Ouagadougou!

Jacques Anquetil, the famous French cyclist who won the Tour de France 5 times had this advice to give about elite cycling:

To prepare for a race there is nothing better than a good pheasant, some champagne and a woman.
-Jacques Anquetil

Having no pheasant and only wine-in-a-box here, I have decided to forgoe this advice in favour of the advice from the Italian cyclist, Velocio:

"Eat before you are hungry. Drink before you are thirsty. Rest before you are tired. Cover up before you are cold. Peel off before you are hot. Don't drink or smoke on tour. Never ride just to prove yourself."
-Paul de Vivie, aka Velocio

This, it turns out, is quite good advice. I have yet to test the "cover up before you are cold" part, but the rest of it is very practical.

There's nothing like coming home. Fortunately for me, "home" is a fairly broad term and the SIL centre here in Ouaga definitely qualifies as somewhere that I feel at home.

Saying goodbye to my host-friend, the 'doctor', I started towards "home" with a fair bit of vigor. My rear was still protesting, but with only 80km to go, I figured, I should be there by 11:00am. Things were going smoothly, but I was noticing some funny noises coming from my back wheel. I did my best to ignore them, telling myself that I would soon be in Ouaga and would get a complete "tune-up" at a good mechanic in only a few hours. Alas, it was not to be.

When I stopped for some bread, I found that the wheel was no longer true, but quite crooked indeed. On every revolution, it wobbled almost an inch. No wonder pedaling seemed harder today; the wheel had been rubbing against the brakes every single trip around. I rode on to the next bike mechanic I could find, which happened to be a good 10km - the longest stretch of no mechanics in all of Burkina, I think! There, I took off all the baggage and the reason for the noise and wheel trouble became apparent: 3 broken spokes! Dang it. The mechanic's spare spokes weren't the right size for my wheel. I asked him if he could rig me up to make the last 40km into Ouaga. He said, "sure, if you can live without brakes". I assured him that I didn't need brakes that badly since I still had front brakes. He losened off the brakes so my wheel wouldn't bang as it wobbled and said I should be OK to go the rest of the way.
Wasn't THIS bad, but it was ugly!

In the next 10km, 2 more spokes broke and the wheel wobbled so badly, I couldn't keep the bike straight. Just over an hour from the finish and I had to admit defeat. I put out my thumb and started hitch-hiking. Unfortunately, it is harder to get rides, the closer to the city you are because all the incoming cars are already full up.

Eventually, an older Toyota pick-up truck skidded to a stop and backed up. The cab only had bucket seats so I hopped in the back with my bike. It might have been an older model truck, but it was tuned up and the driver had it red-lined almost the whole-time. I wondered if I would die, not being hit by a car, but flying out of the back of one! Against all odds, we made it into the city alive and they dropped me off right in front of the big bike market where I knew there was a good mechanic. It wasn't until I was thanking them that the passenger introduced herself as the Mayor of the area where I had broken down in. The crazy driver was her professional chauffeur. In any case, I thanked them profusely, then wheeled my bike off to get fixed up.

I ordered 36 new spokes for my wheel as well as a few extras to take with me, then I left my bike and all my gear, jumped in a taxi and made it to the Nigerian embassy before noon. Since having obtained a Cameroonian visa, I now qualify for a "Transit visa" for Nigeria. The man in charge of visas is still reluctant, but did allow me to submit everything. Unfortunately, visa days are only on Tuesdays and Thursdays so I need to wait until Tuesday to get mine. Oh well. I guess a little forced rest isn't a bad thing.

By the time I got back from the embassy, my bike was ready to go with a fully rebuilt wheel - cost me $10, parts included!!! He had checked the bike over and gave it a clean bill of health. He even straightened my forks for me which should help a little with the stability of steering which has always been a little crooked! Awesome. It rides better than new!

I stopped on my way "home" to the SIL guest-house for my favourite plate of beans and sorghum. It is super-yummy, but I have only found one woman in this neighborhood who makes it. After a meal and a hair-cut, I arrived at SIL to find out whether or not they had any room for me. They (guards, cleaning ladies, laundry and kitchen staff) were all happy to see me and we had lots of laughs as they tried to imagine biking 450km in 2.5 days. I did get a room and have been resting my tender laurels ever since!!

