In a one horse open sleigh
I like Christmas trees, despite their dubious pagan roots and the environmental issues surrounding them. I like them real, bushy and with fairy lights - the full works. This Christmas, however, I have been happy not to have one. Our festive decorations instead have consisted of a plate with five candles and a sprinkling of bisaap (the dried red flowers of a local plant) and a string of last year's Christmas cards (we'll add this year's to our collection when they arrive in January).
Incredibly, we could have had a five foot inflatable Santa Claus if we'd wanted one. The week before Christmas, the streets of Ouagadougou were awash with plastic trees and the bobbing face of the red and white blow-up foreigner. He looked uncomfortably far from home, sweltering in the African heat and being largely ignored.
Back in Santa–free Djibo, surrounded by cattle-a-lowing and donkeys-a-braying, we celebrated Christmas Eve in a more traditional style. Under the stars and a large straw shelter, we gathered with friends and neighbours for preaching and worship followed by a meal. I ferried friends to and from the church in our (recently repaired, praise God) pick-up truck and had to make three trips to take everyone who wanted to go from our neighbourhood alone. For many it was the first time they had set foot in a church compound and we were amazed at the response to our invitation.
Children weren't invited to the evening so instead we threw a party for them on Christmas morning which was great fun. We played games and then showed them the beginning of the film Magdalene about the birth of Jesus. It must have been a special time for them as they said thank you, shook our hands and left quietly afterwards. If you knew how naughty they normally are you would understand the significance of this!
Djibo has a serious lack of retail options when it comes to buying presents, so it pays to have a creative husband like Steve. My gift this year was a horse jumping course around the lake – complete with stripy poles and a map. As poles make ideal firewood, there was no way of leaving the jumps set up for any length of time without them being filched so it was a kind of build-as-you-go jumping course. We got some odd looks, but it was worth it.
In my teens I was a pony club member and loved show jumping and gymkhanas, so while my current 7000 acre back yard is a good space to ride in, there's nothing quite like a bit of a horsemanship challenge. That's why I couldn't say no when I was invited to participate in the Independence Day's horse race earlier in the month. I didn't know what to expect – apart from that I would be galloping at top speed through a narrow street with four other horses and thousands of people. My stomach churned for twelve hours beforehand but as soon as the race began, my fear departed and I couldn't help but whoop loudly as we tore up the track – a very un-Fulani thing to do.
Initially we had reservations about getting a horse. But the benefits have outweighed our doubts and the joy that he has brought us and others is greater than we imagined it could be. I am still being congratulated on my participation in the horse race, and the women and girls in particular seem to have enjoyed seeing a woman enter. There is also something about the sight of a horse that strikes deep into the heart of the Fulani as they were up until relatively recently so much a part of the culture here.
As the horses have been replaced by motorbikes, so the traditional craft techniques for making the beautiful traditional saddlery are quickly disappearing. I've begun to document these techniques with the remaining craftsmen in the hope of retaining this information before it is lost altogether. As well as making new friends along the way, I've been inspired to develop a collection of bags and accessories using their leather skills, incorporated with traditionally woven fabrics.
The combination of horses-fashion-mission is not a likely requirement for a job description but it seems to suit me well. I'm happier now than I've ever been in Djibo and more excited about the prospects of being here longer term.
Incredibly, we could have had a five foot inflatable Santa Claus if we'd wanted one. The week before Christmas, the streets of Ouagadougou were awash with plastic trees and the bobbing face of the red and white blow-up foreigner. He looked uncomfortably far from home, sweltering in the African heat and being largely ignored.
Back in Santa–free Djibo, surrounded by cattle-a-lowing and donkeys-a-braying, we celebrated Christmas Eve in a more traditional style. Under the stars and a large straw shelter, we gathered with friends and neighbours for preaching and worship followed by a meal. I ferried friends to and from the church in our (recently repaired, praise God) pick-up truck and had to make three trips to take everyone who wanted to go from our neighbourhood alone. For many it was the first time they had set foot in a church compound and we were amazed at the response to our invitation.
Children weren't invited to the evening so instead we threw a party for them on Christmas morning which was great fun. We played games and then showed them the beginning of the film Magdalene about the birth of Jesus. It must have been a special time for them as they said thank you, shook our hands and left quietly afterwards. If you knew how naughty they normally are you would understand the significance of this!
Djibo has a serious lack of retail options when it comes to buying presents, so it pays to have a creative husband like Steve. My gift this year was a horse jumping course around the lake – complete with stripy poles and a map. As poles make ideal firewood, there was no way of leaving the jumps set up for any length of time without them being filched so it was a kind of build-as-you-go jumping course. We got some odd looks, but it was worth it.
In my teens I was a pony club member and loved show jumping and gymkhanas, so while my current 7000 acre back yard is a good space to ride in, there's nothing quite like a bit of a horsemanship challenge. That's why I couldn't say no when I was invited to participate in the Independence Day's horse race earlier in the month. I didn't know what to expect – apart from that I would be galloping at top speed through a narrow street with four other horses and thousands of people. My stomach churned for twelve hours beforehand but as soon as the race began, my fear departed and I couldn't help but whoop loudly as we tore up the track – a very un-Fulani thing to do.
Initially we had reservations about getting a horse. But the benefits have outweighed our doubts and the joy that he has brought us and others is greater than we imagined it could be. I am still being congratulated on my participation in the horse race, and the women and girls in particular seem to have enjoyed seeing a woman enter. There is also something about the sight of a horse that strikes deep into the heart of the Fulani as they were up until relatively recently so much a part of the culture here.
As the horses have been replaced by motorbikes, so the traditional craft techniques for making the beautiful traditional saddlery are quickly disappearing. I've begun to document these techniques with the remaining craftsmen in the hope of retaining this information before it is lost altogether. As well as making new friends along the way, I've been inspired to develop a collection of bags and accessories using their leather skills, incorporated with traditionally woven fabrics.
The combination of horses-fashion-mission is not a likely requirement for a job description but it seems to suit me well. I'm happier now than I've ever been in Djibo and more excited about the prospects of being here longer term.
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