I had always kind of wanted to return to Sideradougou, the village in southwest Burkina Faso where I had spent my Peace Corps service, but had never found myself back in West Africa or seriously pursuing the idea. Many other volunteers I knew had gone back in the intervening years, but the prohibitive cost of flights from the US combined with limited vacation days and an entire world to explore made the prospect look daunting. Once Christine and I moved to next door Benin for her work, however, my hand was forced – I had clearly run out of useful excuses and resolved to make a trip as soon as I could.
Given the paucity of flight connections within West Africa, air travel was nearly as expensive as if I was coming from Europe (one of the more reasonable itineraries had me flying from Benin to Morocco for a 20+ hour layover, just fly back down to Burkina), thus the whole thing would have to be done overland. That meant about 30 hours with four different transport changes, but hey at least that helped set the tone as I felt like a poor Peace Corps Volunteer again (or also made me wonder how I had progressed so little during the past 3,179 days since leaving village).
la route
Other than the logistics of actually getting there, the other main issue was that I had fallen out of contact with everyone in my village during the past nine years. People’s cell phones numbers changed, while I moved around my fair bit as well. Prior to my arrival I tried to send a note via the taxi brousse system (literally having someone give a piece of paper to a driver plying the route to my village, who would then give it to someone there so they could locate the intended recipient – or if the driver was less inclined, he would just throw it out the window as he passed the town). While that may have been a somewhat effective means previously, the cell phone revolution appears to have killed off such obsolete forms of communication, and my message floundered in the dust unanswered.
Thus I was going in blind, just how I don’t really like it. It was my village after all though, surely the life-size statute of myself that I had built, my crowning achievement during service, still resplendently stood on the main road, no? Plus, how many other volunteers since had brought a two-year supply of bacos with them, only to force feed it to the masses? My village must remember me, and this wouldn’t be awkward at all.
I more or less planned to just show up unannounced. While this seemed like a great idea at first – just surprise the whole village I figured, they’ll be thrilled! – I became increasingly nervous the further into the 30-hour journey I became. Maybe just showing up was not be the right way to go – maybe no one would remember me (which would have severe and lasting repercussions for my fragile psyche), maybe they would be angry I hadn’t come back with gold bullion bars from the streets of l’Amerique as I had promised, maybe the foreign volunteers in the village after me would’ve commanded such a strong cult of personality to erase any memory of my time there from the pages of village history (i.e. tearing down the statue), or perhaps everyone would just really remember how much I smelled and agonize over the thought of such odors returning to the village. A combination of such dynamics were likely to transpire I figure, but I was in too deep to turn back now.
Thus, as much as I had wanted to spend the night, I was hesitant about showing up after so long already, and searching for a place to stay would have been an added complication, so I resolved to just visit for the day this time. It would be nearly impossible to pull off such a feat and have meaningful time there via taxi brousse as well, so I rented a car & driver for the day in the nearby town of Banfora, representative of my newfound status as a ‘baller’ (aka anyone who is not a Peace Corps volunteer).
Arriving in style
Thus at 10:00am on May 31st, 2016 I pulled into Sideradougou like it was 2006 all over again. Expect that upon arrival, I had no idea what to do. The driver of the car I had rented already thought I was a bit strange for wanting to go to Sidera for the day, despite my explanations. He was also primarily concerned by what he was going to do all day there. But I guess he figured that out quickly, as once getting there he essentially kicked me out of the car and said he’d see me at 4:00pm. Six hours in Sidera – what had I done??
My basic plan essentially involved all of the following – just start walking down the main road and hope someone (i.e. anyone) recognized me. It was a bit of an arrogant strategy, but lord knows how many names and faces I had forgotten over the intervening nine years. Even more arrogantly, I hadn’t even bothered to look through my extensive photo collection circa 2005-07 for a crash course of key figures in Sideradougou societal circles prior to arrival. At any rate, here I was now – not much more to do really.
I started walking and instantly a wave of trepidation came over me. Each passing second that no one called out my name only reinforced my recently formulated preconceived concerns that this was an utterly harebrained plan, and I was going to spend the next six hours in a valley of depression significantly deeper than any Larium-induced psychosis over the fact that the village I had poured my soul into for two years no longer maintained a reciprocal status with me.
