Surviving SIAO, part 3

When we meet up with the others, we agree we should cut Ghislain lose. He does not even attempt to fight it. We agree to meet the next afternoon.

And then the rest of us split up again, and Shawn and I venture to another pavilion, but it’s merely hotter and more packed than the first. On display is an avalanche of embroidered African shirts, bolts of fabric and hotel-quality paintings in a style as ubiquitous in Africa as the malarial mosquito.

The only vaguely interesting section is that peopled by those who could not secure a booth inside and so are left to sell their miscellany on blankets outside. These tend to be Nigerians peddling leather goods and silver jewelry.

At about 9:30 p.m., we convince the others it’s time for dinner. We try the bustling outdoor eating area, which is a football-sized area populated by an uncountable number of grills cooking an uncountable number of skewers of mostly unidentifiable meat.

While my non-red-meat-eating companions shudder, I indulge in a couple I take to be beef. They’re rolled in a dry pepper spice and wrapped in newspaper and quickly become the best creation I’ve found at the SIAO.

Without a ride now that Ghislain is gone, we decide to take a taxi to a place highly recommended in our guide book (West Africa, Lonely Planet, 2006). Unfortunately, it quickly becomes clear that none of the taxi drivers in Ouaga have read our guide book. Not a one has heard of the place.

Meanwhile, Maria is getting worse and has taken to kneeling while the negotiations drag on. Her face, normally very expressive, has gone blank and it’s clear that despite her protestations to the contrary she needs to get back to the hotel. We change gears with the taxi drivers, and after another 15 minutes of haggling secure a ride for 2000 CFA (pronounced “see-fah” and the equivalent of about US$4) to our place, which is not far.

Just as we get in, a couple of young men come tearing by the car and disappear down the dark sidestreet. When we pull out onto the road, we see why. The crowd of thousands has cleared to make room for a policeman to club a man he has on the ground in the middle of the road. The others in the car see a second man with a machete.

Incredibly, rather than turn around, our driver makes right for them as calmly as if pulling up to a drive-thru window. We are within perhaps 20 feet when the victim manages to get up and escape into the crowd, which has collected in two shouting, cheering audiences, one on either side of the street.

With the fight removed to elsewhere, we are the only thing on the road and the only subject of interest to the two shouting groups. Passing between the staring and chanting rabble, I feel like a toppled leader attempting escape to Switzerland. It is thrilling and just a bit frightening, and we all permit ourselves a sigh of relief when we exit the grounds and reach the main street.

(Picture: Two Nigerian vendors at the SIAO. Andrea Hand, these are the guys from whom we bought the Christmas tree decorations we sent.)