Bye bye safe journey, part 5

Despite Lumumba, the trip from Paga to Ouaga manages still to be very interesting. This is flat, hot, dry country. Aside from the small clusters of simple conical huts that are traditional in this region, it is home only to spindly shrubs and hearty, brittle-looking trees. At intervals, dusty paths lead off into the bush. I wonder who takes them and where they lead.

Since crossing the border, vendors don’t approach our bus here when we stop. Few people seem to be about at all. Even the highway is largely empty and we go long minutes without seeing another vehicle that is not pulled by a donkey.

We pass a number of marshy areas dotted beautifully with white lilies across the surface. We peel our eyes for hippos but see only a man pulling in his fishing net. On the shore, his wife collects a pile of charcoal while a couple of naked kids entertain themselves on the small, muddy beach.

Later, passing through the town of Kombisiri, I see a group of boys playing on not one, not two, but three foosball tables. It seems a mirage or perhaps I now have some brain-stewing fever. No wood in the buildings, but foosball tables? Then I see another table some miles farther. I can’t even imagine how they find their way here.

Lumumba said nothing more during the trip. He took no notice of us at all. As Ouaga finally looms in the distance like a worn and dusty Oz, I think again about how to handle the ambush he’s surely organized for us. But then, about 10 minutes before the station, he all of sudden has the driver stop and let him off. We don’t see him again.

(Picture: A shot of the main Ouagadougou bus station)