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Jos van den Hanenberg
Who is Jos van den Hanenberg?
The first time I went to Burkina Faso was in November 1997. The musical company I am part of, named The Coup, had an invitation to play at the first edition of a new festival, called Les Nuits Atypiques de Koudougou.
We were invited by La Troupe Saaba, a group performing African dance and percussion and initiators of the new festival. They are also running a training centre for underprivileged children. Beside the festival our band played in the streets of Koudougou and in schools and markets in the country. This first experience was gratifying, shocking and unforgettable at the same time. I was fascinated by the contrast between the relatively western city and the primitive countryside, the poverty, the landscape, the heat, the music and the stories of the people that I met. In short, I was infected with the Africa-virus. Time to express my memories and feelings.
I have climbed on top of the car and I am hanging on to the bars of the roof rack. The hot breeze is blowing through my hair and clothes, and I am feasting my eyes on the vast African landscape while we are jogging along. The area reminds me of the Spanish countryside between Valladolid and the Portuguese border. A single black road, fringed by yellow grass and low cover. A coach, avoiding potholes, is drawing near from the opposite side. Our driver is forced to resort to the roadside in order to avoid the zigzagging coach. Here as well my position high up on the roof rack offers spectacular moments. From the main road we dash into a sand track and now the real work is ahead." (from: De Coup in Burkina)
The next year I played at the same festival with another band and my fascination for country and culture was increasing. Beside the many musical encounters, there are my meetings with local artists this year. Although a lot of them do commercial work on the side – billboards are still hand painted here – most of the free work shown to me is of high artistic quality. My "Mask" theme is a result of these meetings. The original African mask is not for sale in the streets, and that is as it should be, because it belongs to be in an African museum. In the streets copies of the masks are offered, in quality varying from rotten to excellent. I do understand that their commercial value is of more importance now than their ceremonial or cultural significance. Nevertheless I have started painting them, although, the masks I paint, cannot be called African; for I am a white westerner, my masks are inspired by the shape, colour and texture of the African original.
"First of all you should meet the chief of the village," Robert suggested. "You know the name of the village and you know how to get here; it is, however, much more important that the village should know you, so we will meet the chief first, and then the village will know you." A good plan. After parking our rented motorbikes under a mango tree and asking for information about the tain’s whereabouts, we were received in a short audience.
While his son was tying a long rope to the legs of a living hen, he took us through the bushes to a lake. In the lake some children were swimming and some others were playing on the sandy shore. At some distance there were some grownups with children. We walked up to them, and, imagine my surprise, I saw four or five crocodiles, animals more than two yards long, mind you, basking in the afternoon sunshine, with grownups and children at a yard’s distance around them." (from: Diary Burkina 1998)
My partner is getting infected with the Africa-virus as well, and to cure it we made a month’s tour of Tanzania. Using coach, car and plane we backpacked from Dar es Salaam to Lake Victoria, ending our trip with the celebration of Christmas on the island of Zanzibar. Highlight of the trip was a safari with the imposing panoramas and the migrating herds of the Serengeti, the volcanic scenery of the Ngorongoro and camping in the bush.
The day had started with the spectacular appearance of a buffalo coming to inspect the camp. The bulls do not live in herds; they only come there for breeding. This one is standing in the cool morning light, completely filling up the view of my binoculars with its wet slimy nostrils. Let’s have a look what is going on in my territory, he seems to think. The plastic water bottle that is found behind the tent, totally torn to shreds, shows that another visitor has called at the night camp. Goodluck suggests it was a hyena. I myself did not notice anything. (from: Diary Tanzania 2000)
Time to express memories and feelings.
© 2005-2012 Jos van den Hanenberg