Ghislain proves to be a great and charming host, making it clear that he expects to be at our disposal for the duration of our stay in Ouga. But either by design or due to the limits of his English, and our French, he maintains a sense of mystery. We can’t, for example, discern what he does for a living. And his relationship status is unclear, that is until a woman pulls up on a scooter next to our table.“This is my fiancée,” he offers plainly.
We laugh, thinking of course that he is joking. But then he stands and embraces the pretty women. There is an awkward moment as he fetches her a chair and we nod dumbly at each other. “Hello,” we say. She is nervous and shy and can only mumble something, laugh and look away.
Her name turns out to be Aline, and she turns out to indeed be his fiancée and she turns out further to be the sweetest, warmest secret bride-to-be you could ever hope to meet. In a part of the world in which smiling is raised to a bona fide art she establishes a new gold standard.
Ghislain leaves her with us briefly to go and pick up Alice and bring her back. We remain a short time more, everyone now fully and most satisfactorily adjusted to being in Burkina Faso.
We then climb back into the car, Aline following on her scooter, and head for dinner to a place downtown with a name perfectly suited to my childish sense of humor: Le Titis. It’s a happening spot with a busy patio and cool, comfortable interior lit by a couple of large plasma-screen TVs. We order an array of dishes, all of which are good, if poorly remembered.
By midnight, me having had just enough Castel to almost accept Ghislain’s invitation to a party across town, we quietly and somewhat clumsily retire, sure not to wake the nuns.
(Picture: Fitting five passengers into Ghislain’s car. And no Shawn has not gone insane.)
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