I caught the same transport back to site as a bunch of the chief's people. one was his son whose been in spain for the past ten years. brought his kid too, who'd never done the bush thing. the rest of them were back home from bamako, students and stuff, since the teachers are on strike. so I've been chilling at the chief's place mostly, watching the kid suffer through the food and lack of amenities. we went out to the fields and he wouldn't pick up a daba, the little hand hoe they use to pull weeds. once you figure out how the cotton looks different than the other stuff, it's really not that bad. hard on your back after a while, otherwise the work feels good (I know I don't do it everyday). and it's entertaining to watch a black native-speaking African who won't do what the good majority of most black native-speaking Africans have no other choice to do. it's cool that his dad dragged him all the way out here.
I gave up making bricks for my well improvement project. I like the work, but that's why I can't do it. If I keep doing it, they won't. I told them I wasn't going to start work anymore, if they wanted to do work they could get everything going in the morning and I'd come out with them. so I'm just gonna sit for now, and if they don't do anything I'll give all their cement away to the satellite villages who have already shown that they'll work. and I ain't gonna write up schedules or assign tasks or nothing. the ones who'll be doing it can't read or write anyway. I even did all that already and it got shot to hell. puttin shit down on paper doesn't mean anything to them, giving ultimatems seems to be the only fix.
but the ladies... damn. they're all tough and good-hearted and self-sacrificing. not many crazies. I'm generalizing, but they seem to know how to make you happy. they make me happy. they collect fuckloads of shea everyday and stop to talk work everytime I stroll past their places.
I love when the rains come. I raced home from the chief's field against a strong dusty head wind to shut up the house I always leave open. we had just finished up some good tiga degenna and chicken and my shit was all over the concession... bamboo bed, chair, bike, books, toilet paper in the nyegen. oh yeah I use toilet paper now, have been the whole time really, none of that salidaga shit. so when the rains come I screen everything and let the mist drift in. smoke cigs, drink tea, sip on some gin.
the fourth was another manantali shit show. knocked me on my ass. getting out there foreshadowed the madness. left site around 8:00 after running around for a couple of hours trying to get everything I hadn't gotten done in village the night before done. just enough time for tea and porridge breakfast with my host dad, whose finally back from the mines. he's going to senegal soon, always yaalayaalaing, such a player. we broke down in mahina, flat tire on the road to kokofata. they sent the apprentice kid on someone's moto to come back with a fix. we were there for almost five hours, getting rained on and laying around with strangers. I know the town but my buddies are all working. one of them's been trying to keep me there for an extended visit, wants to teach me about islam and the koran and all that. I slept on his bed while the first flares of fever were coming on.
the apprentice kid never came back, the driver ended up fixing the flat with some melted rice sack plastic. on our way to kokofata we ran into the kid who was wheeling the fix all the way back from town, like 5 miles. after that bullshit, we took an unusual detour in the opposite direction of the town I needed to catch a ride to manantali. we waited around for some wedding party to get shoved into our already full bus and they weren't even waiting roadside. we sat there while they finished lunch and the rest of all their bitching and running around. more hours. finally getting to tambaga, which is 35 km from my site, took seven hours. should've just fucking rode my bike and dealt with that. caught a lucky break anyway, another bus with the last wave of volunteers going to the lake. it was a good ride, good company and an appropriate transition into the party. we were fashionably late anyway. the military police took us the rest of the way, from the market to the suburb, in exchange for our tall white woman. then traded in a mad fever for some tequila heat.
next day was 103 degrees inside my body and sweat soaking a bed in a room full of a/c. doc said it was malaria, took meds for it and to help me eat. laid around until I luckily caught pc transport bringing a buddy to bamako for early-termination. they did bloodwork there, all negatives. I don't know man, but everyone sure is nice and I got taken care of real well.
ohhh africa, figured I'd give some more tastes of the road...
