Weaving for a better life

During my stay in Burkina Faso, I learned, among other things, how Faso dan Fani is woven - an important experience for developing my own motifs for my fashion brand Diallo tissue tales that I would like to commission later. To cut it short, the work on the mechanical loom is physically and mentally demanding and requires a lot of time and patience. The result is therefore even more beautiful and valuable: high-quality and beautiful cotton fabrics, mostly woven by women. The traditional craft empowers them by securing an income and allows them some independence.

.......Read the whole article in French and German with all the pictures here........

At the end of November, my journey continues from Ouagadougou to Bobo Dioulasso. The city is mainly populated by people from the ethnic group of the Dioulas - this is also the name of the language I hear everywhere. Islam and the five prayers structure the daily life of the people. From 4:00 a.m. onwards, the night's rest is over in my district, because the imams of the surrounding mosques call for prayers in canon, so to speak. Bobo is considered the economic and cultural capital of Burkina Faso. Everything imaginable is traded from here. As the second largest city in Burkina Faso with milder temperatures and more rainfall it is a veritable vegetable garden, cabbage, green beans, onions, tomatoes, carrots, and lettuce are exported by the ton to Mali and the Ivory Coast. The particularly high-quality maize flour for the national dish "To" is also in great demand in neighboring countries. My aunt recently sent a hundredweight of maize flour by taxi to Bamako to make the wedding day of a bride and groom happy: and it worked!

Hadja Awa opens doors

The second largest city in the Sahel state welcomes me warmly and after explaining to my aunt Hadja Awa that I want to learn to weave Faso dan Fani and see what everyday life is like in a studio, everything evolves very quickly. Although it is Sunday, less than an hour later Lassina Paré is sitting next to me on my auntie’s terrace: he has had his own studio for more than ten years and cordially invites me to join him. He immediately inspects the design of the sleeve slit on my shirt and is not satisfied. “The man knows his stuff”, I think. As Lassina says goodbye, my wonderful aunt, Hadja Awa, remembers that women are weaving not far from her house.

We arrange to visit their association the next day. The walk to the weavers is a bit too much for us, it is simply hot and the road is incredibly dusty. Franceline, the president of the association, welcomes us somewhat reservedly at first. My aunt and I explain to her what I have in mind, and she begins to open. She has founded an association for the education of young deaf-mute women. "A few years ago, a deaf-mute boy begged me on the street. I told him that he could also work despite his handicap, learn a craft, for example weaving," explains the committed woman. "Finally, I founded an association that is supported by the Burkinabe government. We train impaired and healthy girls here. A few women who did their training here have stayed and help produce the traditionally woven cotton fabric Faso da Fani."

?In the land of threads

Education is the keyword I go in with. I want to know if I can also learn how to weave. As an answer, Franceline introduces me directly to my future boss, Tensoba. I watch her at her loom for a while. She doesn't sit there for very long, because either one of the fine cotton warp threads breaks or the weft thread on a small plastic tube - called Pandé in Dioula - which dances loosely in a small wooden boat, must be renewed. Then I am allowed to sit down at the metal loom for the first time, even the bar stool with too short legs on which I sit is made of metal and very uncomfortable to sit on. While I'm still trying to understand what I'm supposed to do with my hands, Tensoba admonishes me that I should now press down on the pedals with all my might, alternately. Even with all my strength I don't manage it at first. I feel like putting both feet on the pedal. After several attempts and all the strength, I can muster with one leg, the pedal finally lowers and the warp threads open. I push the shuttle through the thread tunnel and pull the comb twice hard against the already woven fabric. This way the woven fabric grows millimeter by millimeter. Tensoba says, "Well, you'll learn step by step." We agree on when I will start the training. In the meantime, Franceline has already driven my aunt back home on her moped. Slightly discouraged, I return my way back home on the red sandy track at 35 degrees.

I learn that weaving is real back-breaking work in the first week at the "Vie meilleure" association. Before we can even start weaving, two of us carry the heavy looms out of the storage room in the morning to a location where there is either little wind or little sun on the open plot. Then the long warp threads are stretched, that is, fixed at up to 21 meters from the loom with an iron hook and heavy stones. When this is done, a true Sisyphos job begins. Around 100 threads are to be untangled. I learn that you need a lot of patience for this work. For me as a "Toubabouh Mousso" - white woman - sun protection is also an advantage. Sometimes we stand for several hours in the blazing sun with our backs bent over the cotton strands. The increasingly strong Harmatan, a desert wind from Niger, makes weaving even more difficult. It not only drives through the freshly sorted rows of thread, but also raises a lot of red dust that soils the threads.?

Sore muscles and happiness

When, despite all the adversities, which my colleagues endure stoically and chatting, order is restored to the chaos of threads and the rows of the warp open effortlessly, the big moment arrives around noon: the weaving can begin! While Tensoba sorted the long-stretched threads today, I produced Pandé. For this, a dyed strand of cotton is placed on a rudimentarily soldered-together metal cross and wound onto plastic tubes with a handwheel. Until a skein is unwound, I sit in a rather bent position for about 45 minutes. But then I finally get to the loom. I'm already dreaming of meditative rhythm and harmonious coordination of hand and foot movements. But I am still far from that. After two hours at the loom with maximum use of the strength in my feet, I ask myself how the other women can weave for a whole day.

During the lunch break, everyone puts the pots they brought with them on the sandy ground, and there is water to drink from the tap. We all eat To (maize porridge) with sauces made from leaves, flowers, or okra. The break feels so good after the effort. Some women pray in the small storeroom before eating or lie down on one of the wooden benches after the meal, where the finished cloth panels are also measured out. I am already longing for the end of the day. Tensoba notices that I can't take any more and sits down at the machine for another round. I watch with interest as she reknots and rearranges the torn threads, and as the fabric, the pagne, grows and grows. On the way home, exhausted, I enjoy the warming rays of the sun. Children coming from school greet me and I am very grateful and happy!

In the next post you will learn why my training in weaving ends and how the first collection "Made in Burkina" comes into being.