, that cost pretty penny… Tonight we were coming back from Banfora, a regional capital. Cruising along, I was checking out the vast orchards of mango, cashew and nere trees in bloom, with already significant amount of almost ripe fruits on them, while chatting with the driver (Well, yes, SUVs are expensive, they also come with a driver). The afternoon sun was making the green of the tree leaves luminescent, in strong contrast with the ground, charcoaled by recent bush fires... So, cruising along, in our air-conditioned, all wheel drive, clean, white pickup truck, we encountered a family of goats. Goats like to check out the road side in the evening it seems, my guess, because over-loaded transport trucks often loose a few cereal grains, or cotton balls during their trips, and those are delicacies for the cute creatures. The family was a mom with big utters, a kid (literally) probably 4 months old by the size of it, and a third goat I didn’t get a chance to check the gender. The fact was, they were crossing the road, and while the two adults were fast enough, we ran over the kid. Front right wheel, right under my seat. We almost didn’t feel a thing. I just saw the goat fly off the side in my rear view mirror: dinner for the neighborhood, confirmed the driver. There was something I had to say about those white SUVs… <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Those trucks… they have pretty good shocks, hey?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">In reality, this blog post is about my work, not about roadkills.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">After six months with PAMER, I’m starting to understand a few things. Time has not desensitize me to goat killings, I felt worse being in the car than you did reading my bad joke – in fact it was the first road kill I experienced here, to make things clear. On the other hand, I can say that only now do I feel able to explain what PAMER is, mainly because explaining it earlier, I would have relied on my ignorance and culturally biased views of what should be, instead of what is. Even today, I must say that the picture I draw is mine and only mine, and reflects my little knowledge of a big project.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p>Let’s set the tone of this post: PAMER (Projet d’Appui aux Micro Entreprises Rurales) is a pretty impressive project.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p>Conceived in 1997, it was born in 2000 and close to two years before it could walk. In those two years, the head (<i style="">UNCP</i>), the arms (<i style="">Antennes Locales</i>, including that of Bobo, my employer), the hands (<i style="">Conseillers en Entreprise</i>) and the fingers (<i style="">Rédacteurs Locaux du Projet, RLP</i>) grew steadily. The heart, pumping resources into the body, is called IFAD, and relies also on a pacemaker, the <i style="">BOAD</i> (West African Bank of Development) to distribute the blood. The PAMER is an odd-shaped body, in that the heart pumps blood into the head, which then allots it to the arms, the hands and the fingers, much like in a drawing from a five year old.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_EEEtezIN2mk/R7HVA6qHleI/AAAAAAAAASY/FsgpAkjXS1U/s1600-h/PAMERforKids.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_EEEtezIN2mk/R7HVA6qHleI/AAAAAAAAASY/FsgpAkjXS1U/s400/PAMERforKids.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5166144459293300194" border="0" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">In 2000, PAMER progressively started assisting rural people in becoming micro enterprises and now leads activities in four sub-Sahel regions of Burkina. In total, the Bobo branch has seen some ~1070 micro enterprises being created between 2002 and 2007 by motivated individuals and groups. The process in which micro enterprises are given birth is quite outstanding in my opinion.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Start with people (men, women or youth) who either do not lead income generating activities (IGA), or lead an IGA but with minimal knowledge or mastery of the trade, like shelling cashew nuts using a hammer or a rock and grilling them using engine oil.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The first step is called “Information on the project”. The <i style="">Conseillers e</i><i style="">n Entreprise</i> (<i style="">CE – the hands</i>) gathers people in a village, and explains what the PAMER offers: namely, skills training, micro enterprise management skills training and assistance in obtaining micro credit in a partner bank institution (<i style="">Réseau des Caisses Populaires</i>).</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EEEtezIN2mk/R7HVdqqHlfI/AAAAAAAAASg/Frq3PMr74ME/s1600-h/SafiatouandDjeneba.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EEEtezIN2mk/R7HVdqqHlfI/AAAAAAAAASg/Frq3PMr74ME/s400/SafiatouandDjeneba.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5166144953214539250" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Safiatou and Djeneba, two Conseilleres en Entreprise</span><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Then there is “Identification and diagnostic”. The <i style="">CE</i> finds out who is interested. Namely, some people approach him saying they’d like to try it out. Not everyone is daring: it is a pretty big decision. Then there is a series of conversations and skills diagnostic. What can you do well already?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Then there is “Elaboration of a plan of study”. The needed training is identified by the interested party along with the <i style="">CE</i>, and planned over a 1 year period. This plan is validated by the <i style="">Cadres</i> in Bobo (the arms) during a visit to the aspiring trainee on the ground.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Then there is the “Implementation”. Technical training, women learning to make soap with Shea butter for example, is contracted to service providers, specialized in workshop delivery in their trade. Simple business management, commercialization, accounting training and help in making a solid application to obtain a credit when needed are provided.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EEEtezIN2mk/R7HWCqqHlgI/AAAAAAAAASo/SbdNQaiPtP0/s1600-h/BeeherdersMeeting.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EEEtezIN2mk/R7HWCqqHlgI/AAAAAAAAASo/SbdNQaiPtP0/s400/BeeherdersMeeting.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5166145588869699074" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">A meeting with honey makers in Sindou</span></span><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">After the first year, as the first bar of soap is proudly sold on the market, the micro enterprise is “Created”: it enters the project’s database as a micro enterprise.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">In the subsequent years, the micro-enterprise (group or individual) are monitored by the <i style="">RLP</i> (the fingers) who collect data on revenues, number of employees and difficulties. <i style="">RLPs</i> are young people from the area they cover. They are paid by the task. Their advantage is that they know well the people they work with and therefore have an easier time building trust, since they re locals. There is one RLP per department, 190 in total in theory for the project, although sometimes, multiple departments had to be covered by one <i style="">RLP</i> only.