Mr. Bonaventura was a character of Italian cartoons at the beginning of 1900. The stories ended usually with the protagonist getting a one million cheque for same reason (later on, with inflation, it became a one billion cheque).
Bonaventura best friend was a mule, called la Checca who’s main feature was an irresistible impulse to kick anything at reach.
I had a book with some of those stories and I read it many times.
And this is my version of Mr. Bonaventura.
PS I realise now that I was confusing Mister Bonaventura with another character, ‘Fortunello’. He was the friend of the mule, but my sketch is rather inspired to Mr. Bonaventura, the ‘millionaire’.
That’s the first thought. They were doing something decent.
In a country were me, as many others, would not go for ‘political’ reasons (and we are not so intransigent anymore) and for security reasons, they went for a good cause and stayed in spite of the risk.
Let’s hope reason would prevail.
PS it has
At the market most of the women still wear the colourful pagnes, contributing to an extraordinary human patchwork.
Nevertheless, also here the local manufacture of cotton fabric is endangered by the cheap productions from Asia, often under the administration and property of European companies.
Faso Fani the legendary factory of Thomas Sankara’s land of incorruptibles has been closed under the pressure of the stabilisation policies enforced by the international economic institutions.
Consequently, Africa loose not only one of the rare opportunity for industrial production (and jobs) but also an important instrument for the construction of national identity.
Togo, Malawi and many other countries do not produce any cotton fabric yet.
Abidjan market’s retailers react with surprise when asked for local materials, and only Woodin, an upper market production destined to a wealthy public, has got some reputation.
You may see some exemple below.
One month has passed without harms. I do not know better the town neither the people, but I keep feeling at ease.
Today is raining and I have not solved any of the logistical issues I should have tackled, I hope tomorrow the sun will shine.
I have some projects, but any program requires energies.
One task has been accomplished. I am the happy owner of a ping pong table (with a carton-paper net).
woro woro is the yellow taxi.
It’s the collective one, goes on prefixed routes, claxoning all the time to attract passengers.
You pay among 150 and 250 CFA francs, not too much.
It is better than the orange taxi (the personal one), as you travel with other people and feel more inside the picture.
The other day the woro woro drivers organized a strike to protest against the police. Police (allegedly) take advantage of the check points and the verification of documentation to ask for money.