Most people relax on beaches, catch up on movies, or at least lounge on a couch in their vacations. Not this guy. Mostly, this is endearing. To a point.
We climbed the beautiful mountain which always catches the sun in its descent from the village sky. We call it the mountain of the sentinels, after the giant columns composed of red rocks balanced unlikely like figures stoicly watching over Pellel. Villagers call it after the only person ever knoiwn to have climbed it. They don't know any living person who has. People don't hike here. I lament this with other Americans, but it makes sense for a few reasons. 1) Nature can be cruel here; people get hurt. And it's not like they can call an ambulence for help. 2) No sky-scrapers to provide contrast and appreciation. Only trees and hills and trees and hills... 3) Societies here have their longevity and subsistane on which they pride themselves. America prides itself on its short hisory of discovery, exploration, conquering nature...
Although, there was definitely one person who climbed up to the sentinels. The evidence is a piece of earthenware pottery we found in the caves (which we also didn't know existed). How cool?! MB, I've already decided we're taking you here so you can teach us geoarcheological coolness.
The view was amazing from the top, even though it's not even green season. It was remarkable mostly in its timelessness. River, trees, fields, mud huts. No roads, powerlines, buildings, airplanes, cars... This view could have been one from several centuries ago.
Of course, it wasn't all picture-perfect. As Matt was giddily exploring caves with his headlamp, I stayed at the cave mouths, dodging the bats he disturbed as he yelled, "Incoming!" Two hit him squarely in the face. I could hear my mother and Petie screeching in my imagination.
A rock broke off and sliced Matt's thumb so deep it was reminiscent of my foot cut from May. Unbelievably, we'd forgotten bandaids. So instead we sliced off the hem of one of his sleeves and wrapped up the bloody mess with that. And the adventure was just beginning.
Many of you may remember my long-standing proclaimed fondness for bees. Something about their stripes, stingers, honey, the fact that you can pet bumble bees while they pollinate, and my childhood perception that as long as I didn't flail at them, we'd have an understanding that they wouldn't sting me. I even expressed my positive feelings toward them on this day. And the sister fates heard and were thus tempted.
While clutching at a 60° slide of a mountain side, a heard the first buzz in my ear. I had a hand on a slight pockmark in the hill, the other on a tuft of grass. I couldn't flail even if I wanted to. It stung. Then another. And another. And then I had the mountain slide on one side of me, a plummet below, and a cloud of angry African Killer Bees on my other side. Matt heard my howling and alternatively ran away and told me to run. I ran/ slid, my non-flailing resolve over. They attacked my face, my head, neck, ears, arms, and a stripe of hip that peeked out. I touched my head and felt bee bodies squirming under my hair. I later picked bee carcuses out. I was pulling stingers out the following day.
In the midst of the madness, I dropped my sunglasses. They were literally only two feet away. Easy to pick up. Sunglasses that I love and are hard to get here. I left them. I could not imagine subjecting myself to any more seconds of stinging agony than I needed to.
They found Matt too, in case you were wondering. So there the two of us wailed and ran and swore. I was sobbing some reasoning pleas with the bees that in retrospect seem hilarious, "PLEASE stop! We're not in your territory any more, and we're just trying to leave! Please, please..." At some point I stumbled ahead of M and descaled the mountain without knowing how. I slid and grabbed at things and was quite a cut-up bloody mess by the end. M admitted later he was quite surprised I didn't fall off the mountain. So the killer bees stayed with us for what M estimates was only 5 minutes and what I think was 5 hours. It thoroughly sucked. And hurt into the night and next day. I hate bees. (at least African ones)
The next day, we went to my closest waterfall. It was a beautiful narrow angel staircase of a waterfall. Smooth white trees dripped their roots over the edges in such mystical beauty that it made us think of good spirits reincarnated.
The only adventures we had involve the baby crocodile M found one of the ascending pools (I was napping below and didn't see it) and avoiding a forst fire that swept over a hill we'd just been on. We watched it consume the mountain like lava while we watched safely from the other side of the riverbed and thanked our lucky timing.
We also had a combined 4 flat tires in 3 days. And I'd include my quads on the list of casualties.
All in all, it really was a lovely time. I just feel like now... I could use a vacation!
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Not So Silent Night
If any of you have heard the BBC or other news coverage of my central city-point, Kedougou-- don’t panic..