So what have I learned from this first experience?

1) Wear sunscreen.
2) Even if you drink 6L of water, if you only pee once during the day, you are dehydrated.
3) Don't listen to your butt.

oh my aching butt!!

I awoke in Houndé, excited from the first days' success and ready to go. I packed up, found some rice and beans for breakfast, then jumped on my bike. Ouch. Oh, was my rear ever tender! I guess it has been a while since I spent all day on the seat of a bike! I had hoped to have a second day with around 200kms, but my butt was having a strike.

The other thing I realized early in the morning was that from now on, I would not be forgetting the sun-screen. Although it had been a cool day, I could feel a deep burn on my hands, my knees and my lips. Lesson learned.

I did my best to subdue the arguing buttocks and get moving. The scenery was much less interesting, with the trees thinning out considerably and with a lot more grass. It wasn't ugly - just not stunningly gorgeous as the first day. I guess that is the problems with us humans. We always want something bigger and better. If something doesn't live up to our last experience, then we don't think much of it, no matter how great it may be. Hmmm. I wonder if that is what this trip is about. A bigger and crazier adventure? Perhaps.

In the early afternoon, I was forcing my mind to think about things other than my complaining glutes when all of a sudden, the front tire just went down. I hadn't ridden over anything and there was no bang or his, it just went flat. It was an old tube that had already been patched numerous times and the new hole was in between 2 old patches. I tossed the tube out for a new one and kept going. Later on, I stopped to have a bit of bread in a small village. I asked if there might be a covered well nearby. The people I was chatting with said yes and took me on a 5 minute walk, out past the village, past the school, through a field to an old pump that had obviously not been used for quite some time. We pumped and pumped for over 5 minutes, but the water was still coming out dirty so I politely suggested that I might try the next village. They immediately told me that only 2km up the road was a very good well that is used all the time. It took me longer to walk back to my bike than to bike to the next village where I found children pumping away and beautiful, clean water pouring out!

At 5:00, I had only come 160km, despite having started an hour earlier. My average speed of Mach 0.016 was maintained, but the amount of time that I could will my butt to stay on the seat had significantly diminished! I opted for an early dinner, while passing through a large town, then pushed on to make another 10km before stopping. Had a fantastic wrap of roasted sheep-meat that was nice and tender. The muslim men here cut up the meat into little peices double wrap them in brown paper, and soak them in oil as they slowly roast over a hot grill. It is very juicy and tastes brilliant.

At 6:00, I could see dark clouds forming ahead and I promised myself that I would stop at the next village. Turns out that this was just around the corner, and it didn't come too soon! I stopped to talk with the people who were in front of a little store and pointed out the (obvious) fact that I probably wouldn't arrive in Ouagadougou today. They agreed (since it is still 80km away) and suggested that I talk to the "doctor". Someone took me to the little pharmacy depot at the other end of the village and introduced me to the medical counselor who manages the little stock of medicines. No sooner had I shaken his hand, then the heavens let loose a giant rain-storm that raged for the next hour. We took shelter in the pharmacy, but couldn't talk because the drops were smashing against the tin roof with such noise, all I could do was be thankful for a dry place to sit. Eventually, it eased off and we were able to get to know each other a bit. The 'doctor' offered me a room for the night. Adjacent to the pharmacy store room, It had a single ratan bed with an old air-mattress, a bed-side table and a wall hung with clothes. It was obviously someone's room, but it was unclear whether that someone was away at the moment, or whether they had quickly vacated to make room for me. It would be rude to ask, so I just stated my gratitude for the place to sleep. He brought me a lamp with which I could see the walls were covered with posters of rap stars and football legends - and a pious looking muslim girl praying with images of the Hadj behind her. Interesting mix.

He brought a big bucket of water into his "shower". In the middle of his courtyard, were 4 posts with some hanging cloth forming a wall on each side. Inside the 10 square-foot enclosure is a rock floor and a couple of hooks to hang clothes on. I went in with my flipflop sandals, get undressed and then use a little plastic cup to draw water from the bucket and rince myself off. The cold water felt so refreshing, it brought a smile to my sunburned lips. After a good soaping and scrubbing, I thanked my host and returned to my room. I pulled my sheet, out of my bags and hardly remember spreading it on the bed. The next thing I knew, it was morning!

