Although we had reserved and paid for our places, we began to loose faith when we saw the number of people waiting for the bus. A 9:00 am (Burkinabe) departure translated into real time equals 9:45—if only it were that simple… The bus fills up and tough luck, no more room! Quite tough seeing as this was the last of the 3 daily buses leaving for Ouaga. After my friend, Ismael, and his mother exchanged some heated words in Dioula with the girl who took the reservation, the manager promised to take Valerie and me in his pick-up at noon.
Again, translated, 12:00 became 3:30 pm. In the mean time, roughly 100 people show up to get on a bus headed for Ouaga. The owner had invited them for New Year’s in the nation’s capital. They pushed, they pulled, they yelled, they jumped and they even cried; the laws of physics was all that could restrict the number of people who piled into that bus.
We headed off in the pick up with 5 guys in the back for a 230 km trip. To welcome us onto the road, on our way out of Dédougou, this sign greeted us (I couldn’t get my camera out in time, so here’s a picture of that same road, with a drawing of the sign added; I promise to snap a picture of it the next time!):
… as in: “at your own risk…” At least that’s the thought that comes to mind when I see something that looks like a tombstone (the cross shape gives it away) on the side of the road wishing me a “safe trip.”
After thinking, hoping that this day had had enough waiting in it, we had to stop and wait every 15 minutes for the jam-packed bus we were following to be repaired.
We arrived in Ouaga, on the complete opposite end of town from where we were staying, in the pitch black of night… It’s not even worth trying to get a taxi when you’re White: a 200 cfa fare was multiplied by a modest 15 times…
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