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Published: October 24th 2006
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George the Tortoise is Fair Play
I did play softball in Niger, and if you look very closely, you can find George the Tortoise making his way to left center field. He's really big. I know that when I am so hot, so hot that rather than drying off after a bath I just start sweating, rain will come. Sooner or later, rain will fall and my toes will be cold and I will be able to drink coffee or tea at 14h. I know I have to wait, though. I might sweat for a long time, a couple days even, before the world finally cools down. I also know that rain cancels any plans.
I love not needing to wear real clothes for the majority of most days. I get dressed to leave the house, but most other waking moments, aside from those cold and rainy ones, I am wrapped only in my pagne. I love cooking; my most recent success was chili. I cooked the beans over an open fire after church last Sunday and the sun burned me, because all I was wearing was my pagne.
I know the sweet scent of the yellow luceana tree blossoms. I smell those blossoms every day while leaving and entering my home. I know that the gray plantain eaters will spook as I bike beneath the branches, and fly off to settle
Moon over Niger
At the Benin-Niger border. It took a while to get across, but the moon and the riverplain was lovely. in the neem trees in the front yard.
I know without looking that when the wire-tailed swallows begin to fly in and out of their nest in the corner of the veranda, the clock reads 18h20 (give or take a few rays of sunlight). And when night falls, which it does quickly, only an hour has passed since the swallows came home.
I love spending the evening with a book on the front porch, savoring the sweet breezes. When night falls, I love putting on music and cooking dinner. I love eating dinner. I love that I can start dinner by 19h30 and finish with after-dinner coffee while writing in my journal at 22h30. Depending on the quality of the book at the moment, I make it to bed between 23h and 0h30 (that is, thirty minutes past midnite).
I know that Patrice will be at the garden. I know that he knows how busy I am and how lazy I am, and he can tell which part of me is winning at the moment. But I know he is always there, working.
I know the path between the vegetable garden and the tree nursery: from
The Team
The team as we wait for the next game. We lost a lot, but won the party. We had a really good time. the sandy soccer field, I walk my bike past a bean patch and up a small but steep incline. Once on my bike, I feel similar to “Alice in Wonderland” while passing through a field of manioc. The manioc is taller than me on my bike, with stems thick like ropes and leaves with five fingers. At one bend in the path I could look to see Patrice still working, but I keep my head straight to maneuver around the rock-and-tree stump obstacle. From the manioc, I pass into a short palm tree forest. Short = still taller than me, and taller than the manioc. From the short palm trees I enter the tall palm tree forest, where the palm leaves and nuts are harder to reach but the air is always a dark, earthy cool, with birds too quick to be well studied darting from palm frond to palm frond. At one point there is a big ditch in the path, as much fun to ride my bike on as the one in the front yard in Kansas, the one on which I dislocated my thumb while riding my bike. The weeds have nearly choked off the end of the path. At one point my bike is pulled to a complete stop because the vines have caught the pedal. Once free of the overgrowth, I am on open, boring, main-thoroughfare dirt, and have only a kilometer or so before making it home.
I know Imelda likes UNO. We take turns beating each other. I know she slips away from her home duties and homework to play five, six, okay-just-one-more rounds of UNO before slipping back home again. I know we both like winning because we equally enjoy taunting the loser.
I know Guillaume likes cinnamon rolls. He is someone I really like to make smile, which I can do easily by calling him “chef du quartier,” or the chief of the neighborhood. I do nothing in or about my home without first having the “chef” approve. I know, also, that he prefers to study and nap on my front porch, especially when I am not home so that he is sure to not bother me.
I love the smell of fresh cut grass.
I love bathing. Once re-settled and clean, yet not content to just sit at home talking to the dogs, I know I can visit Mathurin for a beer before eating la pate, or I can visit Mimino and her baby son Zildan, whom I love to hold while chatting with his maman before eating la pate.
I know that if someone offers me la pate to eat, I don’t need to worry if there is enough for everyone. There is always enough pate for everyone.
I love and have come to know that if I start talking about what I know and love, I could talk for a long time.
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nancy
non-member comment
just wanted to let you know i read, and i'll try calling soon.:)