Off to a great start!

I was fairly worried how my body would cope with the strenuous riding after being so sick, but it was exactly what I needed. It was as if the road had been calling me and I was finally answering, finally where I was supposed to be.

After some last-minute re-arranging to fit the loaf of zuchini bread and a brownie that I stole from Tabitha's fridge, I got on the road about 7:30. I couldn't believe how good it felt to get rolling. It was cool (27C) and although there was lots of people out and about, the road had hardly any traffic.

Not too far along, I came across a beautiful waterfall. I smiled as I thought about the dozens (maybe hundreds) of waterfalls that we stopped to looked at on family vacations. I always say that I don't need to see anymore waterfalls, but then every once in a while, one just stands out as stunning. As I munched on a hunk of zuchini bread, I marveled at how God designed earth to be so beautiful and not just functional.

The "forest" was also very beautiful, but not like any other that I have seen. The odd mix is more like a big conference of independent trees, each finding their own space amongst the almost blindingly green shrubbery and grass. The craggy Accacia, the prolific karité (or shea butter tree which locals use for making oil and soap), the young, broad-leafed teaks have been planted closer to the road and the giant boabab (or upside down tree) towers in the distance. An occasional palm tree looks like a stranger amidst the other, more leafy trees like the near perfect mushroom shape of the mango, the densely foiled avacado, and the stands of skinny white gum trees. It rained on me, keeping the heat to a minimum as I kept the bike moving northward.

I was very happy with my speed, since I was blistering along at Mach 0.016. (20km/hour). Not bad considering how weighed down the bike is. I pushed through to Bobo Dioulasso (85km) for lunch, but was VERY hungry by the time I got there. Had a good meal of beans, rice and veges (cabbage and some type of strange squash). After drinking a litre of rehydration solution in addition to the rest of my water, I got going again.

About 10km down the road, I thought my bike had developed a funny squeak. I spent quite a while listening intently and then watching my chain and pedals and front wheel to see if I could locate the odd noise. I was about to get off and have a look when the funny squeak suddenly rode up beside me and grinned!

My bike was fine, but Amidou, an 18 year old student had been riding just exactly behind me for the past half an hour without saying a word! His old mountain bike only had one working gear and both wheels wobbled considerably, but that didn't stop him from keeping up to me (apparently Mach 0.016 is fairly attainable by other cyclists too). We struck up a conversation and ended up riding with each other for the rest of the day. The squeak didn't bother me in the least, knowing it came from Amidou's chain and not from some part of my bike that was going to fall apart!

He was going to a town called Hounde,
about 105km away, which I considered quite ambitious, but he assured me that we could make it if we kept moving. Stopping only very briefly for water, we pressed on, even though I was getting very tired. About 20km before Houndé, Amidou informed me that he would soon be turning off the road to go directly to his father's fields where he would be helping to tend the crops (beans, peanuts, onions, corn and more). We stopped to take a photo and share the last of the zuchini bread. He thought it was kind of a weird food, but ate it up as only a hungry student can.

I made the last few kms to Houndé without incident and arrived at 5:30pm. 190km on my first day. Much better than I expected. To celebrate, I went in search of a store with a fridge to get myself a cold coke. Together with Tabitha's brownie, it made the perfect end to an awesome day.

feeling better

Thanks for your prayers!

There was a remarkable change yesterday afternoon. My head suddenly cleared and I started to feel in control of my body again. I was weak, but not feeling like I'd been run over by a herd of waterbuffalo.

In the evening, some friends of mine came to Banfora. (Actually, they live here but had gone away for a while and just came home yesterday). It was great to catch up with Brian and Tabitha and their 3 kids, especially since I thought that I might miss them altogether. I ended up staying the night at their house. Originally I planned to leave first thing this morning, but in the end decided to wait one more day to gain some strength and resistance in my body.

I think I should be good to leave tomorrow. Please continue to pray that my body now stays healthy on the voyage to Ouaga. It will probably take 4 days so don't be alarmed if I don't write anything until Sunday. On the otherhand, you never know when you run across an unexpected internet opportunity.

