sitting at a tchouk stand marché monday again

kabyé swirling lows and highs and “alafias”

some unidentifiable meat chunks sold over here

ear piercing scream as my neighbor shouts her wares "come and get it we dunno what the hell it is but it sure tastes good" (especially with tchouk)

marché mammas with giant steaming vats of the brown bubbling ever-fermenting stuff propped between their great mamma thighs

nothing like a calabash to get your hunger up and your tongue loose

when you sit there with a calabash everything seems alright…”ça va aller” and all that

africa's a pretty damn cool place

so what if development is a distant future memory and i seem to be here pushing people into a something they don't even necessarily want

i'm talking with this old guy about his crops and that's okay

here comes the village folle to greet me and schedule a meeting later

a meeting we both know never happens

but we go through the motions anyway

wandering weaving home the village is happy pleasantly buzzed or ragingly wasted

everyone has done their thing

i see in the lantern light a woman hitching her baby up on her back cinching that pagne cloth so the poor kid's appendages are wrapped tight hidden

just a wondering head protrudes seeing only everything to his mamma's left hand side

cheek plastered against her back eyes wide and questioning - will i always be this uncomfortable?

i slip through the night narrowly avoiding huge roadside ditches (i fell in one once)

the velvety darkness cloaks me...

no not velvet

not harlequin romance

it is a watercolor black night stretched thin across the sky,

gray more than black

bleak deciding whether or not to answer the call of the crickets pleading for more rain

always more

a while ago the ceremonies abounded sacrificing beasts galore (the middle school still stained with blood and goat hair)

imploring the gods, whatever gods

may be (maybe)

we're not picky come harvest time: muslim christian animist

hey dude, whatever we did to piss you off, we're really really sory, but could you just send a little storm our way?

delicately pick your way down the path

not too long now till you reach home

word is the snakes are out in droves

i myself saw two green mambas the other day (those are the ones that kill you in 2.5 seconds just looking at you)

maybe i should be more careful

it occurs to me only now i should have brought a flashlight

arms waving akimbo above my head there's this one mango hanging from the tree just before i enter my courtyard that always gets me

i always clunk my head

not this time buster (we're in constant warfare, that mango and i)

home again home again jiggety jig

(and yes the resident mouse is back again here he is looking you square in the eyes little guy challenging you slinking around the corner suddenly you don't want to ignore him anymore. weevils are already killing your wheat flour. ants invaded that precious peanut butter from home. the pudding packet from becky was swarming the other day. but he won't get at my wawa coffee no sir. it's a showdown, mouse you and me here we go)

voices of your neighbors in crazy constant (somehow) crescendo

lantern light candle light beautiful deep brown eyes glinting waiting asking: how was the marché?

greeting is an art, social demands are more than they seem

each week make the rounds, saluering anyone important in your vie

tough when you're the only yovo development worker and everyone is supposed to be your friend

so let's just say if you don't make the rounds everyone is deeply insulted and jealous and ego soothing is in order

did you ever imagine this would be your job?

aaaahhh yess development work; one half popularity contest the other a test of your endurance to harassment

see how long you can withstand

oh politically correct college grad straight from protest marches and freedom of speech land

see how you weather complete political repression and hopelessness and apathy

let's see

anyway that's where the calabash comes in

your ticket to social inclusion

the secrets of village and another week begins

marché monday again

speaking of nothing in particular

the guy next to you wants to talk to you about something very, very urgent could he just see you a second over here?

yeah, he needs...

a “correspondante” from america.