Journal Entry 10.6.2007

Kikira or something that means evening. As I left off this afternoon Ossaman and the Ba brothers with more of the same kids whose names I’ll one day learn too late, played a game of futbol barefoot in the dirt. This was most likely a mistake at the peak of the afternoon with only 12 or so ounces of water in my Nalgene. But it was fun. The course is legitimately sand-dirt with moldy stagnant water lines through the middle from the well nearby. Thicker brush and barbed wire fencing border and narrow the field in the center. One side, or challenger is in the shade, we protect the goal in the sun. I played vigorously so as to stay in the shade. Sports have to be the great equalizer because I finally begin to feel a little better, language and culture always falls away when you’re with kids and a half inflated ball. I scored 2 goals to the shock of myself. These kids were half the size of "A", "M" and I but none of us play futbol every day in the hot/humid sun.
I was drenched with sweat by the end of it, as you can imagine with nothing more than my inflated sense of dignity, which is being stripped away little by little, and a promise to the Peace Corps not to strip naked and lay beneath the water pump begging the children to pump it continuously for the next three days. But instead I went back to my hut and grabbed more water. It took me till dinner time to stop sweating. "A" and I took in the sunset and our clothes were drenched like we just got out of a swimming pool.
Hung out with family after dark. We don’t say much until the kids feel like teaching me something. Today it was counting 1 - 10 or Goho-Sappo and the days of the week. The oldest, Mussa, always sits near me and gently whispers the pronunciations in my ear as the other boys, I imagine more current in school, teach me more outright.
There’s a lightning storm off in the distance. A corner of the sky lights up and flickers like a fly zapper. The men go off to pray and I stay to bathe. I’m glad for this as I do have some privacy, a fenced in, thatch wall where my pit latrine is. So I can hear everyone but no one can see me, I think. I still haven’t had a good stool in about a week. Right now they are more mushy than liquidly but they contain little. I have a feeling I’m backed up due to nerves and a solid rice and bread diet.
Bathing is great. The air cooled down. Every star in the universe was out, more than Caldera can boast, only no Frank to enjoy it with. But instead I stand naked and pour little cups of well water over my head and then scrub myself with soap and this plastic stretchy basket lining stuff. It’s hard to explain, I thought it was to nail up and make a storage hammock out of for food or something, but when used right it scrubs well. My bath water drains out to a crack in the concrete where a tomato plant sits and waits for my bathwater. All’s fair in love and Africa.
Dinner tonight comes and I say I’ll wait for the men and eat with the family. Good move. Turned out to be some weird fish still on the bones and heads and I think if I were in a nice restaurant I might gag but here, crouched on the dirty earth in pitch black surrounded by an eight person family eating their only meat of the day after fasting both food and water, I let my American ness go for a second and I help myself to rice. When the mother offered some fish, it was small and the meat not salty and okay. I had to pick out a few bones, but whatever. Had I not eaten with the family, I would have a whole bony fleshy fish to myself. For the communal, I got off easy. I stuck around till the very end and finished all the rice. The kids walked off and waited. I washed my hands and thank God I was able to refuse to dig in on the carcasses. No meat is wasted. Better for the kids though than me.
I’m going to bed now just wanted to write a little something.