Undead Monkey, Boob Sweat, and Calloused Hands Clapping

-saw the Undead Monkey, a celebrity monkey wioth half jaw missing. Really fun to impersonate

-a cab we took in Thiès had a tampon applicator in the basket swinging from the rearview mirror. I don't know what else to say about this. Paul took a picture.


-I feel like I should have more to say on swear-in. Besides that our police escort almost killed a motorcyclist en route and it was very scary, but he "just" had a coma. Anyway, I will have pictures (see wish-list) so you can see how clownish we all look in our senegalese apparel. We were sworn in eith the japanese and korean volunteer groups and they made me miss tae-kwon do and jujitsu. They seem like cool people but I was happy to notice that our language training seems to kick theirs in the booty.

-I've never been so hot before in my life and I feel like that 70 or whatever percent of water in my body is turning into sweat. Fun and inappropriate follow-up: nipples don't sweat! At least mine don't. I know this because when I took a bucket bath the other day, my bra was completely soaked except those two little circles. Attractive, I know, but it doesn't even stop there. I'd say 4 minutes into the bath, a 2-mille note falls on the ground. I'd stuck it in my bra earlier and forgot and it was held up solely by sweat! (I figure the grossness of this story negates the inappropriate factor of web-logging about my boobs. Wouldn't you agree?)

-Have seen many monkeys, baboons, warthogs, scorpions and mimics, and the coolest birds ever. Have also decided that if I ever stop being vegetarian, a freaking rooster will be the first thing on my plate

-The drive to Pellel is like a jeep commercial that won't end. Beware carsick-prone visitors, terms like "roads" are used losely, and not really meant for cars. Or anything. But it was beautiful and as our heavy-loaded Peace Corps van bumped over the vast land, I felt like a micro-machine on a van gogh painting. We took every shuddering dip and divet of the dried mad brush strokes. I got the feeling the land didn't want to be crossed that way. It should be danced across at cool dawn, light as linseed, to the beat of calloused hands clapping, frozen bisap juice running down our bodies like dripping paint... That's how I'll come back. (Sorry for the poetic rant, I guess I miss english?)