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EEEtezIN2mk/R7HX5qqHliI/AAAAAAAAAS4/VMtQqib-D1Q/s1600-h/Meetingwith2RLPs-Sindou.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EEEtezIN2mk/R7HX5qqHliI/AAAAAAAAAS4/VMtQqib-D1Q/s400/Meetingwith2RLPs-Sindou.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5166147633274132002" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Two RLPs meeting Oumar, Cadre at the Bobo antenne, under a big mango tree</span></span><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The <i style="">CE</i> manages the team of <i style="">RLP</i> for his region, gathers the micro enterprises demands for training, and sets up workshops when enough people have expressed the same need. He or she also plays a coaching role to (ideally all) a good part of the micro enterprises. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">After a few years, a few micro credits obtained and reimbursed, a few markets won, a panel of products diversified and a marketing strategy in place, the <i style="">CE</i> is able to tell that the micro enterprise is “Autonomous”. (It feels good just to type this word).</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EEEtezIN2mk/R7HWsaqHlhI/AAAAAAAAASw/GCEofnZ0O0E/s1600-h/Elhadj.Maro.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EEEtezIN2mk/R7HWsaqHlhI/AAAAAAAAASw/GCEofnZ0O0E/s400/Elhadj.Maro.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5166146306129237522" border="0" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Elhadj, proud owner of three cows, and a ranch to fatten them up</span></span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">As a final note : </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The <i style="">CE</i> are pretty impressive people. They know on average 100 micro enterprises like they were their best friends. Well… after a 5 year relationship that led to some dramatic life changes for the new entrepreneurs, they indeed are pretty good friends. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Ideally, each <i style="">CE</i> would need to know in average 220 micro enterprises each, since there are 5 CE for 5 regions and 1070 rural micro enterprises. The <i style="">CE</i> team is understaffed in my opinion.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Something exciting I’ve heard from a <i style="">CE</i>: <i style="">“The most important thing in all this, is the process [the process of Information, Identification, Plan Elaboration, Implementation described above]. It is the process that changes people’s way of thinking about their own livelihoods, and makes them entrepreneurs.”<o:p></o:p></i></p>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3824369732042678076.post-64639026657106930402007-12-24T08:33:00.001-08:002008-12-09T15:25:37.509-08:00Christmas Book Reviews<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EEEtezIN2mk/R2_gRc_wSQI/AAAAAAAAARI/RUw44tf8Eo8/s1600-h/Voyage+Coton.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EEEtezIN2mk/R2_gRc_wSQI/AAAAAAAAARI/RUw44tf8Eo8/s200/Voyage+Coton.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5147579489553762562" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" ><a name="_Toc186257070"><span style="" lang="FR">Voyage aux pays du coton</span></a></span><span style="" lang="FR"><o:p></o:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style=""><span style="" lang="FR">Eric Orsenna, de l’Académie française, 2006<span style="text-transform: uppercase;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="" lang="FR"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="" lang="FR">Eric Orsenna, nous emmène dans un tour du monde à la toile. Du Mali aux Vosges, en passant par les Etats-Unis, l’Egypte, la Chine et bien d’autre pays mystérieux, ce petit précis de mondialisation nous fait découvrir les coulisses d’une industrie sans mercis, le coton. Orsenna sait garder une position d’explorateur, sans prendre (trop) parti mais en révélant les fils et la trame d’une toile complexe, des fois aberrante. Après avoir lu Orsenna, les chaussettes que vo</span><span style="" lang="FR">us recevrez à Noël ne seront plus les même… <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="" lang="FR"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="" lang="FR">J’ai trouvé les raisonnements d’Orsenna, et certaines de ses anecdotes de voyage </span><span style="" lang="FR">un peu hautaines, certaines fois même naïves, d’où les deux étoiles blanches. Mon jugement est peut être un peu trop dur, pour un livre toute fois bien écris, facile à lire et divertissant.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="" lang="FR"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style=""><span style="" lang="FR">Voyage aux pays du coton</span></i><span style="" lang="FR"> est édité par Fayard.</span></p><h1 style=""><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_EEEtezIN2mk/R2_gtM_wSRI/AAAAAAAAARQ/CanQ9cjides/s1600-h/ElusiveQuest.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_EEEtezIN2mk/R2_gtM_wSRI/AAAAAAAAARQ/CanQ9cjides/s200/ElusiveQuest.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5147579966295132434" border="0" /></a></h1> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="" lang="FR"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <h1 style=""><span style="font-size:100%;"><a name="_Toc186257071">The Elusive Quest for Growth</a></span></h1><h1 style=""><a name="_Toc186257071"><span style=""> </span><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="_x0000_i1026" type="#_x0000_t75" style="'width:93.75pt;height:21.75pt'" preferrelative="f"> <v:imagedata src="file:///C:\DOCUME~1\Boris\LOCALS~1\Temp\msohtml1\01\clip_image002.jpg" title="ElusiveQuest"> </v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]--></a><o:p></o:p></h1> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="">William Easterly, 2001 (paperback in 2002)</i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Incentives: wrong ones, or lack thereof. Easterly gives an outstanding analysis of the development failures since WWII. With the benefit of hindsight, the modesty to include his own mistakes in the analysis, humor and accessible style, he writes about the complex subject of economic growth in the poorest countries. Reading this book gave me “Incentive” lenses for weeks and tools to think critically about the projects I encounter in Burkina. Nicely documented, this eye opening book is a great intermediate between academic paper and entertaining novel. A must read.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">My taste for analytical books must be reflected in the grade I gave. It might not be such an easy read for non-nerds. Yet, with multiple practical examples, it is refreshingly accessible for such a hard subject.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="">The Elusive Quest for Growth</i> is edited by MIT Press.