I've been sad that I haven't been able to watch much of the olympics, but what I did see (gold cup football match between Nigeria and Argentina) was heart breaking. It was such a good game and the Nigerians played so well. Oh well.

One of the peculiarities about Banfora is that there is NO public transport here at all. None. No taxis, no motorbikes, or anything. For a city this size (over 70'000 people) it is very strange. Good thing I've got my bike!

"Those who wish to control their own lives and move beyond existence as mere clients and consumers- those people ride a bike."

~ Wolfgang Sachs, For the Love of the Automobile

SICK

Saturday night I went to bed early but didn't sleep well at all. For one, there was a mouse in my room and he was intent on eating my belonging. He had already chewed holes in my notebook, so I put everything that was paper up off the floor. But I could still hear him, so I took my bags and started distributing the things that I thought he might be interested in eating around the room so that I could hear where he was and then be able to take that item of interest and get it out of the way. I even put a couple of things next to the bed and that grabbed my running shoe. If he was eating close to me, I could swat him. To no avail.

In the morning, I found a sizeable hole in my t-shirt! Oh well. But besides the noise of the mouse and the smell of my shoe, the main reason I couldn't sleep was that I was coming down sick. BAD. My head was spinning out of control and I couldn't think straight. I had a fever and was sneezing up a storm. A nasty cold. I'm sure that it is the result of being severely dehydrated and exhausted from the journey. I was exhibiting some symtoms of malaria too, but it didn't quite feel like it. I decided to take the treatment (Arinate) anyways. I don't have time to wait for the cold to go away, then start treating Malaria.

By the end of Sunday, I had already decided to push back my start-date at least one day. Today, I am feeling somewhat better, but definitely lacking in energy and need some more time to recuperate.

I appreciate your prayers.

one long day

I sure am glad to be back in Burkina. There were times I honestly wasn't sure I was gonna make it.

As I said, I got up at 5am to make it to the bus-stop, and things were going relatively smoothly. About 2pm, the bus slowed down suddenly and came to a stop behind a long line of other buses, trucks and private cars. It was the kind of scene you come across when a bridge is out and people are waiting for it to be fixed before crossing. We all got off the bus and started asking what was going on. It turns out that we were only a few kilometres from Bouaké where the Rebel forces are based. Basically all land from here-North is controlled by the rebels. Anyways according to the hundreds of people standing on the side of the road (better to stand in the breeze outside, than sit in the hot, not-moving bus) the rebels have blocked all traffic into the city. No one is getting through - not busses, cars, motorbikes, people on foot; no one.

At first, the people on our bus were just glad for the chance to relieve themselves and stretch their legs, but this quickly gave way to concern as we realized the seriousness of the situation. The line of vehicles was so long that we couldn't see the front of it. I decided to walk down myself and have a look. The line of vehicles stretched out for over 500 metres and when I got to the front vehicle I could see the checkstop up ahead another 500 m away. I was gonna count on the way back, but when I got up over two-dozen busses and 50 private vehicles, I stopped counting. Suffice to say: LOTS.

People were everywhere - it was like a refugee camp. We took shade where-ever we could and settled in. I found a bit of dry ground under a big tree and sat down, content to people watch again. They weren't saying much, which surprised me. One guy was saying - "We're goin' back to Abidjan" and another, "We'll be through soon", but mostly I just read the sad, resigned faces of people who know there is nothing to do but wait. No one seemed to know why, or to care much. This was the painful reality of their country and they could only keep trying to survive.

At first, I didn't see much evidence of rebels, but then every once in a while some soldiers would come down the road yelling away, then make their way back. I call them "soldiers", but they were sauntering more than marching and their "uniform" usually consisted of one article of army issue - either a vest or a beret; a cammo jacket or a pair of black boots - or even an arm-band. Some of them were wearing the traditional Dozo warrior cloth, but most look like they had raided a army surplus store and got to choose one peice each for a party. Most didn't have guns, but were armed with knives and big sticks. I heard things like "We've waited long enough. I've got family that died for this war, and I've fought hard. Now it's time." or... "You people think we're bluffing, but this is serious."

