So we find ourselves at a funeral, which on this continent isn't always the glum sort of get together you'd expect. This one more closely resembles a college kegger than a solemn church service, and a quick scan confirms that Tana’s the only one grieving. Amidst all the drink and dance, we're immediately approached by a well-fed man in coke bottle glasses who is noticeably giddy as he introduces himself. Mamadou might just be the biggest fan of America pop culture I've met here, and there are plenty of contenders to that title. We slouch into a bench as he positions his chair so close that his knees touch ours.

For the first half hour, he proves his mastery of United States geography by systematically listing the 48 contiguous states and whether they're close to Canada or Mexico. Half an hour. Though he hasn't yet left West Africa, he tells us which states are by far the best: Utah, Montana, and Michigan for some reason. I start to make a case for Virginia, but missing nary a beat he launches into another half hour of naming state capitals. He's nonchalantly lecturing us on so many rapid-fire facts that it activates a subconscious anxiety to take notes for the exam later. He then recites his definitive list of greatest Western film titles and the best actors of all time.

Taking home highest honors on Mamadou's list are standard-fare action movie heroes, such as Denzel Washington, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Jackie Chan and the inexplicable odd man out Gregory Peck. Save for the occasional spaghetti western, action movies are the sole genre that survives the trip from Hollywood to Burkina—chick flicks and horror movies are presumably parachuted into the Atlantic. Burkina also draws from the East too: for instance, on a Rakieta bus trip I once watched a Chinese action thriller called So Close where two unwieldy twin sisters throw acid on the faces of businessmen. Not sure why they played it, because I was the only passenger capable of reading the English subtitles. I've considered that perhaps these action movies have such a deep-rooted monopoly here because they're the only genre foisted upon the public by a panel of evil multinational film industry bigwigs. The more likely reason for their appeal, though, is that all the chase scenes, explosions, and near-constant peril strike a chord with a key demographic, the male manual laborer crowd.

The mood never strikes my neighbors to cuddle up with a pillow and unwind to a Nicholas Sparks romance—the base requirements for entertainment are bombshells and bloodshed. And that's why action movie heroes with their machismo and jiu jitsu maneuvers have an exponentially expanding fan base in Burkina that’s mounting as fast as the electric grid let's it. I’m sure if grocery stores could afford to set up camp in Banfora, you’d see nothing but scowling action movie celebrities on magazine covers at checkout. That’s why, according to Mamadou, it was a big no no for Eddie Murphy to sleep with Sylvester Stallone’s wife. Despite his roots, the comedian will be forever shunned by African moviegoers. Whereas this kind of tabloid gossip crops up around water coolers in American offices, African farmers might exchange such news over a canteen break in the shade of a baobab.

I have all the time in the developing world to tell you more on this topic, but I'm told it's boring to go on and on paraphrasing low-budg movies, so Fade out. Cue credits.