</p><h1 style=""><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EEEtezIN2mk/R2_iNs_wSSI/AAAAAAAAARY/r5GQWBJDS54/s1600-h/MadameBa.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EEEtezIN2mk/R2_iNs_wSSI/AAAAAAAAARY/r5GQWBJDS54/s200/MadameBa.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5147581624152508706" border="0" /></a></h1><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p> <h1 style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" ><a name="_Toc186257072"><span style="" lang="FR">Madame Bâ</span></a></span><span style="" lang="FR"><o:p></o:p></span></h1> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style=""><span style="" lang="FR">Eric Orsenna, de l’Académie française, 2003<span style="text-transform: uppercase;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="" lang="FR"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="" lang="FR">Madame Bâ essaye tant bien que mal de faire rentrer de longues histoires dans de petites</span><span style="" lang="FR"> cases, sur le formulaire 13-0021. Le formulaire, c’est la clé vers un petit fils enlevé par le football français. A travers sa quête obstinée d’un visa vers la France, Eric Orsenna nous révèle la triste réalité du développement international à la française. Madame Bâ, grand-mère, est un peu la « Forest Gump » des pays d’Afrique de l’Ouest. Traverser avec elle le fil du temps d’une indépendance nouvelle permet de regarder la France depuis l’Afrique. Un paysage pas toujours reluisant.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="" lang="FR"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="" lang="FR">Ce livre est superbe. Divertissant et touchant, il est aussi fidèle à la réalité, sans maquillage. Les sujets abordés sont toujours d’actualité. Lecture obligatoire. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="" lang="FR"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style=""><span style="" lang="FR">Madame Bâ</span></i><span style="" lang="FR"> est édité par Fayard/Stock.</span></p><h1 style=""><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_EEEtezIN2mk/R2_ibM_wSTI/AAAAAAAAARg/6ZtlJtB3rwg/s1600-h/FuturePositive.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_EEEtezIN2mk/R2_ibM_wSTI/AAAAAAAAARg/6ZtlJtB3rwg/s200/FuturePositive.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5147581856080742706" border="0" /></a></h1> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="" lang="FR"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <h1 style=""><span style="font-size:100%;"><a name="_Toc186257073">Future Positive</a></span></h1> <h1 style=""><a name="_Toc186257073"><span style=""> </span><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="_x0000_i1028" type="#_x0000_t75" style="'width:93.75pt;height:21.75pt'"> <v:imagedata src="file:///C:\DOCUME~1\Boris\LOCALS~1\Temp\msohtml1\01\clip_image004.jpg" title="FuturePositive"> </v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]--></a><o:p></o:p></h1> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="">Michael Edwards, 1999 (first edition) – revised in 2004<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">International cooperation is not a luxury. It is a necessity, if nations are to live peacefully. In the first part of his book, Edwards looks back. He gives a compelling analysis of past interventions from the north in the south and argues that from humanitarian intervention to large scale projects, the wrong priorities were often set by the wrong people. <i style="">“Standardization, and an obsession with quick measurable results and size as measures of success, crowds our action on deeper problems”</i> he writes, and concludes that “<i style="">Consistency, continuity and coherence</i>” is what is needed for better cooperation. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Looking forward, he argues that the solution lies in global governance, brought to life by a new set of globally aware constituencies, basing their language on positives, and facilitating the transition “<i style="">from donor and recipient to relations between equals</i>.” An appreciable aspect of his book is that it is neither naively optimistic, nor a dooms-day pessimistic. Edwards recognizes that the transition to a cooperating world requires the engagement of each of us, and a difficult compromise from today’s powerful nations. Overall, <i style="">Future Positive</i> challenges its readers: Is your thinking conventional, or are you ready to engage in something new and better balanced?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Future positive is very well written and well documented. The analyses are clear and the suggestions pragmatic. Yet, because it treats a heavy subject, it is a heavy read. Analytical minds will love this book as much as I did.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="">Future Positive</i> is edited by Earthscan.<o:p></o:p></p>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3824369732042678076.post-75792594001356852602007-12-24T06:33:00.000-08:002007-12-24T06:53:20.056-08:00Epilogue; My headlamp or why I went to Toussian-bandougou<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">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.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">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. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">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 <st1:city><st1:place>Ouagadougou</st1:place></st1:City>, <st1:city><st1:place>Paris</st1:place></st1:City> or <st1:city><st1:place>Rome</st1:place></st1:City>, plans are good in theory. In Orodara, or in Toussian-bandougou, they are good in practice.<o:p></o:p></p>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3824369732042678076.post-83887834137357479532007-12-18T08:13:00.000-08:002008-12-09T15:25:37.764-08:00Day four: A funeral<p class="MsoNormal" style="">The day started with sad news: the neighbor’s wife died in the night, unexpectedly. Moussa explained that we will have to change our plans for the day. No weaving. Instead we’ll go spend time with the grieving family and help dig the grave. Doing otherwise would be an unfriendly gesture. One could always skip and apologize later, but if you expect that people will come dig the grave and celebrate the funeral for you, it is important that you do the same for them.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="">Moussa dressed to work so I did the same. I surprised myself thinking that for a funeral, my stained pants wouldn’t do, but we’re going to dig, so I guess one has to dress appropriately. Moussa’s fiancée brought us breakfast before we go. It’s Tau with peanut sauce. Tau is a paste made from maize or millet that has been pounded into a flour. The flour is mixed with water and cooked over charcoal or wood while constantly steering. It’s a pretty hard job that women are extremely good at. My shoulder strength is put to shame by the youngest women here. To eat Tau, you have to break small handfuls away, and dip it in the sauce du jour (peanut sauce two thirds of the time). We eat Tau everyday, breakfast, lunch and dinner. It’s pretty good. One gets used to it.