The truth is, the day I left for vacation, things did get a little hairy. Mostly youth rioted over the fact that with all Kedougou’s mining business boom, it’s unfair that they’re not seeing a penny (or CFA) of it. True. The government down here is some mixture of disorganization, apathy, and corruption in getting Kedougou’s residents the working papers required to become a mining employee. Instead, the already-wealthier Dakar-people or even Guineans and Malians get the jobs. This is unfair, but unfortunately the resistance resorted to pointless and cruel violence. With gasoline, they burned down every government building, the police families’ living quarters; they threatened the doctor’s family and threw bolders in the hospital walls; they burned buildings and threatened Wolofs in general. (Wolofs as an ethnic group are wealthier than the Pulaars who originate in this, the poorest part of the country.) Police reactiojn to this was forceful, with gunfire, Martial’s law, a curfew, extra forces flown in, tank patrol… There were two official deaths, 4 estimated ones. The organizers fled, but several participants have received harsh prison sentences—some even sent to Goree Island.
The other volunteers I left here had to stay in the Peace Corps hoise throughout the gunfire, reviewing escape-by-river strategies. The next day they were ordered to evacuate and have a merry evacuee Christmas.
Now, although no one’s problems are solved, all is quiet again.
The truth is, the day I left for vacation, things did get a little hairy. Mostly youth rioted over the fact that with all Kedougou’s mining business boom, it’s unfair that they’re not seeing a penny (or CFA) of it. True. The government down here is some mixture of disorganization, apathy, and corruption in getting Kedougou’s residents the working papers required to become a mining employee. Instead, the already-wealthier Dakar-people or even Guineans and Malians get the jobs. This is unfair, but unfortunately the resistance resorted to pointless and cruel violence. With gasoline, they burned down every government building, the police families’ living quarters; they threatened the doctor’s family and threw bolders in the hospital walls; they burned buildings and threatened Wolofs in general. (Wolofs as an ethnic group are wealthier than the Pulaars who originate in this, the poorest part of the country.) Police reactiojn to this was forceful, with gunfire, Martial’s law, a curfew, extra forces flown in, tank patrol… There were two official deaths, 4 estimated ones. The organizers fled, but several participants have received harsh prison sentences—some even sent to Goree Island.
The other volunteers I left here had to stay in the Peace Corps hoise throughout the gunfire, reviewing escape-by-river strategies. The next day they were ordered to evacuate and have a merry evacuee Christmas.
Now, although no one’s problems are solved, all is quiet again.
Funny Looks
-A child in the market who, like so many, was clearly toubab-phobic, was placed beside Matt by giggling parents. Matt turned around; she looked up, screamed, and immediately defecated on the ground. i.e. he scared the sh*t out of her.
-Just as I was huffing, puffing, hating the road, with a little eeyore cloud over my head, a biker comes in the opposite direction. He has a bed strapped to his back. Biking up the same hill. Whistling.
-Mariama is back. It’s kind of remarkable. People keep stopping to thank me for her. She’s okay for now, except that thy had to sell all their cows (which are Pulaar savings) for the operation and now she says her children have absolutely nothing to eat—not an ear of corn. Speaking of food… she brought out a small bucket of dough-ish-looking substance. I assumed it was a food and leaned forward to politely accept a bite. Turns out, it was her tumor. In a bucket. (She brought it down so a hospital could analyze it.)
-Just as I was huffing, puffing, hating the road, with a little eeyore cloud over my head, a biker comes in the opposite direction. He has a bed strapped to his back. Biking up the same hill. Whistling.
-Mariama is back. It’s kind of remarkable. People keep stopping to thank me for her. She’s okay for now, except that thy had to sell all their cows (which are Pulaar savings) for the operation and now she says her children have absolutely nothing to eat—not an ear of corn. Speaking of food… she brought out a small bucket of dough-ish-looking substance. I assumed it was a food and leaned forward to politely accept a bite. Turns out, it was her tumor. In a bucket. (She brought it down so a hospital could analyze it.)
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Meeting Adjourned
I've had several meetings at this point for the latrine project and rebuilding the water-tower. You probably can't imagine why "several" meetings and an eternity are really necessary to accomplish these things. That's because this is Senegal. Senegal crawls and talks and repeats and changes its mind and forgets and has three rounds of tea in between each of these steps.
So I go from coloring with Booba and Balla (my best buds who are 5) to summoning the elders and importants and I "run" meetings. They start several hours late at which point I'm already wondering when I could duck out and hoping I won't fall asleep (so far I've only rested my eyes). We gather and eventually they look expectantly at me and I make a little speech: Hello; thank you for coming here today (by this point, tonight); I'm happy to have your input; these are the points I want to discuss; if we work together we can accomplish this... As I listen to myself say this in Pulaar without notes or planning, I'm AMAZED at myself. While I continue talking, I get a little nostalgic for the days when I struggled in my influency.
