Dédougou, Burkina Faso: Not yet the economic opportunites of a city, but no longer the familiar support of a village.

Lightning illuminates the sky almost constantly. Thunder grumbles and every once in a while explodes as though it were right on top of you. The rain comes down not so much in droplets as in streams. It is the rainy season in sub-sahelian Africa. And it is during these short four months of rain when everyone must produce enough food to last the rest of the other eight months’ desert dryness.

A young girl doing her chores in the shade.

The road to Dédougou from Bobo Dioulasso is paved and pothole free. The toll is 400 FCFA or about 60 euro cents. The heavy rains have inundated some of the crops and the countryside is green with grass, trees and shrubs. Father Philippe, who is driving me to Dédougou has spent over 12 years in the region, speaks the language and knows what it’s like also in the dry season. “Everything is brown and dry,” he tells me. Along the way, there are no electric poles because the villages here have no electricity. They do have mobile phones though as we pass GSM towers every so often. “Usually, someone has a generator and can make a little business charging phones,” tells me Father Philippe.

Learning the land.

Here to do a story on an educational programme for underprivileged (living in the “developed” world, most would probably consider just about everyone here “underprivileged”) youth, I get the opportunity to follow Apolinaire, 16 years old, to his home in Dédougou. Burkina Faso is a Muslim country where men can have more than one wife. Apolinaire, one of eight children, introduces me to his father and “aunt” whom I later learn is his father’s second wife. His mother is in the fields. It is sometimes difficult to get the story right concerning family relations. It is his father, worried about Apolinaire who had left school, who got him into the education programme.

A young girl may have her life already planned.

Apolinaire is still quite shy with the white foreigner. Although most people speak pretty good French, communication doesn’t only depend on the language. There is a big cultural difference. My life must seem as strange to Apolinaire as his life seems to me. At 16, Apolinaire says he would like to know about this thing called Internet. Thinking about all those kids back home glued to a computer screen instead of under the shade of a big tree with the whole (or most of) the family, I wonder who has the better life.

Ibrahim makes the night rounds.

At night in the centre for the programme, I hang out with the crew on night guard. They have to keep an eye out to make sure a goat doesn’t get loose and go eat the budding crop or that a neighbour’s animal doesn’t venture into the school’s fields. As Ibrahim, 16 years old, makes tea over glowing coals, Bernard, 13 years old, beats the adult guardian at checkers and others prepare a meal of To (corn meal) with a sauce of leaves. In this town, not yet a city, but no longer a village, the stars and constellations fill the immense African sky.