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EEEtezIN2mk/R2f0bXtGmCI/AAAAAAAAAPU/IQYi_h7v_yU/s1600-h/cuisine-Moussa.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EEEtezIN2mk/R2f0bXtGmCI/AAAAAAAAAPU/IQYi_h7v_yU/s400/cuisine-Moussa.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5145349850350917666" border="0" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;">The kitchen in which Tau is cooked everyday</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="">Breakfast swallowed, we walked fifteen minutes to the neighbor’s house. At <st1:time minute="0" hour="7">seven am</st1:time>, there were already quite a few men, sitting in a circle in front of the property’s main entrance. The women were inside the compound, crying loudly, giving me a pretty sad feeling. The men were silent. We sat with them for a while. Only the noise of the daba hitting the ground beside us paced the morning.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="">Moussa stood up and gave me a look saying I should go with him beside the grave. Two young guys were inside, digging with huge energy. A crowd of 40 must have been standing around the grave, all young guys waiting for their turn. Once the workers climbed out of the grave covered in sweat, they would be replaced by another couple. Everyone participates to his ability. It’s Moussa’s turn. I understand by the looks that people in the croud are joking that the white guy should dig as well. I gesture that I can. I take my shoes off. Noooo. White people can’t do physical exercise, one tells me. It’s OK. Thank you, thank you. “You know, digging is difficult” one explains to me. I didn’t insist. <o:p></o:p></p>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3824369732042678076.post-88284838422850427672007-12-12T11:16:00.000-08:002008-12-09T15:25:38.258-08:00Day Three – visiting the chiefMy hands are sore, and I guess Moussa knows it. This morning he declared we have to go pay a visit to people in the village. What I haven’t dared to tell him is that my butt actually hurts as much as my hands, from sitting on a tiny wooden bench all day to weave yesterday. My rear will have to adapt… and a walk through the village will do me some good.<br /><br />The village chief’s house is ten minutes by foot on a tiny sandy path. We’re travelling across his mango orchards, beautiful and large plantations of mature trees, half of which are in full blossom… a sugar fest for the village’s bees! The chief himself has gone to the fields. We are invited to take a seat for a while. The chief’s compound is breathtaking by size. I count around twelve mud huts and the same number of grain storage units. The number of kids is also disconcerting. Moussa explains that a household here groups many generations, and many wives, especially when the so tiguy, the “chief of the house”, is wealthy. In fact, the chief’s brother’s family is here too. As the latter passed away, his wife and kids have come to live with him, contributing by their work to the life of the household.<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EEEtezIN2mk/R2A2C7gyBzI/AAAAAAAAAOU/uT29T0vAzws/s1600-h/House-and-storage.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EEEtezIN2mk/R2A2C7gyBzI/AAAAAAAAAOU/uT29T0vAzws/s400/House-and-storage.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5143170198419932978" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">A house (center) , and a food storage unit (left)<br /><br /></span></div>I ask Moussa how one becomes chief of a village. Civic representation, like land ownership, is a matter of who was here first it seems. The first person to be there was a hunter, Moussa tells me. The chief’s family came in this area and settled in what is now Toussian-Bandougou. People settled here, and appropriated land by cultivating it. Now there are two hundred people in the village. Some older families own more than a hundred hectares. Newcomers own no land, and they cultivate what the land owners can’t cultivate themselves. This doesn’t reflect any consideration of superiority. Everyone cares for his or her neighbours. On the other hand, land cannot be sold here. It is free and if they ask for it, it is naturally lent for an agricultural cycle to the people who can cultivate it. Yet the owner will not often accept that the borrower plant new trees on the land, as this would mean long term use of the land. Practically, it represents a change in land ownership, which has to be discussed beforehand.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EEEtezIN2mk/R2A2pLgyB0I/AAAAAAAAAOc/IBMsbew5g4g/s1600-h/Banji-collection1.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EEEtezIN2mk/R2A2pLgyB0I/AAAAAAAAAOc/IBMsbew5g4g/s400/Banji-collection1.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5143170855549929282" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Banji collection. Four times a day - 11pm, 4am, 10am, 3pm<br /><br /></span></div>The chief has now showed up, with two of his nephews. We are served some Banji in a calabash. Banji is the sap of the Ronier, collected by some villagers making it their trade, four times a day. The drink is sweet in the morning, and alcoholised in the evening (The Perfect Drink...) We meet Si Barthelemy Sanogo, the first son - as his name, Si, indicates – of the chief’s deceased brother. Si is also a beekeeper. He says he used to weave traditional houses. Like Moussa, he has received training on honey making by the PAMER, the project I work for, and now owns one modern bee house. His take on honey making is drastically different from Moussa’s though. It seems that with the revenue from the mango orchards, Si doesn’t really have any incentive to make money on his honey. The modern bee house he got just replaced the numerous traditional houses he had to weave to replenish his own yearly supply of honey. We are far from the enterprise Moussa is considering, yet they received the same technical and commercial training by the project I work for.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3824369732042678076.post-12807876393138521462007-12-08T05:38:00.000-08:002007-12-08T05:45:04.740-08:00Second day<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-CA">It’s the end of my second day working with Moussa. <span style=""> </span>We’ve been weaving traditional bee houses all day, us cutting the necessary tall grass, him climbing the Roniers to get leaves for material and me blistering my thumbs until late in the evening weaving at a third his pace. It is ten, time to get a rest.