At this point, Daby, my counterpart, stops me. "Hold on, Hadiatou, let me translate what you just said." Oh. Never mind about the nostalgia then!
I'm still learning about senegalese communication. In the states I don't imagine saying something obvious like, "We should all have water," would be necessary. Here, people nod and "uh-HUH!" at such things as if I solved a problem. Or things like, "Latrines are good for our health... We should make them well so they last a long time," that I throw in as space-fillers-- get the best reception of anything. Much better than painstaking plans and brilliant proposals. A nonsequitor: I love having a "Douche Committee" with a President Douche. (what we call latrines)
My biggest meeting was village-wide, when my APCD came to help us identify our biggest problems and what I could do to help. He said getting people to come to the meeting was always a struggle-- especially if you're not buying lunch (I was not, but I did bring ataaya and kola nuts). We changed the meeting time twice, because of market day and "Fete des Vaches" (Cow Party; which I learned means digging a hole, filling it with water, pounding red bark, and letting your cows eat and drink while you watch them and clear away their poo. It happens 3 times a year to boost the cows' immune systems. Or, if you have money, you could buy the pills.) Then, WE were three hours late because my APCD's lunch was. I still wasn't that worried about our turn-out.
And I didn't need to be! Over 100 people showed, somewhere around 120 including kids. My APCD said it was a bit of a phenomenon. We crowded into a stick-structure classroom, women in the back, and my APCD did his thing from the center with Daby's translations. I mostly took notes and watched those two AMAZING men who go beyond their job descriptions with passion and do SO MUCH. I aspire to be a worthy colleague of theirs.
The problems were no surprises. Over 60 votes for water, then a health post where people could spend the night without having to walk the hour to Dindefelo, then latrines and sanitation, then fixing the road (which I can't do), then better access to malaria meds... There were a couple votes for electricity too and I swear I didn't mean to laugh...
The meeting got good reviews and I felt good about it too. I'd been having a rough time before it with sexism, being treated like santa claus, and an incident that left me in tears. This made it all better. It was awesome for everyone to come, take the meeting seriously, contribute, thank me, and relearn what my role is. I was especially touched when the men thanked my APCD for sending me. They said I live well with them, am always in good spirit (NOT true!), and even though they were unsure about working with a woman, they said they can see now it's just as good. The proof of this, they said, is the great turn-out of the meeting.
It felt so good to hear that! I'd been feeling like it was all I could do not to flip out, not to scream at people and burst into tears (though I supposed I actually DID do all of these things at some point..), to take deep breath after deep breath and keep going. With that much effort just going towards breathing, I was getting down on myself for not being able to handle things more easily so that I could put my effort into helpful projects. So having them compliment my attitude makes it that much easier to maintain it. :o)
So I go from coloring with Booba and Balla (my best buds who are 5) to summoning the elders and importants and I "run" meetings. They start several hours late at which point I'm already wondering when I could duck out and hoping I won't fall asleep (so far I've only rested my eyes). We gather and eventually they look expectantly at me and I make a little speech: Hello; thank you for coming here today (by this point, tonight); I'm happy to have your input; these are the points I want to discuss; if we work together we can accomplish this... As I listen to myself say this in Pulaar without notes or planning, I'm AMAZED at myself. While I continue talking, I get a little nostalgic for the days when I struggled in my influency.
At this point, Daby, my counterpart, stops me. "Hold on, Hadiatou, let me translate what you just said." Oh. Never mind about the nostalgia then!
I'm still learning about senegalese communication. In the states I don't imagine saying something obvious like, "We should all have water," would be necessary. Here, people nod and "uh-HUH!" at such things as if I solved a problem. Or things like, "Latrines are good for our health... We should make them well so they last a long time," that I throw in as space-fillers-- get the best reception of anything. Much better than painstaking plans and brilliant proposals. A nonsequitor: I love having a "Douche Committee" with a President Douche. (what we call latrines)
My biggest meeting was village-wide, when my APCD came to help us identify our biggest problems and what I could do to help. He said getting people to come to the meeting was always a struggle-- especially if you're not buying lunch (I was not, but I did bring ataaya and kola nuts). We changed the meeting time twice, because of market day and "Fete des Vaches" (Cow Party; which I learned means digging a hole, filling it with water, pounding red bark, and letting your cows eat and drink while you watch them and clear away their poo. It happens 3 times a year to boost the cows' immune systems. Or, if you have money, you could buy the pills.) Then, WE were three hours late because my APCD's lunch was. I still wasn't that worried about our turn-out.
