In Burkina Faso, the sound of children singing can still be heard in the early morning, echoing down the red earth roads as they walk to school. Their uniforms are simple, their shoes worn, but their voices are clear. For the first time in decades, they are doing so without the burden of school fees. From primary to university, education is now free.
At the local health clinic in Bobo-Dioulasso, a midwife guides a young mother into a modest delivery room. There are no bills handed to her family. No paperwork demanding payment before care. Under a new directive, childbirth in Burkina Faso no longer carries a financial cost. The mother holds her newborn close, knowing she won’t have to choose between medicine and food.
These changes did not arrive quietly. They followed the rise of a young officer whose name is now spoken with growing reverence. Ibrahim Traoré became president in 2022 amid the rubble of political instability and relentless insecurity. But within months, he made clear that his ambitions extended beyond restoring order. He began laying the foundation for what he called national dignity. In that word, many heard an old voice return.
Thomas Sankara had once declared that Burkina Faso could feed itself, heal itself, and educate itself. That it should never beg to be respected. His vision shaped a generation, even as his government was short-lived. After his assassination in 1987, much of his work was undone, his image suppressed, his words erased from textbooks. But they lingered in memory.
Traoré grew up long after Sankara was gone. He did not serve under him. He did not inherit a movement. Yet he understood the power of example. In his speeches, he rarely invokes Sankara directly. But his policies speak a familiar language. Sovereignty. Self-reliance. Service to the people.
Where past leaders spoke of development in future tense, Traoré moved quickly. His government eliminated tuition fees across all public education, not as a campaign promise but as a decision of law. He then expanded free maternal care, ensuring that hospitals and clinics could treat women before, during, and after childbirth without cost. These reforms were announced without spectacle. They were implemented without delay.
In Ouagadougou, students gather at university lecture halls once closed to those who could not afford them. A professor of history stands before a class of first-year students. He reminds them that thirty years ago, this room was only for the privileged. Now, he says, it belongs to the people.
The changes go beyond health and education. Traoré’s administration launched a campaign to equip Burkinabè workers with construction machines to rebuild the country’s roads, employing local engineers and laborers rather than relying on foreign contractors. He has pushed for gold produced in Burkina Faso to serve national interests first, rather than disappearing into opaque international markets. He has spoken openly about economic justice, calling for a new model that centers African priorities rather than foreign expectations.
To many, this sounds like Sankara. But Traoré does not perform nostalgia. His leadership does not mimic style or symbolism. He does not play the guitar. He does not wear the red beret. His revolution is quieter, more procedural, more pragmatic. Yet it reaches the same heart. Dignity through independence. Justice through action.
In villages across the country, young people have begun referring to him simply as “the Captain.” Not because of his military rank, but because they see him steering a nation out of the fog. In Koudougou, a farmer named Issouf holds up a small booklet he received during a literacy campaign. He says it’s the first time he has been able to sign his name without help. He was taught by a young volunteer who left university in Ouaga to teach in the countryside. “The Captain sent them,” he says with pride.
Not all of Burkina Faso’s problems are solved. Security remains a challenge. Infrastructure needs investment. But the direction has changed. For the first time in years, people speak of rebuilding not with despair, but with resolve. The state is no longer an observer. It is present. It is acting.
Sankara once said that revolution is not fought with slogans, but with clear eyes and strong hearts. Traoré has taken this to mean that dignity must be delivered, not promised. Under his leadership, state resources have returned to citizens, not vanished into foreign accounts. Policies are framed not for headlines, but for results.
At a recent ceremony marking the national day of remembrance for Sankara, the president stood silently as a choir of schoolchildren sang an old revolutionary hymn. There were no grand speeches. No fanfare. Just presence. Just respect. It was not a performance. It was a continuation.
In the streets of Ouagadougou, murals of Sankara are now joined by new paintings of Traoré. Sometimes they appear side by side. Sometimes they merge. A single image. A shared ideal. One began the dream. The other is waking it.
Burkina Faso is no longer waiting to be saved. Under Ibrahim Traoré, it is walking again—firmly, quietly, and on its own terms.