Sharp Boogers, or Sharing the Love

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Harmattan has arrived. Harmattan is a wind that blows from the north, from the Sahara desert. The wind carries dust, and it’s the dust that blocks the sunlight and creates “winter” in equatorial West Africa.
To me, Harmattan is as close to winter as I will get for some time still to come. I am colder than I was during the rainy season, and more regularly. I close all the doors and cover with a sheet every night. I sleep all the night through, no dripping sweat to awake me, and I get out of bed slowly, wearing two pagnes and socks, or pants if they’re clean, and heat my water for coffee and a warm bath. And I still shiver, until 10h or so, when the sun has sufficiently heated the porch to be warm on my toes.
Imelda ran away again today, but only to come visit me. I told her about winter in Kansas, how I wear pants, socks, two shirts, hat, and gloves and coat, and go inside to sit next to the fire, or sit on the couch with a blanket. Then I am warm.
“Oh, je vais mourir (I would die),” she says.
No no, you would get used to it. It’s not scary, it’s beautiful. With fresh snow covering the ground and an evergreen on the landscape, you can’t help but be pleased. And if you bundle up and go for a walk to see birds (more easily now, since most of the leaves are gone from the trees), you can be warm and enjoy the snow. Except for your nose, that’s rather always cold.
We were studying pictures to better understand:
“C’est quoi sur les arbres (what’s on the trees?),” she asks.
That’s ice! Snow on the ground, ice on the trees. Rain fell during the night- when the sun goes down, it really is cold- and since it was so cold, the rain turned to ice instantaneously.
“Oh, je vais mourir.”
I look around my world and see winter- the sun is my fire, bath water my ice. Dust, from the Harmattan winds, my snow. Except the West African snow, this Saharan dust, gets everywhere, nostrils, ears, teeth, and all day long. Sweep sweep sweep.
And then I ran out of cooking gas, so I waited at home for the driver to bring back a full bottle. I was too wimpy to bathe without warm water, and too smelly to go out. I stayed at home and worked.
This dust-filled world just welcomed two computers for the primary school Mathurin directs. I have always worked easily enough with computers, but just considered them another machine to help me get my work done, just like everyone else, just like a car or a washing machine. But that is not what a computer is in this primary school. Mathurin is working on these computers every chance he has. He gives himself assignments, such as copying the nearest books’ ISBN/copyright page, or the title page, or the list of warnings from a cell phone manual. As soon as I arrive, the computers turn on if they aren’t already thus, and the questions begin.
“Why does this keep asking me to save?”
“Why won’t this line go away?”
“What does ‘cancel’ do?”
“Do I have to read the printers’ entire installation contract?”
What he loves the most is the Encarta Encyclopedia. Even though the encyclopedia says Athiémé is in Togo, our town is still on the map. So are the flag and the national anthem. And information about Gbehanzin, the Fon king who fought against colonialism. Kansas is in there, too. I can understand why teachers like teaching, for witnessing so much excitement over a resource I kind of took for granted makes me want to find more sources of information and new ways to learn.
I stopped by Mimino’s to visit her, her daughter Fallon, and her little son Zildan, with his big eyes and little butt. She had finished the outfit I had asked her to make, and she did a wonderful job. Her sister-in-law was home too, with my newborn husband, so I chatted Harmattan/winter with her too. Snow? It’s like rain that is already frozen. No, we don’t have Harmattan, but we have winter. Winter is like Harmattan, but cooler, and no dust. Yeah, okay, we can just call winter Harmattan.
At home, my neighbor lady, who lives behind where the crazy man used to live, was in the backyard getting water. She thinks I understand Mina better than I actually do, because she always says the same sentence, now easy to recognize:
If I could speak French, you and I would talk all the time!
After that sentence, I don’t understand much, but she continues nonetheless. She has a little group of children about her always, lounging on my back steps. I sat down with them, trying to get the baby's attention that he kept refusing me. I told the two older boys who are in primary school that we would have to start practicing French more often. And I told them to bring their homework over if they need help. I am on a teaching high. As I went inside to sweep, I heard them repeating the few Mina phrases I had used to help communicate. Usually I am a little annoyed, because people tend to repeat my Mina in thinking that I am cute (I don’t like to be thought of as cute), but his time it was more like the family was pleased to have been able to talk with me. I am not annoyed with that.
So another day down, another evening to enjoy. I finished sweeping as quickly as possible, then cleaned out my nose and sat down with pen and paper to share the love.

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Photos

Imelda's New Glasses
She's a silly one.

Baby Zildo
He does have a little butt. He likes to eat necklaces.

The Family
I call them my favorite family in Athieme. Fallon, with the big eyes, gets really jealous when I play with other kids.

Sisters of Sorts
Sisters, the Beninese kind; that is, blood doesn't matter. We're all just as silly as the next one.