“You and Mali just don’t get along, do you?”
The above would be the question that I have heard the most often in the past few weeks. I wouldn’t say that, necessarily. I might instead say that Mali has a sort of offbeat sense of humor and enjoys mocking me. A dysfunctional relationship, perhaps, but one that’s ultimately based on love (I tell myself).
My recent three-week stint haunting stage houses and skulking in the air conditioning was due to a strange confluence of events that left me looking a little like a leper. It started with a rare Madagascar spider bite (or, you know, a scratch) on my leg that became infected. And while this was the nominal reason that I came in for medical help, it so happened that I got a lesson on cashews the same day.
Cashews are an almost terrifyingly bizarre-looking fruit that has come into season in my village. Everyone around here only eats the fruit attached to the nut, leaving the seed pod that contains those delicious morsels that are so annoyingly expensive in the US. I, of course, confidently told my homologue and his family that, in the US, we cook and eat the nut. Being challenged to make some for them, I dutifully gathered up piles of seeds and took them home.
The first challenge is that it’s just gosh-darned hard to get a cashew from its casing. After spending the morning trying various methods of boiling, pounding, and simply willing the nuts to come out, I called my supervisor, saying “This is going to sound ridiculous, but…” The response? ”Oh yes, that’s very hard.” Well thanks. ”And the outer layers of the casing are toxic.” It was at this point that my tongue started to tingle. I wonder if, if no one had told me they were toxic, my body wouldn’t have cared. Probably.
I went into Kita for medicine for my leg that afternoon and by the next day had a rash creeping along the entirety of my body. Which has resulted in a supremely frustrating three week convalescence. But, there’s nothing like spending an involuntary stint away from site to make you realize how much you miss it. And to help you make resolutions to improve your life and work. So here goes.
The good that is missed:
1. Walking to Hawa’s compound to get water in the afternoons. The sun is always just beginning to set so there’s a soft light over the world, turning dusty brown to purples and oranges. There are generally just a few people there, idly handling a little work, chatting a little, but mostly just enjoying the winding down of the day.
2. Working in the garden. Moro, my homologue who has been looking after my garden, called to say that my lettuce is ready to eat. It’s a little painful to not be able to see it right now.
3. Morning runs. Well, it’s hard to run with a leg swollen to the size of a baseball, but that doesn’t stop you from wanting nothing more than to trot out before the sun comes up to commune with donkeys and cows. Where are they going that early, anyway?
4. The market. Monday afternoons should be devoted to biking to Kassaro, being called by the wrong name, circling the market several times looking for cabbages that aren’t half-eaten by mysterious bugs, settling for one that at least looks edible, collecting your bike from a crotchety old tailor, and biking home, only to pass women headed to the market with perfect, green cabbages. When this doesn’t happen, something is out of whack.
5. The dugutigi. I tend to be fairly impatient with conversations in village, mostly because I’m embarrassed by my Bambara or they come at exactly the most inopportune times (like when I’m clearly trying to bike twenty gallons of water back to my hut without falling over). I could talk to this muttering old man for hours. Or at least greet repeatedly for hours.
6. Dance parties with old women and/or young girls. This should be self explanatory.
The good that will come:
1. Initiate more conversations. Particularly about projects that I’m interested in doing. Because waiting around for someone to tell me they want to start a tree nursery with dry-season planting methods is probably futile.
2. Visit more families. There are people in village that I adore, but whom I only see when they stop by my house. That’s a damn shame.
3. Be better about explaining what the heck I’m doing in the garden. I have a lot of American plants, a compost pile, urine fertilizer, double dug beds, and intercropping that could be really interesting to people if I took the time to tell them about it. And considering how often they’re staring over my fence, that shouldn’t be too difficult.
4. Focus on small indulgences at site. Particularly with hot season now in full swing, I think spending an afternoon on a pedicure or wrapping my head in mint-scented damp towels could go a long way.
5. Eat a lot of mangoes. Perhaps not a resolution, but an inevitability…
6. PREPARE FOR THE DOG. That’s correct. I have a three week old puppy in Kita all picked out and ready to go home with me in a few weeks when he’s old enough. Named Tiberius. He’s fat and fluffy and wonderful. And I may or may not already be saving up to be able to bring him home.
Sidenote information: I recently had the funding approved for my Cereal Bank project! And soon, soon should have a spot online for donations to the Women’s Garden.
Watch my smoke.
Sarah George
Bev Henderson-George