I kept walking and began to wonder also – what if no one recognized me now? My face contained a few more hairs and my belly a few more pounds – I was likely the opposite of a shell of my former self. I probably should’ve shaved and dug up those scotch-taped, completely unaligned glasses I had worn throughout my service, along with a few of the rags I used as clothing and the tattered Redskins hat I never took off in two years – then people would recognize me. That must be it, nothing about the lack of impression that I give, simply a lack of recognition give my nine post-Sidera years of near bi-weekly hot showers. That must be it.
Finally, when I had given up all hope amongst the roller coaster of emotions I had experienced in my first 120 seconds back in village, some cried out almost incredulously “Omar? Omar???”
I was a made man! My plan had worked – I turned to see where the call was coming from and immediately recognized the face. Unfortunately I also immediately did not recognize the name, nor could formulate anything close. No matter, the man in question (who I will call Solo, as I later found that was indeed, and had always been, his name) was an old friend – perhaps not in my inner most circle which largely consisted of myself, a few of the talking lizards that lived on my walls, and my shortwave radio – but in the next tier. I couldn’t have asked for a better start to my Sidera plan.
Solo was so surprised to see me – he looked essentially exactly the same, with a few additional gray hairs sprouting in his short hair. We chatted a bit, and then he offered to take me by my old house – I had hoped someone would be willing to sort of ‘chaperon’ me around at the beginning as I gathered my bearings again, so this worked out well. We went off on his moto (so liberating as this was technically not allowed during our Peace Corps service) and after getting off the main road I instantly remembered how to get there. Solo had warned me that no one was living there now, and the landlord has passed away and his son was re-doing the house, or something of the sort. Sure enough, the house was in a state of non-use and disrepair – the entire courtyard had been vacated long ago. I poked around a bit, trying to see if I could enter, but figured I wasn’t here to dwell on the past. Following that, Solo took me to see the house he is building now, and then to his place for an impromptu tea session.
my old abode, in a state of non-use
Tea time at Solo’s house – just like old times
Solo’s house in construction was actually just two ‘blocks’ down from my old house, on a road in which I remember there being basically nothing, save for an odd boutique perhaps. Now there were multiple boutiques and even a restaurant of sorts. Such developments count, as well developments – one of the main questions I had going in was how Sidera might be changing, and here was my first piece of real evidence.
I sat at Solo’s having tea for some time, happy to have a place to be. But then I realized that I really had only six hours in Sidera, as my driver was insistent on making the two-hour journey back on the dirt road to Banfora before nightfall. The short moto ride from the main road to Solo’s house had flooded back a wave of memories, and all of a sudden I felt I had to see everything. My mind instantly flipped from “what on earth am I going to do here for six hours,” to “oh my goodness, I only have six hours!”
Thus I wrapped up tea with Solo as quickly but politely as I could, still grateful that he happened to be on the main strip and recognized me right off the bat. I asked Solo to drop me off at Amara’s boutique, the place owned by one of my closest village friends. I was very nervous upon asking as it had been nine years and given the state of healthcare au village, I shouldn’t assume that everyone from 2007 was up and running (in fact on an incredible sad note, Solo had informed me right off the bat that my counterpart/one of closest friends in village had unfortunately passed away six years ago). Thankfully, Solo said Amara was doing well.
He dropped me off and I marched into Amara’s boutique as I had many an afternoons, as if nothing had changed. Amara’s jaw kind of dropped upon seeing me, and gasped something like “it is really you? I never thought we would meet again!”
I had always enjoyed hanging out at Amara’s boutique as I found him to be incredibly intelligent and well versed in current events, as he sat there and listed to RFI all day. We had great conversations about the world, and he taught me a lot about the local culture. His three-year old daughter at the time was also insane in a good way, and always excited when I came around, yelling various things in various non-French languages (I would typically write down my daily tasks for the day on my hand – not that there wasn’t paper, I just like the idea of ink seeping into my blood stream – anyways, she would always grab it instantly and pretend to read at a very high volume, shouting out pure gibberish).