No one new what they were talking about and no one seemed to be taking them seriously so I didn't either. Instead I watched the women spread out their cloths on the pavement and sit in the shade of the bus, beginning to eat whatever it was they had brought or bought, and the men who layed out their prayer mats and bowed to the East as their lips moved fast repeating words and phrases in a language they don't know or understand. Later on, those spicy beans I had for breakfast began to have a party in belly. Actually, I think it was more of a labour strike. They wanted out and they wanted out NOW. Being the good unionist that I am I told them that a solution was on the way and I went back to the bus to get a packet of tissues (Hint: Never travel without them!). Having retrieved some paper, I made my way to a small village that was just off the road a little ahead. I had seen it there earlier, while walking, and now decided I should see about finding myself an outhouse.

As I came in the "main road", I was scanning to see which courtyard might have something to offer. I was looking left when a voice called to me from the right. "Hey whiteman, are you gonna say hello?" I turned, but didn't register what was being said for a second. Then it hit. Oh yes, I know this language. Not French or English, but Anyi. Turns out that the language was actually Baoulé, a language related to Anyi well enough that I could understand most of what was being said. I answered back in a joking Anyi tone, "My name is Kouadio and of course I'm going to say hello. Are you going to offer me a seat?" They were a little shocked, but laughed away.

I told my stomach to be patient for a minute - I was getting close. After all the traditional greetings and news givings and lots of laughter, I cut to the chase and asked if I could use the toilet. The man of the house said yes, then got up and took a bucket of water into the house, asking me to follow him. Now this had me a little worried. Many nicer houses have indoor showering rooms, but few Africans can stand the concept of defecating in the middle of ones house, so even very rich people often have their toilets in a seperate block outside. The anyi word for "shit" which I had just used to politely express my needs is "bié" and the anyi word for shower is "bia", so I thought there might be some confusion : either my prononciation, or from language differences.

Turns out the house must have been built by a European because there was, in fact, a toilet inside (albeit without a seat or a water tank). The beans were happy, I was happy, my host was happy to have been of service, so all was going well. It turns out that my host, a man in his mid 40s and relatively well off used to work for the Mayor of Bouake before the war (2002). He told me that the rebels had the road closed since early in the morning and were on strike, revindicating their payment for the war. They were promised lots of money to fight and now that the war is basically over, they want to be payed. They said no one would pass until their chief came in person to pay them. Their chief has now been given the position of Prime-Minister (2nd in command after the president), so I reckon it was pretty unlikely that he would come. My host just shrugged his shoulders and said "who knows what will happen - all we can do is wait and see."

At around 6pm, there was a sudden rush of people running everywhere with lots of shouting. Apparently SOMETHING had happened and we were going to be going through. Everyone scurried onto the bus which the driver already had revving up waiting for the last person to hop on. As soon as we were there, he took off, passing other busses and cars not yet ready, and speeding towards the barricade. That didn't last long as others got going and soon it was an all-out traffic jam. People were cheering and thanking God and yelling into their cellphones "We're through, we're through". I was a little more pessimistic knowing that we still had to get 5000+ people through a single checkstop all at the same time.

After about 800 metres of deisel fumes and crazy traffic manoueveres, we ground to a halt. I thought to myself, this is gonna be awhile. The motor went off and we all piled out again. By this time it was dark and the road was 3 buses wide with traffic. Again, I walked to the front (not nearly as far now) and had a look. There were lots more "soldiers" now, and many of them sporting a near full uniform. They were guarding the line and vowing that no one should cross. "The line", it turns out, is just a make-shift barrier made from branches. The real barricade is 5km away at the entrance to Bouaké. We were all sandwiched in now so there was no turning back. Once again, people spread out, finding ways to relax. One guy had a portable TV with a screen of about 3 inches. He took the headlight out of his truck, used the wires to hook up to the battery nodes and proceeded to get reception for "Marianne" the most famous soap opera in the country. A small crowd formed to watch while other groups just sat down and chatted. By this time all the food and water was gone. "Surely they wouldn't keep us here all night" queried a Lebanese buisnesman driving a truck full of cosmetic supplies. I had to admit, I didn't think we were gonna get to go through.

