Monday, July 14, 2008
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Children's Parliament
I thought I might share a bit about work during the latter part of last week. The best way to relay the whole exhausting marathon is in simple chronological order.
Day 1: We arrive on the premises of a shady, state-run orphanage for street children. The Social Ministry had apparently decided to change venues at the last minute from downtown Ouaga to scrimp on costs for the 142 kids invited to participate in a Burkinabe children's parliament (not to mention a children's delegation from Benin).
The ministry planned to hold the 3-day event in one musty, mud-smeared, unventilated room. The kids complained of not being fed well nor on time. No malaria nets. Poor hygiene. Benches without desks to sit in for hours on end.
The hotshot NGO donors were not pleased. After a sound berating, the ministry finally agreed to clean up its act.
So they moved quarters and decided on the Social Ministry's conference room. While the drab decor didn't offer much to the imagination, thank God for the air conditioning and cushy seats.
Day 2: The Parliment convenes. Burkina has only been a democracy since 1991. The preliminary elections were meant to impart a lesson about democracy and fair electoral procedures, with the spectre of Zimbabwe lurking in the shadows: "A true parliamentarian doesn't cheat."
But I found the repetition (a total of 15 posts) quite mind-numbing -- can you imagine all 140 odd votes were counted aloud for each position? That dragged on for several hours. And while it was certainly instructive and engaging at first, I had expected more to it than endless elections and short stump speeches - perhaps debate on social issues or child rights laws?
Anyhow, planning for the gala fundraiser commenced the following evening. I got the sense that all this was being pulled together at the last minute: just one day before showtime. Below is the pool of the Hotel Independence, where the gala was held.
Minor scandal -- before the visit to the National Assembly, the chaperones for the kids demanded their per diem pay. Unfortunately, due to the costs of the venue change, the money was frozen up somewhere. So after the elections, the "encadreurs" held the children hostage until they were paid. That meant that the Minister herself stood and lectured those people -- what sort of lesson were they imparting on the children? Holding them hostage for 5.000 CFA (about $12 USD)?
Big ruckus. When the children were finally snuck out and bussed to the National Assembly, the President of the National Assembly had blown a hissy fit and left after waiting for an hour. He and Madame Chantal were also absent from the gala dinner -- that means a lot of money failed to flow into the hands of the inept state ministry.
Day 3: The gala dinner. Nice speech from the first ever female president of the Children's Parliament. The African Hilary, if you will. Numerous musical acts and dance troups, and an invigorating auction of a Burkina Faso sports jersey. The event concluded around midnight.
Day 1: We arrive on the premises of a shady, state-run orphanage for street children. The Social Ministry had apparently decided to change venues at the last minute from downtown Ouaga to scrimp on costs for the 142 kids invited to participate in a Burkinabe children's parliament (not to mention a children's delegation from Benin).
The ministry planned to hold the 3-day event in one musty, mud-smeared, unventilated room. The kids complained of not being fed well nor on time. No malaria nets. Poor hygiene. Benches without desks to sit in for hours on end.
The hotshot NGO donors were not pleased. After a sound berating, the ministry finally agreed to clean up its act.
So they moved quarters and decided on the Social Ministry's conference room. While the drab decor didn't offer much to the imagination, thank God for the air conditioning and cushy seats.
Day 2: The Parliment convenes. Burkina has only been a democracy since 1991. The preliminary elections were meant to impart a lesson about democracy and fair electoral procedures, with the spectre of Zimbabwe lurking in the shadows: "A true parliamentarian doesn't cheat."
But I found the repetition (a total of 15 posts) quite mind-numbing -- can you imagine all 140 odd votes were counted aloud for each position? That dragged on for several hours. And while it was certainly instructive and engaging at first, I had expected more to it than endless elections and short stump speeches - perhaps debate on social issues or child rights laws?
Anyhow, planning for the gala fundraiser commenced the following evening. I got the sense that all this was being pulled together at the last minute: just one day before showtime. Below is the pool of the Hotel Independence, where the gala was held.
Minor scandal -- before the visit to the National Assembly, the chaperones for the kids demanded their per diem pay. Unfortunately, due to the costs of the venue change, the money was frozen up somewhere. So after the elections, the "encadreurs" held the children hostage until they were paid. That meant that the Minister herself stood and lectured those people -- what sort of lesson were they imparting on the children? Holding them hostage for 5.000 CFA (about $12 USD)?