And I didn't need to be! Over 100 people showed, somewhere around 120 including kids. My APCD said it was a bit of a phenomenon. We crowded into a stick-structure classroom, women in the back, and my APCD did his thing from the center with Daby's translations. I mostly took notes and watched those two AMAZING men who go beyond their job descriptions with passion and do SO MUCH. I aspire to be a worthy colleague of theirs.
The problems were no surprises. Over 60 votes for water, then a health post where people could spend the night without having to walk the hour to Dindefelo, then latrines and sanitation, then fixing the road (which I can't do), then better access to malaria meds... There were a couple votes for electricity too and I swear I didn't mean to laugh...
The meeting got good reviews and I felt good about it too. I'd been having a rough time before it with sexism, being treated like santa claus, and an incident that left me in tears. This made it all better. It was awesome for everyone to come, take the meeting seriously, contribute, thank me, and relearn what my role is. I was especially touched when the men thanked my APCD for sending me. They said I live well with them, am always in good spirit (NOT true!), and even though they were unsure about working with a woman, they said they can see now it's just as good. The proof of this, they said, is the great turn-out of the meeting.
It felt so good to hear that! I'd been feeling like it was all I could do not to flip out, not to scream at people and burst into tears (though I supposed I actually DID do all of these things at some point..), to take deep breath after deep breath and keep going. With that much effort just going towards breathing, I was getting down on myself for not being able to handle things more easily so that I could put my effort into helpful projects. So having them compliment my attitude makes it that much easier to maintain it. :o)
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Fine thanks/ Peace Only
In high school, during classes of a certain teacher I won't name, Morgen and I took to like-lists (usually starting with "bubbles..." we're all allowed to have our strange obsessions, ok?) and loathing lists. The latter usually began something like this:
Things I Loathe
1. repetition
2. hypocrasy
3. repetition
We were very funny in high school.
Also on that list would be things like "fakeness," "insincere greetings," and "small-talk." I used to actively resist these things refusing for a while to even say, "I'm fine." It's boring and fake, I reasoned. I'd rather hear, "BAD!" (haha, Erin) and at least talk about something real.
Then I came to Senegal. In Senegal, varieties of "how are you/ how is your family" take many minutes. The answer must always be the same, no matter how anyone really is (unless dead). If you're sitting, people will say, "You're sitting!" If you're writing, "you're writing!" All the obvious, all the robotic unoriginality I'd resisted in the States, times 100 here.
My counterpart had her operation. (If you don't remember, she had a lump in her breast at least 4 years old, the size of a softball.) It's taken a ridiculous number of months for this operation to take place. Since June, Mariama and her baby have been waiting in Dakar, which, remember, at 25+ hours away, might as well be America. I wanted to run away from everyone in her family whenever I saw them in this timespan. I felt so guilty for causing her absence, especially when I wasn't sure she'd live to return.
Months ago, I took Mariama's husband up the mountain in the dark, with a flashlight and no real path, and only two bars of service, at best, at the top.
"Hi!"
"No evil there?"
"Peace only."
"No evil with the host family? "
"No evil with the baby?"
"No evil the the people of Dakar?"
"Peace only."
"Peace only."
"Peace only."
"You're body is a little better?" (Same line whenever anyone is sick or hurt with anything)
That's all he had time to say. I watched this caring husband's worried old face. I was incredulous that even now, in the moonlight on top of a mountain, many miles away, and possibly facing death, in a place where phones are still exciting, they still stuck to the script.
Now, Pellel has reseau! (phone service) There are some volunteers or ex-pats who resent such developments. They conclude things like, "But if my village gets a TV, they'll just watch it all the time and we'll lose our amazing conversations... If we get lights, we won't see the stars... If everyone has phones, it won't be the same..." To these people, I say STUFF IT. If you want a quaint cut-off place, join the Amish. I see the merits of billions of stars and the beeper-less you-tube-less life too, but not so much that I wouldn't support my villagers joining up with the rest of the world. If annoying rind-tones and unearthly electronic lights are what it takes to bring someone one step closer to a life in which he/she doesn't have to pick cotton, I'll take it. (Not to mention my own perks-- vent-texting and conversing with AMERICA in my HUT (restraints to find electricity to charge phone notwithstanding.))
