Zorgho

My first day at work, we made the trek to Zorgho, host of the national ceremonies for la Journée de l'Enfant Africain -- African Child Day.

And boy was it hot! Most of the children attending stood in the direct sun for hours on end, barefooted and eager-eyed.

The celebration was a marvellous affair, hosted by Madame Chantal Compaoré -- wife of the president and the closest thing to Burkinabé royalty. She presided over a program replete with singing troups, dancers, countless speeches, a pair of midgets, and a sacrifical ram. Alongside the magnificently bedizened women and well-heeled dignitaries was a boatload of local children and a swarm of media men.

To express their appreciation, the women in the crowd would occasionally make -- I can't exactly describe the noise -- a beautifully high modulation in their throats.

There goes the president of UNICEF in Burkina, after reading a wonderfully pompous document in impeccable French. Half of the ceremony was conducted in the local tongue Mooré (often the livelier, more risqué segments) and the rest in stilted French.

After the festivites and before the banquet, we ambled around and browsed exhibitions showcasing the work of local NGOs in Burkina.

Below is pictue of the scene behind me, where the local children and townsfolk stood witnessing the festivities. The large police presence seemed rather silly, with their long-barreled rifles.

To be honest, given that the event was about children, more could have been done to accomodate them, feed them, or even give them a tent to stand under. A bunch, unflinching in the 100 degree heat, stood in one corner under the banner.

Taken pessimistically, the theme of this year's celebration -- rather than children as actors in the promotion of their rights -- could be interpreted as, "Children, go help yourselves."

Way too much money was spent on local security and the plush banquet that followed.

And there goes Madame herself -- that white blob dotted with orange and fringed with yellow in the center right. Here was her routine: after the children had danced their hearts out, she would go and paste money on their sweaty foreheads or slot it in their mouths. (You can see this in detail if you click on the pic). She, along with the other VIP government wives, did this like at least half a dozen times.

Unfortunately, they didn't toss money at all of the children. I seriously hope each one got well-paid. After a while, it seemed a bit condescending and exploitative -- but I was looking at this through my own dark-tinted, UV-proof lenses.

And there goes the media blitz that follows her. Seriously, she must have gotten cataracts from all those the flashes by now.

Several local schoolchildren read addresses in praise of the first lady, and one girl had the misfortunate accident of calling Madame a Mademoisselle (not once but three times in succession). The camera men were all over here in a split second. Of course, the festivites were mostly symbolic. Yet they did serve publicize the host of children's programs in operation. The problem is that many define "child" as any individual under 18. That excludes the numerous girls who live with their families, and essentially fall under the domain of their parents, until past the age of legal maturity.

A bunch of local agencies have been trying to encourage parents to give their children birth certificates so they can actually begin to exist in the eyes of the state, vote, marry, and lay claim to all their legal rights in this 3/4 democracy and 1/4 Compaore military dictatorship. Unfortunately, both the fees and the paperwork are insane.

The legal hurdles one must jump over to prove that one exists!