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-CA"><o:p></o:p><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://picasaweb.google.com/s/c/bin/slideshow.swf" width="400" height="267" flashvars="host=picasaweb.google.com&RGB=0x000000&feed=http%3A%2F%2Fpicasaweb.google.com%2Fdata%2Ffeed%2Fapi%2Fuser%2Fborisauburkina%2Falbumid%2F5139420803639674241%3Fkind%3Dphoto%26alt%3Drss" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer"></embed><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-CA">At the end of November, the agricultural season is slowing down a bit. The maïs has been harvested and is drying in the sun. Moussa’s father, Mr. Sanogo, spends his days harvesting the groundnuts and peas, allowing his only son still at home to spend more time weaving. Moussa is thirty years old, and as I can’t help to think how close in age we both are, just a few months, and yet our lives are so different, with neither of us having chosen it. Moussa is the only son in age of working the family’s plot in the rainy season. His father asked him to stop school when he was 10 to come work in the fields. His mom had passed away and it was necessary to ensure there would be enough cereal to go through the year. Until last year Moussa was able to cultivate one and a half hectare by hand with his daba, producing enough cereal to feed the whole family on a good year. This year’s investment in a bull for labour drastically changed the deal, saving tons of time and allowing cultivating larger fields. He lends his bull to his neighbour, who in turn helps him weed his fields, as he could not do it alone on such a large surface.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-CA">Honey making has been a traditional activity for the Sanogo family since before Moussa’s father. The honey is used for the family’s consumption, as a medicine, an energy booster and a celebration gift at Lo, when young men have to offer honey to their promised wives. Moussa wants to make beekeeping a business. He has already invested in four modern, wood-built houses that produce more honey and are more durable. Each are 22,500 FCFA, a small fortune really. He knows that the more traditional houses he weaves this year, the more he will be able to invest in the next season’s harvest. He thought of micro credits but one has to repay those on a monthly basis, and the harvest is yearly for honey. Hence he will weave one or two houses a day for forty days, from </span><st1:time minute="30" hour="5"><span style="" lang="EN-CA">5:30 am</span></st1:time><span style="" lang="EN-CA"> until </span><st1:time minute="0" hour="22"><span style="" lang="EN-CA">10 pm.</span></st1:time><span style="" lang="EN-CA"> Moussa works with a flashlight secured between his neck and his shoulder after </span><st1:time minute="0" hour="18"><span style="" lang="EN-CA">6pm</span></st1:time><span style="" lang="EN-CA">. Once the houses are ready, he secures them in trees, where they can stay for three to four years before they deteriorate. There is always a competition between squirrels and bees and whoever gets to the house first gets to stay. As a consequence, a great part of his work benefits rodents, not him. Moussa has a fleet of sixty houses approximately, producing a hundred and thirty litres every year. He knows it means education for his daughter in a few years, provided his business takes off.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3824369732042678076.post-18288139632108304932007-12-05T10:41:00.000-08:002008-12-09T15:25:38.593-08:00My first night in Toussian-bandougou<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EEEtezIN2mk/R1b0VLgyBuI/AAAAAAAAAME/RumJQil2RCM/s1600-h/family.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EEEtezIN2mk/R1b0VLgyBuI/AAAAAAAAAME/RumJQil2RCM/s400/family.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5140564669394716386" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Moussa (on the left) and the family.</span> </div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-CA">I arrived at the end of the afternoon. I gave a few kola nuts to my host, Moussa. He directly went to his father, keeled down and gave the nuts to him. I was given water in a calabash, and I drank it. I was showered with questions on my health, my family, my wife and my kids. I was blessed many times and served food at least twice. I felt home after a few minutes. Moussa showed me around the compound before dinner. Now it’s dark out and we’re getting ready to go to sleep.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EEEtezIN2mk/R1b2XbgyBvI/AAAAAAAAAMM/nCeReDr4cOA/s1600-h/Moussa%27s-house.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EEEtezIN2mk/R1b2XbgyBvI/AAAAAAAAAMM/nCeReDr4cOA/s400/Moussa%27s-house.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5140566907072677618" border="0" /></a></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">The compound</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">...</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-CA">The only light out is the full moon, low on the horizon. Shadows are stretched and all we can hear is our footsteps and the mysterious songs of night birds. Moussa is walking is front of me, and I make sure to stay close behind. The metal of his daba blade shines in contrast to the wooden handle, on his left shoulder.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-CA">Moussa has stopped now and started digging. I’m standing beside him. The soil is sandy and rock hard. It’s the dry season already. With a small hole on the ground he stands back straight. “This is how you do it” he says, putting one foot on each side of the whole and crouching. “It falls down there, and you cover it with the dirt.” He really thinks I know nothing…</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3824369732042678076.post-19199280487184353952007-11-21T02:41:00.000-08:002008-12-09T15:25:38.903-08:00Now that it’s official…<p class="MsoNormal">I mean, now that I updated my facebook relationship status to “engaged” and since internet tells nothing but the truth, you must believe it. As Alanna already said in <a href="http://alannapeters.blogspot.com" target="_blank">her blog</a>, we are engaged. It took a goat, a storm, and a few years. I feel that I owe you my side of the story, and apologies for having taken so long to write it - although since it took 8 years to get engaged, I trusted you could wait a few weeks to get the details...</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn5oLPx-yn_O4vKG3vQexlh-8xACaAJMsEUY3Aj4euV6E7NJCAa7QVxwFPhugGCmwh4hOAHCYjYLt4BOVBpdU-oXepXMcaKBB4tuEVJPi14xm6HX-2cUGwNzMPcb8N6so0iRl9odTAMDw/s1600-h/Chevre.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn5oLPx-yn_O4vKG3vQexlh-8xACaAJMsEUY3Aj4euV6E7NJCAa7QVxwFPhugGCmwh4hOAHCYjYLt4BOVBpdU-oXepXMcaKBB4tuEVJPi14xm6HX-2cUGwNzMPcb8N6so0iRl9odTAMDw/s400/Chevre.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5135242756047752226" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal">…</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I once heard a field worker explain that in a village, there are four kinds of farmers. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The refractory: They don’t want to hear about the technology you’ve come to talk about… “They like their old techniques and they don’t believe in your new stuff. They won’t even come to the meetings.” </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The cautious: they come to listen and ask questions, but they won’t try it. They leave it to others to take the risk first. “They’ll come back a few years later if nothing has happened to the guinea pigs”. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The enthusiasts: They’re always ready to change their ways. They trust you if you say it’ll be better. