Chanting to the Crocodiles

A couple weeks ago my friend Kelsey had a friend visit from the states and invited me for some adventure time.  We decided to hit up the city of Pô for a couple days, to forget our volunteer lives and to become the good ole tourists that we all wish to be.

After a relaxing evening with the volunteers in Pô and some cold beers, we woke up the next morning, jumped into an awesomely janky pickup truck with our driver and guide and headed to the lands unknown.  We started at the Peak of Nahouri.  The peak is considered sacred, so upon arrival we had to visit the Chief of the surrounding village and ask permission to climb.  Three young boys were assigned to be our escorts.  As we huffed and puffed up the small peak, they sauntered barefoot at a rapid pace in front of us.  The peak is no amazing feat, but unlike the switch back paths we enjoy on our mountain journeys, this path shot straight up forcing you to almost rock climb at points.  The view at the top was impeccable allowing you to see miles across the Ghanaian border and the landscape surrounding Pô.  The peak used to be used for military training, where trainees would have to run up the peak with a flag and claim there victory like astronauts claiming the first arrival on the moon. 

Leaving the peak, we jumped into the back of the truck for a bumpy ride in search of crocodiles.  As we were driving down the road, two gents on a moto came up behind us and shouted a greeting.  We thought it was a little bizarre when they didn’t pass us, but as it would turn out they would be our call to the wild.  Arriving in a small village we walked down to a pond where the children screamed, splashed and swam with glee.  Here we were to find the crocodiles?  But the children! Was no one worried for their safety? Oh, none at all.  There is a biannual chicken sacrifice to appease the crocodiles and the children are protected from any danger.  Anywho, the two gents went off to get toads and attach them to makeshift fishing poles.  The anticipation for croc fishing was building, but it twas not to be.  Gent number one yelled to the children to exit the water, waded in a few feet himself and began to chant.  I couldn’t help but laugh, but lo and behold within five minutes a small crocodile emerged from the depths and began to approach the waters edge.  At one point, gent number one stopped chanting, causing the croc to stop in its steps, not to move again until the chanting recommenced.  Emerging from the water, gent number two taunted the croc with the toad.  The snapping sound of the croc’s jaw can only be compared to a 50 pound dumbbell being dropped from a two story window and hitting the ground.  Upon receiving his snack, the croc was rechanted into the pond.  We were informed that more could be chanted to the surface, but each crocodile has his or her day and once one has left the depths of the water, no others will step onto the dry ground.  Although we did not see any other crocs that day, we invited our friend onto shore again for a second toady snack.

And we were off!  Back down the road we stopped at a goldmine encampment, where a temporary village was set up.  We watched people grind rocks and wash and rewash soil in search of the tiniest flecks of gold.  We met a Canadian that has been in Burkina for almost five years.  He is an engineer working on making grinding machines at low costs for miners.  He informed us he does not eat rice or tô, the two staple foods of the Burkinabé, and I wonder how he has managed these past few years.  He plans on moving to China next, the true spirit of a vagabond. 

We made a brief stop in Tiebele, famous for the painted houses.  The royal compound contains over 100 houses within it’s courtyard walls with over 300 inhabitants.  Many of the houses were shaped in figure eights with small arched doorways with a second barrier just on the inside.  We were informed this was implemented to force visitors to enter the house head first, so the dwellers could see if it was friend or foe.  Beware if you be a foe, for you have put yourself in the ideal position to have your head chopped off.  Cheers!

 As the day came to an end, we headed back to Pô to grab dinner and head toward the Nazinga Game Ranch to sleep for the night.  The park was already closed when we arrived, but the guard helped find a place to sleep near by, so we would be ready to go first thing in the morning.  With the raining season and all the foliage, it is difficult to see wildlife, so I kept my expectations low.  Within the first fifteen minutes driving into the ranch, an elephant sauntered across the road.  The driver sped into reverse, shouting the dangers of temperamental elephants during raining season.  Continuing down the road, we saw a herd of large antelope loping in the distance.  Dark specks in the road ahead ended up being a pack of baboons, which charged into the brush as we approached.  After breakfasting at a restaurant on the side of a manmade watering whole, we took an hour-long tour within the ranch.  Elephants and no bears and no tigers oh my!  There were more elephants, baboons, and the antelope, which I must say were quite the large fatties, an oddity when observing the livestock in this country.  Heading back out of the park, our adventure came to an end.  I got on a bus, got back to work, and put my tourist shoes back in the closet.  Until next time my friends, I will be forever the Maren.