When was the last time we took a look at a map of this great continent and this very great nation? Here we are . . . in the West African nation known as the Land of the Upright People, Burkina Faso. Let's take a little foodie tour of Burkina. Ah ha, you say . . . what's that new country to the east of Benin? The one that will now take you directly to Mali? I have no idea . . . nor do the gals at the Maison de la Femme. I was going to secretly correct it for them, but I've grown to love it. Our map will never have names of the countries for two reasons: 1) I don't know how to spell them in French; and; 2) the gals added too many new countries. Charming, nevertheless.

Look closely. Look closelier. Why, here's our nation's capital, and there's my village of Pô, on the border of Ghana, almost due south of Ouaga. I'm getting out of little Pô on Wednesday of this week. Headed to Koudougou, a little over an hour due west of our capital of Ouagadougou. I'll be teaching tofu-kebab-making to the newest volunteers in-country, to their homologues, and to three restaurants in Koudougou. No, of course they're not restaurants in any ordinary sense of the word. One of the restaurants is called Maxi-Jus, and their specialty is fresh juice. This stuff is great. Really. It's hardly a restaurant, or at least it wasn't when I provided them with the recipe for granite during our 2010 stage. Nevertheless, they're now offering frozen goodies in addition to their juice, and would like to add tofu brochettes to their menu.

Anyway, all this talk about traveling inspires me to show you some photos of this great land . . . and its food. But before we head off, let's see what's new in the quartier. Why look! The piglets are growing. Soon we'll have porc au four! Mmmmy, truly! And precisely where does a hot, growing piglet find water this time of year . . . especially with all my complaints about water outages? Well, when the water finally returns and Sada begins filling the barriques, bidons, and charrettes d'eau at the pump, you'll naturally have some spillage, resulting in some very happy piglets . . . for about 20 minutes. Then the small puddle is lost to the heat. Today's high? About 106. And what has this little piggy gotten her snout into?

It's a tami (think sieve). We use 'em for everything from straining things like neem leaves and bissap flowers to filtering bugs out of flour. I keep several in the hut at all times. Great for trapping large insects, for urging lizards on their way, and potentially even for trapping a bat (think butterfly net).

Me? I've never sifted my flour, and I've never seen a bug. But admittedly, I need reading glasses. Denial . . . it's not just a river in Africa. Bugs in the flour . . . isn't that a lovely thought? I was taught by the PC that quality control in West Africa means no rocks in the cake. I'd revise that sentiment . . . no bugs in the brownies. Happily, brownies are dark, and you'd be hard pressed to find a bug in my brownies. Anyway, let's head out. Off to Ouaga. What will we see in terms of food on the road?

Along the road, especially in dry season, you'll see little mud villages that, during wet season, become hidden behind 14-foot-tall stalks of gumbo (that's okra to you Yankees). In fact, right in my own quartier during dry season new homes appear . . . mud brick structures that were melted-away by the rains and rebuilt before the grain crops are cut. During rainy season, the bike and moto paths are fraught with danger around every turn . . . 14-foot tall fields make it hard to see around corners on tiny pathways.

We'll also see where the past autumn's sad crop of corn is housed. That darned drought! We're all going to be up the proverbial creek in about four to six weeks. There's very little corn, and what there is will be terribly expensive. After the harvest (and last year's was very, very poor), all grains, including corn, are stored in little round huts raised above the ground. The huts are raised for a number of reasons, including the prevention of mold and mildew during rainy season, and (so I'm told) due to rodents. Now I've seen bush rats scale the vertical mud walls of my latrine; and I promise you, a few logs on the ground will not hinder a determined rodent from entering that little window. Now who's in denial, my dear Burkinabe?

But fear not. Should rodents eat your corn or sorghum, you can always eat tô . . . that ubiquitous starchy staple made from millet (or corn, if one can afford it). I've described it previously as a totally flavorless starch, the consistency of mashed potatoes mixed with unflavored gelatin. A white, totally flavorless, gelatinous mass. Sound yummy? Well, the Burkinabe love it. Tô is eaten with a variety of sauces, all rather foul-tasting to the American palate. You can take your pick of leaf sauces. Baobab leaves or gumbo leaves (you've never seen anything slimier, I promise). Take your pick . . . we have all sorts of leaves for sauces. Tô may also be served with peanut sauce; but if you can afford the peanuts for sauce, you can probably also afford rice. So peanut, or arrachide sauce, is generally eaten over rice. If you're really rich, you'll get couscous. Even I can rarely afford couscous in this country, though I've been known to make the occasional tabouli.

Now if you've fallen down and smacked your little head, you might want to try a sauce with soumbala. To this day, I'm not certain how it's made. Seeds are taken from a tree (the Nere, I believe) and then fermented, or something equally bizarre. Fermented in what, is my question. The result? A tiny black ball of seeds that are so tightly stuck together I have no idea how they're used. And the smell? Death. Rotten, what-died-in-my-house, hand-me-a-barf-bag smelly. And they love it everywhere in The B.F.

Not in the mood for the tempting taste of death in your sauce? Then how about a nice plate of fried sheep brains? No, they're not fried yet in this image. When fried, you'd have no idea you were eating the inside of a little lamb's head. That said, when meat, any type, presents itself on any plate in this country, my first question is from what part of the animal did this come? No liver, no hearts, no kidneys, please . . . you get the idea. On the other hand, with my sad French comprehension, there's no telling what I've put in my mouth. I've gotten good at denial . . . and I was always its poster-child.

We have a great many cattle in this country. In fact, Fada (check your map, kids) has arguably the largest cattle market in all of West Africa. Said cattle are largely owned and herded by the Peuhls, a nomadic people who roam seasonally from Ivory Coast, through Mali and Burkina Faso, and into Niger (and who knows where else). I find them to be a beautiful people. They own the cows, so they own the milk. If you want cheese (and who doesn't want cheese), you'd better get to know some Peuhls.

We have goats at the egg farm, and Yaya has promised me some milk to make cheese. I smile just thinking about it. Before we end our foodie tour, let's remember that lesson about quality control. If quality control in West Africa means no rocks in the cake, I'd like to know where one might find this cake! And if Peuhls own so many cows, where's the steak?! We can only speculate.