But what do you know; about 8pm, a big group of rebels came marching down the hill from Bouaké and within minutes we were back in our bus whizzing in and out of traffic at 7 km/hour. First gear whined like a sick dog while the driver pushed it around slower moving vehicles, using the entirety of the roadway to his advantage. This lasted for most of an hour as we made the distance with eyes and throats stinging from the deisel fumes. The real barricade didn't take that long to cross once we got there. They weren't checking papers or requiring money, so it was just the pushing of 3 and a half lanes of traffic into one that slowed us down. I still don't know what happened, but I'm glad we got through. Again, people hooted and shouted victory into their cell phones, but when we got to the other side of Bouake, the gates to leave were still firmly closed. The rebels there had heard by phone, but refused to open till someone came in person. I think that means that they were waiting until actual cash arrived. Anyways, at around 11pm, the same group of soldiers marched up and opened the gates. Another traffic jam ensued, but by midnight we were on open road. I made it to Korhogo by 3:30 and to Fereke (near the border) by 5:30am (a little later than the 6pm that I had hoped for) but I was glad to have made it. I layed down on a sack of peanuts to sleep for about an hour and then got up to find a way to get across the border and into Banfora. But that, as they say, is another story.

of keyboards and traveling salesmen

Greetings from Banfora!

First, I have to say that the French keyboard is TERRIBLE! I am in a cyber cafe and it is driving me nuts! I have used it before, but have never liked it. Sometimes I think it was designed by accident and some times I think they did it on purpose so that people would suffer as they typed. Seriously. One can SMS easier than using this silly layout where common letters like "a" are a pinky-stretch away while the "q" and "z" enjoy positions of prominence. The period which one uses at the end of EVERY sentence requires a shift key, while the excamation mark is readily available! The numbers all rquire a shift-key, but the other symbols ( &, _, <, :, (,),*, etc.) can be typed directly. The @ symbol requires using the right handside ALT key and the zero (try it), meaning both hands have to be on the right hand side of the keyboard at the same time! I'm sure with time you can get good at typing with this configuration, but it is just not layed out for maximum ease. Maybe hand gymnastics is a real sport in France and people type to get good at it. I LOVE the French-Canadian keyboard on my laptop with which I can type both english and french and both at very high speeds, with almost no strange stretches. Too bad I couldn't use that in Cyber-cafés!

OK - enough ranting and on to other things.

I got up at 5am to leave the SIL guesthouse, but had stayed up late the night before so was knackered to begin with. The day started off great with a meal of beans and french bread just outside the bus-station. The sauce that she put on it was very hot (read spicy), but it did taste very good. I was enjoying sitting and people-watching, so when I finished, I bought a notebook and sat down to observe and write about the people I saw.

Of course, I should have known that this wouldn't last long. I was writing about an older gentleman sitting near me. He was wearing an old, slightly stained suit that was not quite as bright as the one the guy wears in Curious George, but maybe it was at one time. He was sporting a white Muslim prayer cap and a wide smile as he interacted with the people around him. After about 2 minutes our eyes crossed and I nodded respect. So much for writing. We started chatting and didn't really stop until I got on the bus! He wasn't traveling, but was seeing off his daughter - a woman of about 40 who had in tow a gigantic amount of cargo that she was taking up North for commerce of some kind. She was expansive as her luggage and I hoped (read prayed fervently) that I wouldn't be in the seat next to her. The old man was full of advice and enormously friendly. Usually I am a little weary of enormously friendly people because after 20 minutes of unsolicited friendship, they consider themselves worthy of being brought to Canada for a taste of the good-life. Not so with "Papa", he just likes to chat - and it is thoroughly enjoyable.

The trip started pretty smoothly. I tried to write some more on the bus, but it was pretty bumpy and cramped. The seats were actually reasonably sized and I felt fortunate that I didn't have to sit next to the daughter of the man in the yellow suit, but there was just a lot of "extras". By extras, I mean the things that get brought onto the bus under the pretext of carry-on hand baggage. The luggage racks in these 2nd hand European coaches are quite small and fill up within moments, meaning that the extras go under your seat, under your feet, on your lap, on your neighbor's lap, in the aisle, and generally anywhere that you can get away with. Any african voyage involves extras, but going into the rebel zone where transport is difficult and all cargo is heavily taxed means that people try to bring as much as possible to help out their family, friends and neighbors.