Visiting Amara’s boutique was a primary motivation behind returning, and it was an incredibly touching moment. In some ways I felt disillusioned that his little boutique looked exactly as it had when I left – it was comforting in a way, but also meant that this brilliant and hardworking man was held back by a simple lack of opportunity predicated on the geographic chance of birth. On the other hand, Amara was doing quite well and had expanded his family by two, a clear sign of success in these parts. His previously rambunctious daughter was now a serene twelve year-old (but that mantle has been taken up by her new six-year old sister). I was nervous about expecting to recognize the kids I used to know, as they five-year olds would now be taller than me – but she had the same face of the little girl I had doted on.
Amara’s boutique and daughter – at least one has grown significantly!
I spent the next three hours catching up with Amara on village developments, and other world events. As much as I didn’t want to, I tried to leave on multiple occasions given my time constraints, only to be drawn back in by hospitality demands that I be thoroughly well fed before my departure. At one point, I was surprised to see Amara’s other daughter holding up a set of battered playing cards – he said I had given them to the family when I left. I had no recollection of bequeathing these specific playing cards, but was happy they had endured, and reminded me how the littlest thing can have a lasting impact.
Finally around 3:15pm I left Amara’s house – I had no desire to, I could’ve spent all day there and been content. I cursed myself for not arranging to spend the night in Sidera somewhere, despite the practicality of the decision at the time. Next time, I’ll come and spend a few days I figured, and truly be able to have enough time to repeat all my experiences of nine years prior.
Amara had told me some Moringa plants I had started as part of a child malnutrition project were still being grown at the CSPS (local health center), and even being used. Solo himself had said “every time I see those plants, I think of Omar.” It wasn’t quite an imposing village statue of me, but it would do. I was even more surprised these were still standing than the playing cards, but figured I had to check it out. Time was of the essence, as the 4:00pm deadline to return was looming, so I quickly jotted off to the outskirts of town where the health center was located.
Unfortunately, while on my way, I passed by the local police station. The sight of a random bearded foreigner, running by himself with a backpack down the road in Sideradougou, where foreigners likely rarely ever run by themselves, ostensibly startled the officers hanging around outside the station. I was already cognizant of the changes in Burkina Faso due to the creeping threat of terrorism from northern Mali, punctuated by the January 2016 attacks in Ouagadougou. Identification checks along the roads were frequent now, at a rate unseen before. Nonetheless, while en brousse, I assumed this would stop.
No luck, as the officer began frantically whistling his whistle and waving for me to come over. I kind of ignored the first noises and friendly waved back as if to say hello, but his insistent nature informed me that it would be better to heed this request than to not. I approached nonchalantly but in a manner of feigned surprise to make it seem like it was routine for me to be here doing what I was doing, while he immediately asked for my identification. I took out my passport, and explained that I was just going to the CSPS to check on a project. I was a little curt, more than I ever should be with West African security officials, because time my time in Sidera was rapidly ticking down, and I had many other goals post-the CSPS Moringa run.
He handed me over to the police commissioner, and then I decided to expedite the process by explaining that I used to live here and had come back to visit right now. He poured over my passport and visa, and upon learning that this particular police commissioner had been installed here in 2010, I offered something presumptuously conceited to the effect of “well then, my ties to Sideradougou pre-date your own.” I stopped myself after that, and resolved to be a better detainee by chitchatting a bit about the village and how it’s changed. The commissioner seemed satisfied enough to let me continue on my regularly scheduled path after about 15 valuable minutes, and I immediately took off. Though I really couldn’t get too angry as they were just doing their job (and I looked suspicious enough to the point where I would’ve stopped myself).
I managed to make it to the CSPS and saw what I assumed were the plants (in reality, I had no idea). Luckily, as had been dominant theme of my plan throughout this village visit, an old friend popped up and confirmed that these were indeed the plants and they were being used. I had been a business volunteer, with grand designs to develop the local cotton-based economy into a thriving West African powerhouse, but I suppose I should still be happy if my lasting impact of two years of service is that little children were getting a bit more vitamins and nutrients than they used to.
The Moringa trees still alive and kicking, to my surprise
I wanted to run up to the local high school to see if the world maps I had painted were still in effect, and just wander along the streets a bit more to take in other developments and hopefully run into some other old acquaintances, but it was already 4:15 by this point. My CSPS friend took me back to the center of town where my car was waiting, but luckily a few other friends had heard I was in town and gathered around to see me before I went off. Thus I was able to squeeze in a couple additional three-minute sessions aimed at catching up over the past nine years, and then left village with a high note. Of course, as soon as I entered the car to leave Sidera again for one last time, we drove six minutes to the outskirts of village and promptly broke down for an hour. But at least that allowed me to take in the experience I wasn’t ready to have end a bit more, even while the driver frantically worked to repair his vehicle in time so we wouldn’t have to travel at dark.
