In Burkina Faso, Food Prices Eat Away at Life

By Lane Hartill

The dinner menu at Rasmané Ouedrago's house hasn't changed much the past few weeks. Once again, the family will dine on tree leaves for dinner—doused with a wood ash liquid to kill the bitterness. But you won't hear anyone complaining, especially not Rasmané.

He's a day laborer and spent the day swinging a 25-pound sledgehammer, breaking up old concrete at a plastic chair factory, where he makes about $37 a month. This won't go far for Rasmané, his four kids, his mother and wife. That's why they eat baobab leaves and cheap millet. A sack of rice that would last a few weeks costs about $55.

Like Rasmané, some 1.2 million scuff through life in Burkina Faso's capital, Ouagadougou, in various degrees of destitution. The landlocked country is one of the poorest in the world. Some 75 percent of people living in or near Burkina's major cities don't have enough food to eat.

The global food prices galloping across the world are hitting poor urban Africans the hardest. Residents of Burkina Faso spend about 76 percent of their monthly income on food. Americans, on the other hand, spend only about 10 percent of their income on food a year, according to the USDA. That's the lowest of any country in the world, down from 21 percent in the 1950s. High food prices, it's safe to say, have turned the lives of Burkinabé upside down.

Stinging Prices

Rasmané lives in the mud of Zongo, a slum on the edge of town. Now, during the rainy season, it's a warren of barefoot babies and sandy courtyards. As the last dregs of the dawn's chill give way to the heat of the day, Rasmané sits in front of his mud house and watches his children eat breakfast—bouille, a gray porridge made from millet and sugar.

Salif, his 5-year-old with a runny nose and a purple soccer jersey that matches his dad's, and 2-year-old Fatamata, whose periwinkle dress falls over a red skirt, sit in the dirt and slowly slurp their breakfast. Rasmané says they like the porridge, but he can't afford it, so he buys it on credit from a woman at the market.

Rasmané says he has never seen food prices jump like this. A portion of corn last year was 50 cents. Now, it's $1.15. A portion of millet was 55 cents. Now it's $1.25. For someone who doesn't know from one day to the next if he will work, these price swings sting.

After smoking a cigarette, Rasmané slowly gets up and gets his bicycle for the ride into the city. Before leaving, he hands his wife, Sarata, about 22 cents. This, along with the money she makes by selling drinking water, will have to buy food at the market.

At the work site, Rasmané sheds his jersey and pants, revealing shredded shorts and a Kleenex-thin shirt. He hasn't washed them in weeks, he says, because soap is too expensive.

Before work starts, he eats benga, grated cowpeas with the texture of couscous and oil mixture. It cost 30 cents. That's all he can afford.

A Silent Toll

Bangré Moussa, the deputy country representative for Catholic Relief Services in Burkina Faso, says that what Rasmané and Sarata are going through is common. The food price crisis has taken a silent toll on families, one that happens behind closed doors. This year, he says, parents will have a harder time affording school fees and transportation costs. Also, many people now rely on "street medicine": questionable drugs hawked from a cardboard box by young men with no medical background. But what may be worse, says Moussa, is that family ties are being strained.

"Since most people living in the capital city or larger towns are financially supporting their families back in the villages, it is obvious that the social cohesion will somehow suffer since we will no longer be able to attend weddings, funerals, or be able to honor the many requests for financial support from family members," he says. "Since January, I, myself, have reduced the number of trips to my village."

No More Leaves

It's the end of the day and Rasmané picks up Fatamata, who is now wearing a gray sweatshirt and no pants or shoes. He sits in his blue folding chair, stretches, and contemplates the day. He's bushed. Tomorrow will be more of the same. And the day after that.

In the face of the crisis that affects so many like Rasmané, Catholic Relief Services will distribute food baskets to 1,500 poor families in Ouagadougou and Bobo Dioulasso. Each person in the home will also receive a $50 monthly voucher they can use to purchase 14 pounds of rice, 2 pounds of beans, about 2 cups of cotton oil and a portion of salt.

For Rasmané and Sarata, it won't erase all of life's headaches. Not even close. But when he's sitting on the bench waiting for work, he'll know his kids will be able to eat and that he will be able to save a little money for for life's emergencies. The best part: No more leaves for dinner.

Lane Hartill is the West Africa regional information officer for Catholic Relief Services. He is based in Dakar, Senegal.