Big ruckus. When the children were finally snuck out and bussed to the National Assembly, the President of the National Assembly had blown a hissy fit and left after waiting for an hour. He and Madame Chantal were also absent from the gala dinner -- that means a lot of money failed to flow into the hands of the inept state ministry.
Day 3: The gala dinner. Nice speech from the first ever female president of the Children's Parliament. The African Hilary, if you will. Numerous musical acts and dance troups, and an invigorating auction of a Burkina Faso sports jersey. The event concluded around midnight.
Ouaga 2000
A photo montage by bike.
But first, the view from my office window in Patte d'Oie (literally, "foot of the goose"), a neighborhood just across the bridge from the upscale and uberchic Ouaga 2000 district.) Often in the evenings, Ouagalais schoolboys gather and play soccer in the red clay field.
On the dusty avenue towards Ouaga 2000.
That modern turnabout thingy below -- I think it's a conference center of some sort.
The contemporary stucco houses.
The Sunset Boulevard palm fronds. Funnily enough, this place still isn't too chic to avoid the ubiquitous donkey carts or oxen ambling by.
Really, quite a sterile, loveless place. Half of the houses I passed were in the middle of being constructed -- large hulks of concrete and steel set at chic anges, electrical wires poking out.
The Sofitel (popularly known as Hotel Libya). I stepped inside, browsed the bookshop, and bypassed the French manicure salon. Nice, but it has all the makings of a terribly ugly and utiliarian structure on the outside.
The road I took leading to the turnabout was aptly named Muammar Quadaffi Boulevard. Burkina, it seems, maintains political ties with a number of supposedly rogue governments like Libya. Many countries will offer generous foreign aid in return for political recognition.
Burkina Faso is also one of the few remaining African countries to recognize Taiwan and not P.R. China, which is nonetheless attempting to lure Burkina into its camp through generous cotton subsidies. For the curious, the rest of pro-Taiwan Africa includes the relatively obscure and economically peripheral nations of the Gambia, Malawi, Swaziland, and Sao Tome & Principe.
Word on the street is that my district Zone du Bois was the Ouaga 2000 of old. Personally, I think it's much homier. For one, there's no outrageous presidential manson. I turn the corner and see roast chicken and goat brochette stands on the corners; tin-roofed convenience stores selling powered milk and Lucky Strike cigarettes; and brightly-clothed market women balancing enormous bowls of mangoes on their heads. People still say hello in passing. It's what I would call a neighborhood.
But first, the view from my office window in Patte d'Oie (literally, "foot of the goose"), a neighborhood just across the bridge from the upscale and uberchic Ouaga 2000 district.) Often in the evenings, Ouagalais schoolboys gather and play soccer in the red clay field.
On the dusty avenue towards Ouaga 2000.
That modern turnabout thingy below -- I think it's a conference center of some sort.
The contemporary stucco houses.
The Sunset Boulevard palm fronds. Funnily enough, this place still isn't too chic to avoid the ubiquitous donkey carts or oxen ambling by.
Really, quite a sterile, loveless place. Half of the houses I passed were in the middle of being constructed -- large hulks of concrete and steel set at chic anges, electrical wires poking out.
The Sofitel (popularly known as Hotel Libya). I stepped inside, browsed the bookshop, and bypassed the French manicure salon. Nice, but it has all the makings of a terribly ugly and utiliarian structure on the outside.
The road I took leading to the turnabout was aptly named Muammar Quadaffi Boulevard. Burkina, it seems, maintains political ties with a number of supposedly rogue governments like Libya. Many countries will offer generous foreign aid in return for political recognition.
Burkina Faso is also one of the few remaining African countries to recognize Taiwan and not P.R. China, which is nonetheless attempting to lure Burkina into its camp through generous cotton subsidies. For the curious, the rest of pro-Taiwan Africa includes the relatively obscure and economically peripheral nations of the Gambia, Malawi, Swaziland, and Sao Tome & Principe.
Word on the street is that my district Zone du Bois was the Ouaga 2000 of old. Personally, I think it's much homier. For one, there's no outrageous presidential manson. I turn the corner and see roast chicken and goat brochette stands on the corners; tin-roofed convenience stores selling powered milk and Lucky Strike cigarettes; and brightly-clothed market women balancing enormous bowls of mangoes on their heads. People still say hello in passing. It's what I would call a neighborhood.
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