Anyway, this means that without climbing a tricky mountain, I could have Mariama's family talk with their estranged mother/ wife/ sister/ co-wife/ friend. They buzzed with anticipation. I listened.
"No evil? No evil with the baby? No evil with your host-family? Your body is a little better?" Seven times. When her smallest kids faltered, with eyes welling up, the others prompted them. "No evil!" they'd whisper. "Now ask if her body is better!"
I couldn't believe it. No, "Oh my god/Allah, I miss you!" or "This thing happened and made me think of you.." or anything like that. I dislike this overextension of the script.
At the same time, in almost every other case, I take comfort in it. It takes time to go through it all, but that way, you're saying more than the words you're saying. You're telling a person they're worth your time, they have value, you recognize their importance. And the words. Peace only, peace only, peace only, you answer. It's like a yoga mantra of zen. Way better than "fine, thanks." And when my head starts to whine, "but it's NOT peace only!," but my voice keeps saying it, I'm forced to recognize that it doesn't have to be a lie. Not to get guru on you, but peace IS a state of mind. It can't always be achieved, say, in a bloody mine-field. But if you're in a place where you have the capacity to say "peace only" over and over, it's probably possible. It's good to remember that.
The "you're writing! You're washing clothes!" stating-the-obvious thing isn't as poignant. But at least it makes life that much easier for the vocab-impaired among us. It makes it easier to start conversations. And, I suppose, it gives worth (worth your voice, thought, time to discuss-- the mundane chores and unvaried activities that rule life here.
It's still hard for me to overcome this odd reservation from childhood which always made me rather say nothing than say something trite. I don't think I'll ever completely chance in this way. But at least I'm learnign how to reexamine all I had dismissed as "trite" before.
Now, how are you?
Things I Loathe
1. repetition
2. hypocrasy
3. repetition
We were very funny in high school.
Also on that list would be things like "fakeness," "insincere greetings," and "small-talk." I used to actively resist these things refusing for a while to even say, "I'm fine." It's boring and fake, I reasoned. I'd rather hear, "BAD!" (haha, Erin) and at least talk about something real.
Then I came to Senegal. In Senegal, varieties of "how are you/ how is your family" take many minutes. The answer must always be the same, no matter how anyone really is (unless dead). If you're sitting, people will say, "You're sitting!" If you're writing, "you're writing!" All the obvious, all the robotic unoriginality I'd resisted in the States, times 100 here.
My counterpart had her operation. (If you don't remember, she had a lump in her breast at least 4 years old, the size of a softball.) It's taken a ridiculous number of months for this operation to take place. Since June, Mariama and her baby have been waiting in Dakar, which, remember, at 25+ hours away, might as well be America. I wanted to run away from everyone in her family whenever I saw them in this timespan. I felt so guilty for causing her absence, especially when I wasn't sure she'd live to return.
Months ago, I took Mariama's husband up the mountain in the dark, with a flashlight and no real path, and only two bars of service, at best, at the top.
"Hi!"
"No evil there?"
"Peace only."
"No evil with the host family? "
"No evil with the baby?"
"No evil the the people of Dakar?"
"Peace only."
"Peace only."
"Peace only."
"You're body is a little better?" (Same line whenever anyone is sick or hurt with anything)
That's all he had time to say. I watched this caring husband's worried old face. I was incredulous that even now, in the moonlight on top of a mountain, many miles away, and possibly facing death, in a place where phones are still exciting, they still stuck to the script.
Now, Pellel has reseau! (phone service) There are some volunteers or ex-pats who resent such developments. They conclude things like, "But if my village gets a TV, they'll just watch it all the time and we'll lose our amazing conversations... If we get lights, we won't see the stars... If everyone has phones, it won't be the same..." To these people, I say STUFF IT. If you want a quaint cut-off place, join the Amish. I see the merits of billions of stars and the beeper-less you-tube-less life too, but not so much that I wouldn't support my villagers joining up with the rest of the world. If annoying rind-tones and unearthly electronic lights are what it takes to bring someone one step closer to a life in which he/she doesn't have to pick cotton, I'll take it. (Not to mention my own perks-- vent-texting and conversing with AMERICA in my HUT (restraints to find electricity to charge phone notwithstanding.))
Anyway, this means that without climbing a tricky mountain, I could have Mariama's family talk with their estranged mother/ wife/ sister/ co-wife/ friend. They buzzed with anticipation. I listened.
