In a move that has sent shockwaves through the diplomatic community and caused a noticeable spike in sales of British bunting, Burkina Faso has officially severed diplomatic ties with France. The landlocked Sahelian nation, whose name translates roughly to 'land of upright people' (or possibly 'place where the wifi is terrible'), has decided that 60 years of post-colonial shenanigans is quite enough, thank you very much. President Ibrahim Traoré, a man who looks like he was sculpted from granite and righteous fury, announced the expulsion of French diplomats and the closure of the French embassy in Ouagadougou, effectively telling Macron and his baguette-wielding entourage to bugger off back to the Île-de-France.
Now, normally, such a seismic shift in global alliances would be met with wringing of hands and tutting from the Foreign Office. But not this time, oh no. Because from the fog of this diplomatic crisis, a very British head has emerged: the cunning, opportunistic, slightly sunburnt bonce of Boris Johnson's successor (though let's be honest, the ghost of Boris still haunts every cabinet meeting). The UK, seeing France's influence evaporate like a bad pint in a heatwave, has spotted a 'strategic opportunity' in the Sahel. Translation: they've realised that where French interests fade, British trade deals can flourish. Expect a flotilla of suits from the Department for International Trade to descend upon Ouagadougou, carrying briefcases full of promises and perhaps a discreet shipment of Plymouth Gin.
The irony is as thick as a bowl of cold porridge. While Britain was busy extricating itself from the European Union's loving but suffocating embrace, France was still playing the role of the colonial headmaster in West Africa, handing out detention and economic strictures. Now, the pupils have rebelled, and Britain is the shifty new kid offering to copy homework for a fee. The Sahel, a region roughly the size of Europe's ego, is a patchwork of instability, jihadist insurgencies, and mineral wealth. And Britain, with the boldness of a man who has had two gins on an empty stomach, is stepping in to 'help.' The official line from Downing Street will no doubt be about 'humanitarian aid,' 'counter-terrorism cooperation,' and 'shared values.' But we all know the real motivation: the chance to sell some British-made tractors, install a few Westminster-style governance models (with extra red tape), and maybe secure a discount on the region's uranium. Because nothing says 'global Britain' like piggybacking on France's foreign policy failures.
The French, of course, are apoplectic. Macron has reportedly gone into a froideur so deep that he's cancelled all baguette deliveries for a week and demanded a recount of the Élysée Palace's crockery. Le Monde is running headlines like 'Trahison!' and 'Londres Profite de Notre Malheur' (which translates to 'London profits from our misery,' a phrase that should be on the side of a tea towel). But the UK's smirk is barely concealed. After all, the last time France got this angry, it was over a rugby match against Wales. And look how that turned out.
Meanwhile, the people of Burkina Faso, who have endured more than their fair share of coups, droughts, and terrorist attacks, are watching this new suitor with cautious eyes. They've learned that the offer of a better deal from a former colonial power is like accepting a drink from a stranger in a bar: it might be complimentary, but you wake up with a headache and an empty wallet. Still, compared to France, Britain at least has the decency to use vowels when pronouncing their country's name. And if the UK plays its cards right, it might just find a new ally in the fight against the Caliphate's goggle-eyed loons. But let's not get carried away. This is the same UK that lost its empire, then lost its way, and now thinks the best way back into the big leagues is to sell arms and luxury goods to anyone with oil or gold. It's a strategy that has worked so well in Saudi Arabia and the UAE, why not the Sahel?
So, raise a glass of warm British gin (with a slice of local lemon) to the new kid on the block in the Sahel. Whether this is a masterstroke of foreign policy or another episode in the tragicomedy of post-Brexit Britain remains to be seen. But one thing is certain: the French are furious, the British are bullish, and the Burkinabé are just trying to get a decent mobile signal. And as this reporter downs his fourth G&T on the flight to Ouagadougou, he can only mutter: vive la différence, even if it tastes suspiciously of quinine and schadenfreude.
