Dear Ouaga

It ended before it really had a chance to start, didn't it? And all for that old reason, we just couldn't communicate... I felt your vibe before I met you, and, by aixe, it felt good. It was a vibe that got me right where it should...cinema, sexy guys on bikes. Oh, it took my breath away when I first communed with you.

Then we met. Hit and miss.

You tempted me with your art, granite sculptures at Lango, Hassan’s recycled metal furniture gallery, even your art village. You spoke to me with the strings and high-pitched-voice of your music. Remember that night when I went out to dinner and stopped by at Jardin Dliss? I felt something, a connection; too bad the long-winded taxi-driver spoilt the mood.

Why didn’t things work out even after I sat through a 3-hour movie in French? See, I heard you were the capital of African cinema and I tried to understand you better through your movies, it’s not my fault that the only the movie showing was the one from Conakry.

I thought we would be happy together. Your past lovers had spoken so well of your vibe and how you liked to party. Looks like I got the short end of the stick because the only party I went to, was the one in my head.

I got on a bike and went to Ouaga2000, just to see another side of you and see if I could connect with your more modern side. All I saw was a concrete city that was not different from all the capital cities in the world.

Darling Ouaga, paga waga schnookums, from the day I met you, I started looking forward to the next city. I felt how a prostitute must feel with one of her clients, ‘abeg do quick, make I dey go, person dey wait me’. Though your French accent had me thinking naughty thoughts, made me want to bat my eyes and say ‘oui, oui, monsieur’, yet there was something missing. There was no spark, no ‘va-va-voom’. My heart was not in it.

Our relationship might have been different if we had communicated but we didn’t speak the same language, so we didn’t speak. I guess that’s the way love is, sometimes you get on like a house on fire, other times you get burnt by the fire. It gets you all excited and then does not deliver on its promise, ‘promiscuous’* love.

I am sure we’ll meet again someday when we’ll both be older and wiser, then maybe, just maybe…

Au Revoir