Have I told you about the time a viper came to my door? That was a pretty interesting afternoon. In a non-related story, Ghislain came to my door Christmas Eve day with the head-forester-guy for the entire Mono-Couffo region, who had brought pythons in bags to be set free “en brusse” near Athieme. I closed up shop, leaving my vanilla tea to go cold, and hopped in the truck to go to the forest outside the next village over. We walked a ways in, accompanied by a couple men from the village council who told us we could set the snakes free there. Unfortunately, the news did not accurately reach the vast population; the women and children were in a riot in the street because they thought we had brought some three hundred snakes, of ... read more

Today I was walking out in the African cornfield with Ghislain, in search of monkeys preparing ears of corn to eat. The combination of the smells of hot vegetation, the corn and grass taller than my head on either side of me, the rustling of the leaves and the feel of the wind on my face that also made my already sweaty t-shirt press up against me, reminded me of home. I told Ghislain that if I closed my eyes, I could see my sisters and brother and dogs with me, all out in the yard, maybe getting ready to play catch or something. Once, Ghislain told me that if I want to, if I really need to see my family, I could go to the States and back in a minutes' time, just by closing ... read more

So… A shot of sodabe and one and a half grand Castels later… I opened my mail. Two very good friends of mine had mailed me a book of selected essays/extracts, picked by famous authors themselves. Does this mean this was the cheapest book at Borders’ that had anything to do with my interests? Well, maybe. But I like to think that no, the book was selected for me with four loving hands (my two friends, not a four handed, orange-snotted monster) in consideration of the habit I have of writing. I wrote to myself, and then even quoted to those friends from my journal: “…they mailed me a “Writers’ Best” book, quoi. I am assuming that means that they think I am a good writer; if that is a proper assumption, I am even ... read more

I have got a good story, especially for those of you who know me. I love my job. I spend most of my time working with a three-year-old non-governmental organization, started by a very ambitious and tree-loving young guy. With him and his ONG (that is NGO in French) I have ridden my bike throughout the countryside meeting women’s groups who keep their villages clean, grafted mango trees, and gathered Teak tree seeds. This is the story: Last Sunday I was with the president of the ONG, who I work with. He had told me that we would be climbing trees to gather the seeds. I was so excited. We rode our bikes with two other guys in the ONG to the trees, laden with seeds. The two other guys scrambled easily up the youngish trees ... read more

Here this is a travel blog, and I write about anything but my travels. Somehow, Sundays are the hardest. Sundays are when I wake up thinking of nothing but home and family and friends, wishing for easy communication, if not those people right bedside me. Sundays are when I go to church and experience the most extreme feelings of homesickness, insignificance, and love. All of these emotions during the two hours of mass, and then some. I am homesick on Sundays because Sundays have such regularity. Sundays are always beautiful, rain, sun, or snow. (Snow? What?) Waking up, reading books, eating pancakes, and smiling are all easy things to do on Sundays. Sundays are church, family, and contentedness. For 22 years I have had that regularity, and on a different continent I keep it that ... read more