So, stood outside my favourite restaurant in Bobo Dioulasso, Dankan (not least for the free Wifi but they also do a mean ‘Riz et sauce’), I’m approached by two young lads. In the knowledge they will be trying to sell me something, I prepare my best and fastest English speak, a tactic I use to get rid of people quite quickly (my French also does this anyway so I don’t know why I bother). They are ‘artisans’ looking to sell their latest ‘African’ t-shirts. Not interested. Anyway, they ask whether I am ‘francais’, “No”, I reply. “Belge”, “No”. “Swiss”, “No”. “Canadienne”, “No”. Ok, so we’ve been through all the Francophones. “Allemagne”, “No”. “Italien”, “No”. Ok, we’ve removed the other obvious European countries. Looking increasingly frustrated, one of them asks, “Grec”. Greece? Come on mate, try harder. And I am not kidding, his next question........“Chinoise”. Sometimes I despair.
As you can see, it is the little things in Burkina Faso which tickle me most, none more so than this warning sign.
|What I would give to attach this to the front of my house|