"No evil? No evil with the baby? No evil with your host-family? Your body is a little better?" Seven times. When her smallest kids faltered, with eyes welling up, the others prompted them. "No evil!" they'd whisper. "Now ask if her body is better!"
I couldn't believe it. No, "Oh my god/Allah, I miss you!" or "This thing happened and made me think of you.." or anything like that. I dislike this overextension of the script.
At the same time, in almost every other case, I take comfort in it. It takes time to go through it all, but that way, you're saying more than the words you're saying. You're telling a person they're worth your time, they have value, you recognize their importance. And the words. Peace only, peace only, peace only, you answer. It's like a yoga mantra of zen. Way better than "fine, thanks." And when my head starts to whine, "but it's NOT peace only!," but my voice keeps saying it, I'm forced to recognize that it doesn't have to be a lie. Not to get guru on you, but peace IS a state of mind. It can't always be achieved, say, in a bloody mine-field. But if you're in a place where you have the capacity to say "peace only" over and over, it's probably possible. It's good to remember that.
The "you're writing! You're washing clothes!" stating-the-obvious thing isn't as poignant. But at least it makes life that much easier for the vocab-impaired among us. It makes it easier to start conversations. And, I suppose, it gives worth (worth your voice, thought, time to discuss-- the mundane chores and unvaried activities that rule life here.
It's still hard for me to overcome this odd reservation from childhood which always made me rather say nothing than say something trite. I don't think I'll ever completely chance in this way. But at least I'm learnign how to reexamine all I had dismissed as "trite" before.
Now, how are you?
Gains of a Loss: Reflection of an i-Pod Dream
I know I've complained a lot about the "toubab" tourettes phenomenon. But I just don't think any of the folks at home can possibly grasp the magnitude of this annoyance. Let me try to help. Imagine those summer days when your Mormon neighbors' grandkids all visit (nothing against Mormons whom I quite like and think as a group they have commendable work ethic and family values. Point is, lots of kids.) On the first morning, you hear your Mormon neighbors on their inflatable castles (how does a neighbor of YOURS afford an inflatable castle? Must be that work ethic.) And over your morning coffee you find their squeals and shreiks cute and endearing. Then it continues for 2 weeks straight, you've invested in ear plugs, and bought costco advil. Now replace every single utterance they produce with "toubab" or "gimme a present!" ALL directed at you. Take them from the inflatable castle and put them in your yard, peeking in your windows like paparazzi after Britney Spears> Also down the whole street, in your office, the grocery store, the library, the bars... EVERYWHERE. Maybe you used to like kids, like me. Now you have to talk yourself out of running them over. And you still don't know.
This is why I've been starting the bike odyssey back to the village with my discman. It makes me yearn for an i-pod, this indescribable spiritual boost that music brings. I pout for a bit about how other PCVs have a completely different experience with i-pods, computers, close-by internet, electricity, reliable phone-service, food (even rice and vegetables), water pumps or compound wells, village boutiques... or maybe even all of them! So I often feel pathetically sorry for myself. Sorrier for myself, in fact, than for my villagers because they don't even know what they're missing! Then I remember how a song on my discman, a piece of potato, and a call from America can honestly and completely make my day. It's nice to be able to appreciate things without effort and feel sorry for the inflatable castle people who just can't, at least not without straining, "i know I'm lucky compared to most and I KNOW I shouldn't complain, but..."
Anyway, the wonders of a discman in defense of toubab tourrettes. It doesn't exactly block them all out, but to a background of Bad Religion or MB's or Patrick's mixes, they are way easier to ignore and pedal contentedly. What makes me crave an i-pod is the fact that the discman will only work the first 10 k. After that, imagine a road that is the sight of a multitude of accidents: a boulder truck spill, a sand truck spill, a deadly pointy rock truck spill... The discman in all its glory is not so powerful to overcome this terrain.
I'm coming to appreciate this short-coming too. I have enough time to essentially block out the "toubab's." The farther I fo towards my village, the less this is necessary. I'm surprised, every time I surrender the headphones to the bumps, to be thankful I don't have an i-pod. "Gimme!" is replaced by "Greetings!," "Come eat with us!", "The road is hard; take a break!", and "Hadiatou, we've missed you!" Oops. I probably would have missed hearing these if I still had music pumped into my ears. Had I unknowingly ignored anyone? Without an alternative, I chat with fellow travellers, take breaks with sweet-faced strangers, make friends. Better than the soundtrack to rent.
I'll still skip "toubab," but friendly words are music to my ears.
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