Ouaga in a hurry

In Holland there is a saying, that, roughly – and badly – translated goes like this: ‘That one? Too funny. He’s got the laughs hanging off his arse.’ Or, as the case may be – and it is today – He is a She from Burkina Faso.

Roukiata Ouédraogo’s the name. Grew up in Burkina Faso, left for France, worked in fashion, theatre (combining both for a while) – and film. A while ago I had the great pleasure of seeing her in action, alone on stage at the French Institute (yes, they still have them) in Ouagadougou. The show is called Ouaga pressé, Ouaga in a hurry. First presented in 2012, this is a whirlwind tour – aka the life of a young woman growing up, going to school, getting about, dancing to lots of music and travelling (cue the inevitable and interminable negotiations between African women and any airline about the amount of excess luggage allowed).

Ouédraogo does not need many props, just a few suitcases, a box here and there. The lady is centre stage, in a red robe, draped around her generous physique, which she uses to great effect. After all, is her nickname not Petit Modèle…?

We follow her in the family home with the usual copious amounts of intrigue and backstabbing and then in Paris, where she visits the institution that to a lot of women is what the pub used to be for men: that extra living room when your own is getting too small. We are (of course!) in a salon de coiffure, or hairdressing saloon, where you can spend many hours immersed in gossip and self-indulgence. But then another visitor arrives, clearly not from Chateau Rouge, where – naturally – the saloon is located. Nope. This new client is white.

‘You lost here?’ the owner asks innocently.

Ah, no, the Frenchwoman wants something from the saloon. Which she gets, at a massively inflated price. We all have to live, right?

In another scene Roukiata takes us back to her school days when she manages to escape from home and her strict, education-obsessed father (there always have to be one, right?) and manages to get out on high heels and dressed to the nines, with a girlfriend, on a borrowed “moto”, those ubiquitous small Chinese motorbikes that convert most Burkinabè, gentle-spirited and quite relaxed most of the time, into instant kamikaze pilots.

En route, the two get stopped by the police who want to know who the owner is. Embarrassment follows plus a rather triumphant phonecall from one of the policemen, ready to convert the fine (made up and settled on the spot of course) into an order of two fine cold beers. The two make it to the great occasion on time: the school party.

Pic: artistebf.org

On her way back, our young heroine needs a taxi, since Girlfriend has disappeared with a boyfriend and the “moto”. Not easy at this time of night. Taxis are scarce and crammed. One stops. With red robe undulating from one side to the other, Roukiata worms her way past the other passengers on the backseat.

‘Excuse me.’

‘Excuse me. Pardon.’

‘Keep your hands off Africa’s treasures!!’ (or words to that effect)

‘Pardon. Excuse me.’

‘Excuse me.’

Comedy gold.

But it’s not over yet. The driver has taken a liking to her and will bring her “a little black plastic bag”, which means: something to eat, wrapped in, indeed a small black plastic bag. She brushes him off but then has to face going back into the house…

Roukiata Ouédraogo is currently on tour in West Africa. Keep a lookout for Ouaga pressé. Definitely recommended.