Advertisement
Published: October 29th 2005
Let me give you a tour of my home. I will start at my nice new fence. As you walk in, you have to “faire doucement,” and step over the bottom board. I have a big yard; on the east side are green/yellow bushes. On the south side are my compost pile, vegetable garden, and more flowering plants, and another fence door. Through this door I can get to my clothesline and basketball hoop. Against the house are pretty red flowers, and on the other side of the steps are tall, green, leafy plants. There are seven steps up to my porch, a planter on either side of them, each with a pineapple plant. Three doorways and a swallows’ nest greet you at the top of the steps (and a barking dog). I only let you enter the double doors to the left, through which you enter into my large family room, also connected to the dining room. Books, pictures, notebooks, maps, and music cover the tables and walls. To the left, in the dining room, are my kitchens. Yes, kitchens. The first kitchen has my stove and pantry shelf; the second kitchen has a sink. I can send you outside to the backyard (front yard for the crazy man) through the first kitchen, where again you can find the clothesline and basketball hoop, and the servants’ quarters to the left, the well the orphans and other people use, and the carriage house, also known as “home” for the crazy man (who is also Italian, he tells me. “I am American,” I tell him. “Oh, me too, I am American too.” Riiight.)
Back to the dining room. To the right is another doorway that leads to a hallway with more doorways; straight through is a closet, next to that is a toilet I do not use, and the double doors to the right lead to my bedroom. On the other side of the bedroom are double doors that I do not let you through from the front steps. To the left of those doors is the bathroom that I do use. To the right, in the bathroom, is the unused room, that also has a door I obviously do no let you through from the front steps.
That’s my home. There is a lot of dog hair, but tell me, why would I kick my “family” outside? My home also doesn’t catch the best breeze because there aren’t many windows on the north nor south ends, but I keep pretty cool (literally and figuratively).
Also near my home are the best beans and rice lady, the city hall, the post office, and the Catholic Church. Toward the marche is where all the cool kids hang out, and where I go for some coffee and an omelette sandwich. Across the street from the omletterie is a woman who sells beans, rice, etc. One day, as I sat digesting (“Bon digestion!” “Merci.”) my omelette sandwich, the woman gave me agouti and akassa, that is, bush rat and slightly fermented pate. “Merci beaucoup!”, and I ate because it is good and I am polite, but Derique had some too, under the table. (As a side note, the only thing I have not enjoyed was cows’ foot. Correct me if I am wrong, but I think I was mainly eating cartilage.)
From my home, I can walk about 200 yards and get to the river, or I can walk about a mile and get to the river. At the far one, there are always many zemidjan men and taxi men who like to talk about America.
“Yes, there are rivers in America, bigger than this one even. No, no hippos. Yes, big trees! Yes, there are goats. No, no zemidjans, but there are taxis. It’s true that some people in America do not have cars. No, I am not Italian/German/French. I am American.”
It’s just so much fun. That last sentence is to the curiosity seekers who join the conversation late.
I also meet many people on my long walk to the river. I met a young girl named Judichielle (spelling is hopeless, as with pronunciation). “Uh, can I call you Judy?” She nodded yes, and told me she would stop by my home after school on Monday. I met a man walking his pet monkey, who told me I had to call back Derique because his pet was dangerous. I don’t quite understand his line of reasoning, seeing as how there are many loose dogs in Africa, mine being one of the best behaved. Just what was he thinking? I also meet people working. “Bon jour. Ca va?”, I say. “Oui, ca va.” “What are you doing?”, I ask. “Non,” they say. Hm. So, French isn’t everyone’s second language.
I love getting to my village. I take a 15-minute zemi-ride (no problem, I was born with padded bike shorts) from Lokossa, ten minutes of which are on dirt road, with little villages and elephant grass along the way. My favorite is when I have a zippy moto and it’s just dusk; I get to zip along, watching bats fly out from everywhere. (In my romantic mind, zemidjans are like African cowboys!) Whenever I pass close to the water, I search for hippos and birds.
Because food is always easy to talk about, I will let you know that I made some killer macaroni and cheese the other day. This isn’t just any mac ‘n’ cheese, but with onions, garlic, tomatoes, piment, salt, and pepper. Yum! And my peanut butter bread is coming along better and better.
Well fed, well pleased. Also known as fat and happy.
Advertisement
Tot: 0.17s; Tpl: 0.022s; cc: 6; qc: 82; dbt: 0.106s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.2mb
Nancy Jo
non-member comment
Thanks for the tour, i'm very glad you have a compost pile. Now, my other question is do you have a basketball for you basketball hoop? If not, that sucks for you:). Talk to you soon!