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The keeners: they already have what you came to talk about, they can use it, and they know what works better than it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">For each, I thought to myself “well, that’s me!”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">When it comes to getting engaged, I’ve been refractory: I didn’t like the idea of having to buy a diamond to show my love to someone and still I’m asking: is it necessary? Who said so? The goat was a great alternative… When it comes to local customs, I definitely am an enthusiast, maybe even a keener, since instead of a sheep I went for a goat. Finally I’m also cautious (8 years!): I let my friend Graham get married first, hehehe. He lived through it; I’m guessing I will too. I also gave Alanna some time to be cautious as I’m not always an easy one to live with.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">There you go. People don’t think so different on both sides of our planet.</p>Boris Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15374968248822929196noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3824369732042678076.post-42570970334710482662007-10-21T10:57:00.000-07:002007-10-21T11:03:00.965-07:00Dounan yan kili ka bo, a tiyeri ké<p class="MsoNormal">This morning I have <span style="font-weight: bold;">LOTS </span>of energy. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Once again I’m back from diarrhea land. Serious diarrhea, the kind of attack that gives you high fever and that kills kids 5 years old or less. It’s time I learn something about hygiene here. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I am more and more surprised by my inability to find what it is I’m doing that locals don’t or vice versa and that gives me the shits. I bathe twice a day at least. Morning and evening. With cold water, a bucket, and a bar of ever so wonderful Shea soap. Don’t cringe: cold water feels good when it’s hot out. I wash my hands before eating (with them). I also select the places I go to for dinner out. But as a friend told me, “dounan yan kili ka bo, a tiyeri ké”. The stranger has his eyes wide open, but he cannot see.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">When making unknown mistakes is about getting a sore stomach, that’s fine. But I feel this blindness of mine isn’t limited to hygiene. What about my cultural fit into the neighborhood I live in. How many people have I offended that wouldn’t dare tell me.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">What about at work? How much does my status (white male) prevent me from learning the real stuff? How much am I given the power of making decisions without having the knowledge or experience that would make me deserve it?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I think, a lot.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">In my experience, there has been a pronounced unearned deference towards what seems to be my wealthy background. Coming from <st1:country-region><st1:place>Canada</st1:place></st1:country-region> or <st1:country-region><st1:place>France</st1:place></st1:country-region>, those countries where no one is poor – “What do you mean, people beg for money in the subway? White people?” <span style=""> </span>– is taken as a guarantee to know best. I have to admit, this position of privilege is tempting. It’s so much easier to make myself believe that I have the answers, since people readily listen to what I say, and even ask for answers. Power is delicious. And giving answers makes one feel pretty good about oneself. But it’s a slippery slope, and the mistakes don’t make their author sick, but someone else.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So for now I repeat to myself, dounan yan kili ka bo, a tiyeri ké… and I try to keep my eyes peeled and my ears open. Not that I don’t do anything, but I try to make a clear choice as to whether what’s on my plate corresponds to my abilities. I also try to forget about my (undeserved) power and to learn as if I had none. That requires a proactive refusal of tasks that are above my head, an avoidance of easy answers to hard questions, and a constant asking of ridiculous questions, like please tell me what it is that gives me diarrhea.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dounan yan kili ka bo, a tiyeri ké…</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Meanwhile, I’m healty again, and I’m planning to stay that way. For one, I’ve noticed that Burkinabés my age are in a much better shape than I am. I think their fitness allows them to withstand attacks that put me to bed for days. So Alanna and I got up a little earlier for the past week (<st1:time minute="45" hour="17">5:45</st1:time>) to add a 25 min. jogging to our day. I’ve felt the effects immediately, hence the first sentence of this entry. That will now be a necessary habit.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman";">For those in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman";">Canada</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman";"> I hope you enjoy the red leaves I miss so much. I wish you to find ways to stay healthy for the coming winter months.</span>Boris Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15374968248822929196noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3824369732042678076.post-85772363337577600912007-10-13T11:40:00.000-07:002008-12-09T15:25:39.429-08:00Work<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWrKhvyQSmQiSiOAM7nQe0SRDsfeyz-LAWMFf0GLPQHiDi1DIidrewUJAVZ7KrCKg4v1MS6zDD3-BCP1iWF0Am3WdooXx2x-af8zboCY_gnJMGmP1vbXRBhhKcqh3V2r1vwOKOkPwUVOM/s1600-h/Le+quartier+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWrKhvyQSmQiSiOAM7nQe0SRDsfeyz-LAWMFf0GLPQHiDi1DIidrewUJAVZ7KrCKg4v1MS6zDD3-BCP1iWF0Am3WdooXx2x-af8zboCY_gnJMGmP1vbXRBhhKcqh3V2r1vwOKOkPwUVOM/s400/Le+quartier+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123852679502553602" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;">Main street </span><br /></div><br />7:00. The sun is already up, breakfast and shower are long gone. My squealing one-speed mountain bike is ready for the ride. We’re going to work! <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Our house gives on a dirt road, slightly uphill, with <u>major</u> trenches and pot hole. Everyone on the block says hi and asks about my health and my day – <st1:time minute="5" hour="19">7:05</st1:time>. I reach a long section of good paved road. If I pass them there, guys on bikes usually race me, whatever their age. Passing a white guy must be a game. Sometimes young kids ride beside me just to chat, all the way downtown, where we have to split. So far all of them have been apprentices – i.e. they work for free to get a skill, usually a welder’s shop or a mechanic. They’re between 9 and 13 years old – <st1:time minute="10" hour="19">7:10</st1:time>. Downtown is plain bad - pot holes, puddles and bad traffic; a little like <st1:city><st1:place>Toronto</st1:place></st1:city>, except people are nicer here – <st1:time minute="15" hour="19">7:15</st1:time>. Now I face the big hill, my real morning exercise – <st1:time minute="25" hour="19">7:25</st1:time>. Work is on top. People cannot fathom that a white person would intentionally ride their bike up that hill, yet hundreds of locals do it everyday, with loads of tires, wood, buckets, you-name-it, on their bikes. Why not me?