This day, when I boarded, there was a woman in my seat. I don't THINK that she was an extra. I think she was there just to help the old woman sitting in the seat next to mine to get in all of her extras in place. There were already volumous bags under the seat in front of mine (where my feet should go) and I'm glad to have arrived when I did to stem the spreading factor. The rest of the old-lady's stuff got stowed between the front seat and the handrail. The young man across from me was transporting Palm oil. He had a 10 litre jug at his feet and another 40 litres in the cargo bay underneath. Lucky for me, the bus company stopped him from bringing that on as extras. I didn't see them, but further back in the bus I could hear chickens and goats flopping around on the ground, and was very thankful to be sitting near the front and next to an open window! One lady in front of me had a year old boy as her extra baggage. Her 12 year old and 10 year old shared the seat next to her while the young boy slept on a peice of cloth layed out between her feet. Everyone coming on or off had to step carefully over him, but I never heard one word of complaint. In fact, no one complains about extras at all, because everyone knows that your just trying to survive and make it in a tough world. They would (and maybe will) do the same.

Traveling by public transport is very cheap for me, but not so for people who earn less than a percent of what I do in a given day. So they make the most of it and that means that all travel is also business. Buying, selling and networking are all part of a given trip and here, traveling salesmen have a large part to play. There are 2 kinds of traveling salesmen. Those who stay put and service the people traveling and those who actual travel with the travelers.

As our bus pulled out of the station, one of the first kind hopped on board. He walked down the aisle with a box of perfume bottles in one hand and an open bottle in the other. He dabbed people's unsuspecting hands or arms as he walked, calling out "One dollar a bottle get it quick." When he got to the back, he put the sample bottle away and walked back to the front of the bus filling orders - some for personal use, some for arrival gifts and some for resale in the rebel zone. By the time the bus made it out of the neighborhood, he got down with an empty box!

The real entertainment for the morning, however, was a young, traveling salesman wearing designer jeans and a pinstripe suit-jacket pulled tight over a tired old dress-shirt. He got on just as the perfume guy got off and began adressing the bus (in a very loud voice) like this:

"Excuse me!! I have a problem! Yes! I have a problem and YOU can help! Where I come from, greetings are very important and if you greet someone and they don't respond well, it is a curse for you. Yes! It's true - please listen carefully. Very soon I'm going to greet you all, so I'm pleading with you all to respond loudly and with enthusiasm. I will give a valuable prize to the one who responds the best."

He then went on to explain, while walking up and down the aisle, the benefits of Aloe Vera and the pills, injections, salve, soap and drink-mix that he was selling. Didn't know that aloe-vera can cure the common cold, syphillus and arthritis? It's always worth a listen to hear the kinds of yarns that get spun. He actually sold quite a number of these aloe products over the course of an hour and a half. The funny part was that every time we neared a police checkstop, the bus driver would whistle. The salesman would duck down between the seats, then continue without skipping a beat once we had passed. He hopped off the bus in another city down the track with his box of product still half full. I didn't feel bad for him, he'll catch another bus on it's way back to Abidjan and sell the rest on the way back.

Of course these salesman only increase the number of extras on the bus. (The old woman next to me increased her pile of stuff significantly with a box of aloe vera soap, a bag of grapefruit, and a walking cane before we arrived). But at least they keep your mind off the extras blocking your leg-room and provide a better smelling aroma than is coming from the goats at the back of the bus!

Connect the dots...

Ok- new contest!

Can you name the cities that I have placed on the map? Prize for the winner.

It's kind of funny how plans change and evolve. Last year in Ouagadougou, I bought an old 10-speed to help me get around the city. Then on weekends, I started doing some day trips out on the highway and found them to be really good. So then I started taking over-night trips to see what it would be like if I ever got around to doing my dream of cycle-touring in Africa.

At the end of last year's session I had a heap of problems getting to my flight in Accra and I thought to myself, too bad I didn't leave myself a few more days of time - I would just ride my bike. Hmmmm... The wheels started turning and I decided that this year, after the course, I would ride from Ouaga to Accra.

Just before coming here, some things changed and suddenly I don't have as many responsibilities to come back for. So I have some free time after the course... "Hmmmm.... Maybe I could do a longer bike-trip". I didn't really have time to think it all through before leaving, but decided that I should stay a while longer to do some real cycle-touring. All my spare time in Ouagadougou was used looking at maps and talking with people. A plan started to formulate...

