Ouagadougou (Burkina Faso) – Ougadougou! The mere sound of the name of Burkina Faso’s capital is enough to conjure up weird and wonderful images, whether you hear it in Nairobi, Lusaka or New York
This spectacularly named city, in the heart of Burkina Faso or Country of Upright Men, is many things. To begin with, it is hot as hell, 40 degrees Centigrade in February, but should you mention this to Burkinabes, they laugh at you the real heat, they say, kicks in in March; this is cool.
The streets are dust-choked. During this season, the Harmattan wind crosses the desert, filling the skies with a perpetually grayish-blue haze, and you can stare directly at the milky white sun with the naked eye. On the streets, there is everyone from businessmen to Tuaregs complete with indigo blue robes. Hawkers fill the streets, pushing music, phone cards, and jewellery. Impossible not to marvel at are the scooters and bikes; there are thousands.
The most elegantly dressed women you could ever hope to see sit upon them in elaborately tailored West African outfits or simple and chic Western daywear, some with two or more children perched behind them, zipping across the city like beautiful earthbound bees. Occasionally, the bikes crash into each other. Strangely there are no helmets worn by anyone, but in this gentle and courteous city, which is safer than most in the world, this does not seem to worry anyone.
But more than all these things that the city is known for, Ouagadougou amply deserves its reputation as the undisputed film capital of Africa. The country is possessed, simply possessed, by the silver screen in the month of February every two years. Arguably the most important festival in the world for African film, it is here that professional networks, friendships and deals are made, here that the world comes to see what new to expect from the continent’s filmmakers and which established and emerging filmmakers have something interesting to say.
Fespaco, the Festival Pan-Africain du Cinma et de la Tlvision de Ouagadougou, was created in 1969 and, though just five countries participated initially, it grew rapidly. At the heart of its expansion was a refreshing idealism that film could inform a new post-colonial identity for Burkina. Not only was it born of a stand-off shortly after Independence when French distributors attempted to raise the prices, and the government nationalised the industry in response; what makes it such an inspiration is that 40 years on, they have managed to keep the flame burning.
So here was I at the the 21st Fespaco 40 years, with my film Killer Necklace in competition. Fespaco is a conundrum. On the one hand, this poor country puts on an event of pomp and flair that far more prosperous nations don’t even dare compete with. But this is marred by the behind-the-scenes chaos that has been known to drive many a filmmaker to tears.
But all the indignation and anger over this simply melted away, and a wave of forgetfulness washed over me, as I sat in the nearly three-quarters full 4th August National Stadium. I was like a wife who had been hammered black and blue by her abusive husband and then turned to gaze at him with pure adulation moments later.
No other festival in the world holds its opening and closing ceremony in a football stadium with a 35,000 capacity. No other festival puts on a show the way Burkina Faso does. There are 10-foot tall marionettes who dance, sway and shake their booties. There is a haunting orchestra of wooden-xylophonists.
A troop of muscular men race onto the track pulling barrels on wheels resembling stallions towing race chariots, do a dazzling dance that is part ballet, part traditional and part jazz, banging on the drums like horse hooves on the ground. I look around, and most like me are so enthralled by the spectacle they can hardly speak.
And then, after an hour, the fireworks begin. They go on and on and on. By my estimation there are a good 20,000 to 23,000 Burkinabes in the stadium, and most of them get on their feet and dance as the closing song, which feels like a national anthem with a chorus about Burkina Faso, plays. It’s like nothing I have ever seen. With the exception of the last opening ceremony I attended here in this stadium in 2003, of course
Ouagadougou is more than a film festival city. It lives for its festivals, with an arts and crafts festival, Siao (Salon International de l’Artisanat de Ouagadougou), on alternate years with Fespaco, a huge hip hop festival in the same year as Fespaco, a massive masks festival and another for puppets. It is a place that all African artists can go to have their belief in the future of art and Africa renewed.
Everywhere you go, you meet ordinary Burkinabes who love cinema, and should you be determined enough to tackle the Anglophone-Francophone communication barrier, you soon discover a brotherhood that you are part of, a love of African film unrivalled in the world.
Film, I believe, can be used, like Burkina used it four decades ago, to forge a new post-colonial identity.
In Ouagadougou, despite the dust, despite the chaos of the organisation of the festival, there is a sense that in merely naming themselves the Country of Upright Men in place of Upper Volta, they began to believe it and still do, much in the same way that a belief in Nairoberry has turned Nairobi, my home city, into just that an increasingly violent, callous, unfriendly metropolis.
source.The Nation (Kenya), by Judy Kibinge