Overall, my nerves quickly subsided upon returning to village and it felt just like old times for a while. Though my time was short, I accomplished what I set out to do by finding out and catching up with a few old friends, reestablishing contact, and seeing how a near decade had changed or not changed things for a place as near and dear to me as anywhere else I’ve lived.
Modibo – my old water guy who used to be constantly sick (often I was told by other villagers when I needed to find him as I had run out of water, not to bother as he would die that day), looking better than ever!
This guy owned one of the bush taxis I used to travel on – I thought he was super old back then, but seems just the same now!
In some ways, Sideradougou had changed a lot – this biggest initiative being the advent of electricity about a year ago. I yearned for electricity during my time there, but eventually got every used to living without it, and as volunteers we always wondered how life might change if such modern amenities were introduced to our villages. The typical refrain is that it would help businesses (refrigerators, etc.) and households (nighttime lighting for kids to study), but in reality it might just mean more television watching and cell phone recharging. I can’t say I was able to determine the impact in the six short hours I was there, but it was telling that some residents, such as Amara who live one road removed from the main road, still hadn’t paid to have it installed just yet. Regardless, the introduction of a modern amenity considered standard in much of the rest of the world is a definite cause for celebration and a visible sign of progress – and considering when I arrived back in 2005 there was no cell phone reception or electricity, the introduction of both within a decade span I’d say is a decent indicator that things are overall trending upwards.
electricity counter in action next to a latrine (perhaps indoor plumbing as a next step?)
In addition, Sidera had clearly grown. People talked of it more as a small town now, rather than a big village. I was quoted some population numbers I cannot recall, but signs of this were apparent throughout. Along with the increased number of stores and other businesses off the main road, the CSPS had actually been upgraded to a more regional health facility, replete with additional structures. I was told a number of new schools had also opened, both private and public. Two boulangeries (bakeries) had also opened in Sideradougou, and residents were clearly proud of the fact that they no longer had to import their baguettes. While I saw smart phones for sale as well, most people I interacted with still had most basic cellphones, though admittedly more advanced models than what I was used to carrying around stateside!
A gold mining project had also begun about 40km from Sidera, with some elements based in the town. In fact, on the ride to town we also saw independent prospectors, women digging through the dirt on the way into town. While it may be temporary as once the stores are exhausted the mining companies will leave, it does represent a new local industry, and makes me think I should’ve spent more time digging around in the dirt while I was there (more than my usual amount of course).
gold prospecting – I could’ve been doing this for the past nine years
On the other hand, some things have definitely not changed, and may have even gotten worse. The dirt road from Banfora has gotten pretty bad, and the rainy season was just getting underway. The premature passing of my counterpart from ‘hypertension’ reveals the continued hazard of public health concerns considered much more easily treatable back home. And the numerous police checks underlie the overall increased risk of terrorism and spread of radical ideologies – something that was not an issue in the least in this region nine years ago.
la route n’est pas bonne
Overall, the basic picture of the village and daily life is largely the same, with a few added amenities and hopefully some additional opportunities. Nine years is both a short and long time, but I kept finding myself wondering what Sideradougou will look like by the time Amara’s one-year old son is his age. There’s often a tendency to resort to a ‘nothing ever changes’ sort of attitude, but I can’t say that has been the case in Sideradougou, and hopefully will continue in that direction.
Sideradougou village entrance, with electricity wires!
In this sense, despite all my nerves, the trip was a smashing success both from a personal standpoint and that of intellectual curiosity. The biggest added benefit, besides seeing many old friends doing well in their situations, was the reestablishment of contact so that I can confidently drop in from time to time when in the region. In some ways, I thought this visit might close that chapter of my life, as I would’ve gotten the village update I needed and been able to fully move on. But in reality, it did just the opposite and reminded what a unique experience I was lucky enough to participate in, and that the bonds developed and personal relations cultivated will continue to demand my presence from time to time – just hopefully the next visit will be sooner than nine years from now!
Amara’s family has been growing – hopefully will be back soon to see check in again!
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