All in the family

We were so thrilled to finally arrive at Hamidou's house in Ougadougou. The car drove up to a blue metal wide door and honked. Out came the family. We met Rasmata, who, at six feet tall, was just a little shorter but just as regal as her husband. She shook our hands joyfully, exclaiming "bon arrive!" About five kids came running out and clamoured for Hamidou's attention. When we entered the blue door, we walked into a courtyard with an outside kitchen. The first inside room was the living room, with very plush and comfortable couch and chairs, a coffee table, a tv and a refrigerator. Off of this room were two small bedrooms and a bathroom. When we had all gathered in the living room, Hamidou made introductions. Hamidou's mother, who was in her eighties, noramlly lives in the village but was in Ouagadougou because she needed to visit the hospital. She showed us her hurt wrist and shook our hands gently and lovingly. There was Omar and Samet, Rasmata's two sons, age three and six. There was Magit, age 4, Hamidou's son by his other wife, who had come to Ouagadougou because he wanted to spend more time with his father. There was Celia, age 5, and we had no idea how she was related, but was certainly in the fold. There was another teenage boy who was blind who lived there, then Hamidou introduced his daughter, who was 16. By this point I was totally confused, as I knew that Hamidou only had sons and he had joked previously that he "didn't make girls, they were too much trouble." Several days later, I asked Hamidou how she got to be his daughter, and he explained that she was his brother's daughter, but came to Ouagadougou and now he was taking care of her.

After a delicious meal and a night's rest at the hotel, we went to the market. The market is open-air with a roof, and a pleasant breeze blew through all the stalls. There were clothes, meat, fish, beautiful fabric, drums, jewelry, and much more to drool over. Jessica was doing some great, hard-nosed bargaining over some beautiful straw baskets and emerged from a stall thoroughly proud of her performance. She brightly asked Hamidou how she did, explaining her final price. Hamidou looked at the baskets, frowned, and told us to leave the bargaining to him. Jessica's bubble burst, we dutifully handed over the job of bargaining to him when we found a talking drum and a West African game our students would enjoy. Hamidou spoke Mossi, the African language used for trade, so we could only read the facial expressions and rising volume to guess at the seller's impatience at Hamidou's hard-nosed price. Finally, the trader was so frustrated at Hamidou that he walked over to me and said, "your father said his final price. You give me 10,000. (About $20). I thought, "my father! Hamidou is only 5 years older than me! Come on, he can be my older brother, perhaps even my uncle, but not my father!" I managed to bite my tongue and finish the transaction and our future students will be very glad. Afterward I was recounting my silly reaction to Jessica and she wisely immediately understood the African notion of family. She said, "but in that moment, he was playing the role of your father, so he was your father. That's the African way."