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif6X54eG9lWP5SxqtitcMGuXTgJRfeLuwbbOoNB-Y5rI-frHeLv2kaWNsUDMvQVwE_x8TsA5oH1mES21A6HuYMgY3sYHMbrBYjAdcq7gp-stABUls1vnEX6oxwAjw62_duzpoqEKnJL3s/s1600-h/Le+Maquis.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif6X54eG9lWP5SxqtitcMGuXTgJRfeLuwbbOoNB-Y5rI-frHeLv2kaWNsUDMvQVwE_x8TsA5oH1mES21A6HuYMgY3sYHMbrBYjAdcq7gp-stABUls1vnEX6oxwAjw62_duzpoqEKnJL3s/s400/Le+Maquis.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123853164833858066" border="0" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span></p> <p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">The maquis at the street corner</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Work started on September 3<sup>rd</sup>. Not just for me, but for my whole office. August, the month it rains hardest, is off for everyone. Understandably, since when it rains, it pours; the roads (and mud huts, as you’ve heard) suffer a lot. If I exaggerate a bit (for the thrill of my readership) the rain makes August here a month long snow day - notice that it would be the same in Hamilton in February could the city not afford snow plows. By the way, I never understood why the French took August off. Now I understand. It’s because they colonized Burkina and took the habit. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In September, the roads get hard enough again that you can hope to achieve something on a field trip. It’s not that it stops raining but just not as frequently. Hence, back to work!</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I sit in an air conditioned office. I hope that removes the images of a mud covered, shovel totting, straw hat wearing young man digging holes in <st1:place>Africa</st1:place> that I’m not. I’m also the least well dressed in my office on most days. There was an intern last month who sometimes took the last spot. What do these well dressed, all important, all men, do all day? They organize, they strategize, manage, report on, budget and evaluate a big, seven year long project (the <i style="">Projet d’Appui aux Micro Entreprises Rurales</i> – PAMER).</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The PAMER aims at reinforcing what was called the “informal sector” in the 90s, and is now the micro enterprise sector of Burkina. It focuses its energy on rural enterprises, namely people (mostly women, 90+%) doing work other than agriculture on agricultural land. Food Transformation = Value add is (one of) the master equation(s).</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihyphenhyphenc5fmgESpkblt9kaMB7_lAWCPW6vWATRfHbxv-lOk-mbbhAw-7W_dIxeExwv7k7fxY7tMksWm-6I6zy1gyRB94TyDupYBdtltq8JHYtmtH7iZP5FDRUwGRIATqUspwVrz9EO5KRxjKU/s1600-h/Ajuma+et+Eric.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihyphenhyphenc5fmgESpkblt9kaMB7_lAWCPW6vWATRfHbxv-lOk-mbbhAw-7W_dIxeExwv7k7fxY7tMksWm-6I6zy1gyRB94TyDupYBdtltq8JHYtmtH7iZP5FDRUwGRIATqUspwVrz9EO5KRxjKU/s400/Ajuma+et+Eric.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123854779741561394" border="0" /></a> </p> <p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">Ajuma and Eric</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">The PAMER hires field workers to run workshops on specific trades and skills when a specific need has been identified - like the de-husking of local rice or the making of tapioca balls from cassava. Admit it; you’re as surprised as I was to hear that tapioca comes from cassava! The woman who told this to me laughed at my surprised look for a good two minutes.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The PAMER delivers technical assistance to people investing in new technology – like gas powered ovens for a mango drying business. It also facilitates access to credit for entrepreneurs, by accompanying them in their financial planning and providing collateral. They partnered with a nation-wide bank (Caisses Populaires) to offer eased access to credit to rural women.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">My mission for now is to learn as well and fast as I can from the people I work with and those I work for. Since learning by doing works well usually, I’ve taken on a few files at work and a few field trips. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I work on my first file with the help of my office partner, Paul Millogo. I strategize the passage from its assisted state to an autonomous state of the urban outlet (a store selling the enterprises’ products to the city). I say strategize because really my role is facilitation. I ask questions, since I don’t have answers. The president of the steering committee for the urban outlet, Mme Seni Angèle, who makes fruit syrups for sale in the store herself, knows all too well what the issues are. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The second file I am taking a part in concerns the Burkina cashew nut value chain. As I described in my other blog, there seems to be a great potential, with a great number of great people involved in this trade. My role again, so far, has been to ask questions, to meet people and to take notes at the first ever Burkina Cashew Alliance meeting, gathering producers, processors, buyers, traders, consumers and service providers in one room around one question: how to get the Burkina cashew on the local and international markets?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="">Asking questions is a nice job. Working with people and solving people problems is a blast. When comes <st1:time minute="0" hour="18">6pm</st1:time>, when I have that big downhill in front of me, straight west, with the sun already low on the horizon, I can’t help it. I have a huge smile on my face.<o:p></o:p></p>Boris Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15374968248822929196noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3824369732042678076.post-1719757094763377582007-09-02T07:44:00.000-07:002008-12-09T15:25:39.773-08:00La Guinguette<span style="" lang="EN-CA">Well, we’ve been in </span><span style="" lang="EN-CA">Burkina for a month now, it was time Alanna, Aimé our neighbour and I took a few hours on a Saturday to take pictures and visit the area…<o:p></o:p></span><div> <p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGnfJiEP-wuuzfk07l1ODb_BQ65sccmkoQQWc5qWCe0_WP1K9emoDQl6SNfQRaMHNpZ7UtOuuEFjCsLhL-Z4wQX2XnM5_YhTt2DLz_Bgqf3Z4cMOkAwFNu5hDTLEDE6dxslV1pGLwbXdg/s1600-h/Dinderesso.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGnfJiEP-wuuzfk07l1ODb_BQ65sccmkoQQWc5qWCe0_WP1K9emoDQl6SNfQRaMHNpZ7UtOuuEFjCsLhL-Z4wQX2XnM5_YhTt2DLz_Bgqf3Z4cMOkAwFNu5hDTLEDE6dxslV1pGLwbXdg/s200/Dinderesso.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112714321770504546" border="0" /></a><span style="" lang="EN-CA">We went to La Guinguette and visited nearby Dinderesso, a small village, at the end of the paved road, 15 km from Bobo, hence easily accessible, it has been blessed with </span><span style="" lang="EN-CA"><i style="">many</i> gifts. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-CA"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Photo: Dinderesso</span></span><br /></span><br /><span style="" lang="EN-CA">A natural one first: La Guinguette. Dinderesso surroundings are home to an underground water source gushing out year round, feeding a river, side by side with a second stream, altogether quenching the thrust of the half million Bobolais all year round. This site of course has some mystic to it. It is precious and luxurious, quiet and peaceful. Its shade has harboured tea drinking locals for many years and tourists now for a few. Great things need great care, and so a project was put together by caring individuals to manage the park, La Guinguette, in a participatory way. Delegates from the village now take turn to administer, guide visits and tend to the souvenir shop, says Rémi Ouattara, our host for the day.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-CA">Dinderesso also has a well! A nice, concrete and metal construction enjoys the shade of a giant mango tree, in the center of the village. It was built by a project that felt, i</span><span style="" lang="EN-CA">n consultation with the locals, that having access to safe drinking water right in the village was a good step towards great health.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-CA">And a grain storage unit! A nice, concrete building just outside the village, administered by at least six villagers, has offered for three years now the benefits of not having to transport the cereal to the next village. Women are grateful to the project that organized the construction of the facility for the walking hours they save every year.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-CA">Slightly outside of the village, a nursery! Built by </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="" lang="EN-CA">Luxembourg</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="" lang="EN-CA">, it offers a space for the pregnant women here and for the newborn. Probably a great step toward reducing infant mortality in the village when 105/1000 is the national average.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-CA">The list stops here, but I hope that you are at least questioning how a village gets to receive that many gifts all at once. Why not though? Jeffrey Sachs is creating his millenni</span><span style="" lang="EN-CA">um villages; they get everything they need to grab the first rung of the development ladder. Why not Dinderesso?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU8rMSZWDciHFWcHbyY3IsVpWpPZtG6XCXNGAByv6qAHZmrkb_MkIQH_UZlQBr-n-pUKD0uWotSjyLmzz9zLR4nzv4aSBWRV6_HUtzPY47G045uySAzmwrrSlo-pCwZ8BAeadEUZLl_mQ/s1600-h/Gros+Mil+a+la+Guinguette.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU8rMSZWDciHFWcHbyY3IsVpWpPZtG6XCXNGAByv6qAHZmrkb_MkIQH_UZlQBr-n-pUKD0uWotSjyLmzz9zLR4nzv4aSBWRV6_HUtzPY47G045uySAzmwrrSlo-pCwZ8BAeadEUZLl_mQ/s200/Gros+Mil+a+la+Guinguette.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112714497864163698" border="0" /></a><span style="" lang="EN-CA">What really made me feel strange was the constant asking. Almost everyone in the village asked us for money. Our guide Rémi kept suggesting what they needed next: traction animals to plough their fields. Two hectares ploughed per day by one ox. </span><span style="" lang="EN-CA">He was good</span><span style="" lang="EN-CA"> at asking.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-CA"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Photo: gros mil (Sorghum), almost ready...</span></span><br /><span style="" lang="EN-CA"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="" lang="EN-CA">The three of us left wondering what kind of attitudes the great gifts were creating.<br /></span><span style="" lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><span style="font-style: italic;">PS: Alanna also gives her perspective on the visit </span><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://alannapeters.blogspot.com/">in her blog</a><br /></div>Boris Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15374968248822929196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3824369732042678076.post-69277633946377254322007-08-27T08:24:00.000-07:002007-08-27T09:00:07.707-07:00Greetings from Burkina<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Nassara nassara nassara!!!</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(White guy! Three times.)</span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">The kids are greeting us as we walk along the streets of <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Ouagadougou</st1:place></st1:city>. Their amused looks and huge smiles help getting adjusted to the bustling city, the heat, and the legendary friendliness. Yes, the Nassara has to learn to become friendly here. This is the biggest adjustment I’ve had to make so far. Learning the traditional greetings (3 km long), learning to count, and a few key words have proven an immense reward already… and big savings too! Because prices are not stuck on each object here…</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">I really love bargaining. It is such a respectful game. He who hasn’t spent the time to learn the culture rudiments doesn’t deserve a local price. And even then, it is quite a bit of work to get to reasonable amounts, we’re Nassara nonetheless… Everyone smiles:<br />“C’mon, you have to make an effort, lower it more”<br />– But my friend, I have to make a profit!” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Negotiating is an art. Yet, it feels strange to be perceived as a big money handout machines. I sometimes wonder how much it takes to build such a reputation, and how much to take it apart. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">I barely had time to get used to busy Ouagadougou that already I must travel west, to Bobo Dioulasso – the host city for my year placement with PAMER and BAME (more on that in a future post!). The afternoon trip, on a remarkably well paved road, is plain amazing. I’m traveling in a giant postcard. Baobabs, green birds following our bus, cattle (with a hump on the back), goats, mud hut villages, red earth, mango trees, eucalyptus… The whole way I can see fields of tall corn or millet, intercropped with peanuts, cabbage or green beans… It looks like a new-age-agronomist’s-manual illustration or something! Enough to remind me that we’re pretty close to the road (precisely, we’re on it!); those villages are likely not the worst off. I mostly saw women working in them, although it’s hard to tell in a distance. At this stage of the rainy season, they must be weeding.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" ><span lang="EN-US">Toubabou, toubabou, toubabou!!!</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;" lang="EN-US">(White guy! Three times.)</span></span></p> <span style="" lang="EN-US">The bus has arrived in Bobo. People speak Dioula here. Alanna teaches me the greetings in the cab, so I can buy fresh oranges for my host family tonight.</span>Boris Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15374968248822929196noreply@blogger.com2