I will start riding in Southern Burkina around the 24th of August and hopefully make it to Northern Cameroon around the end of September. The capital of Cameroon will be some time after that. I have two major obstacles: visas for Nigeria and Cameroon. I picked up my passport from the Cameroonian embassy about an hour ago and that is all set. Now, when I return to Ouagadougou, I will use the Cameroonian visa as proof that I plan on leaving Nigeria, thus qualifying for a 2-week transit visa. Embassies, can be very complicated, it turns out!

Well, there you have it. "The Plan" in a nutshell. Of course, plans are subject to change and I have no idea what will actually happen. I will try and keep this post updated as often as possible.

People ask me "Why?" I never know what to say. There are so many reasons. For me, this is a dream come true. Since cycling across Canada in 1996, I have been dreaming of the much more challenging idea of touring Africa. For me riding is ultimate freedom - the place where I can really clear my head - really pray - really feel the joy of blood pumping through my veins. Being out in the middle of nowhere, I can sing at the top of my lungs or sprint as fast as I can, or just coast along with the breeze in my hair and sun on my face.

To couple this deep enjoyment with another thing that I love (exploring new things, people and places), is pure brilliance. Cycling is the best way to travel because I have time to really see what is around me, to taste and smell and be part of where I am. Meeting others along the way makes it all the better.

And this is where my other two loves meet my love for Africa. I plan to stay in people's homes as much as possible on the way. Hospitality is the only thing that some of these people have. I will not snub it in order to be independent. The money I would spend on a hotel can be used buy a creative gift for a lacking family. I pray for wisdom to choose hosts wisely and to know how to be a blessing to them.

Get a bicycle. You will not regret it if you live. ~Mark Twain, "Taming the Bicycle"

no visa for bicycles!

After waiting for an hour to see the visa guy. That is what I was told. Can't do it. Sorry. (Actually, there was no sorry - just can't do it). Plane ticket only. Hmmmm...

So lets just get this straight. I just traveled over 1500km to get to your embassy which is the only one in the entire region and NOW you're gonna refuse to issue a visa. Forget it. I didn't move until he offered a solution. Eventually he said that I could give him an official flight reservation. Within 20 minutes I was back and had it sorted.

When it was time to pay the visa fee and had the nerve to ask for his "champagne" - indicating that I should give him a tip/bribe (depending on how you look at it) for being so helpful. HA!!!!

Makes me so angry/sad. On the way down here, our bus was pulled over numerous times for passenger bribes (this was on the government side, not the rebel-side). It works like this: The policeman asks to see everyone's papers. If he decides he doesn't like your papers, he doesn't give them back and walks away. Everyone who's passports and identity cards, etc have just left, must get out and follow the policeman around the corner. There he decides how much you have to pay to get your paper's back. They really don't care much about the southern Ivorians as long as they have some form of paperwork, but northerners or people from other countries usually have to get out at every stop (every 50km or so).

Most of the time they leave me alone, but just outside of Yamasoukro, a young soldier told me to get out. I asked if there was a problem and he replied very tersely - "I told you to get out". I did, along with the 6 or 7 others who had been paying regularly to get through. He flipped through the passport, looked at last year's visa and decided that it was OK - he didn't even notice that it expired 9 months ago and that I have a new visa on a later page. He gave me my passport back and then started talking to the others. I just stayed with the group but after a minute, he saw that I was still there and got mad. "Do I have your passport, what are you doing here?" I replied with an edge of cynicism, "You told me to get out".

"Do I have your passport?" "You told me to get out." This went on for a while, all while we were walking towards the police booth where the bribing actually takes place. I said with increasing volume and annoyance: What is the problem? What don't you want me to see? I don't like things that are hidden. It's not good.

He told me I'd better go get in the car or else. At that point I stopped walking, but switched to Anyi and started insulting him in Anyi. By this point I was so mad, I was yelling. He didn't understand but I know some of his colleagues could. They were laughing. Anyways I went and got back in the car. They still had to pay to get their passports, but at least the Burkinabe girl who had been in the bus with me since Ouagadougou, who had a real passport with a paid visa and an entry stamp was able to escape from this one. I doubt it was due to my insults, but sometimes I just loose at these guys who are ruining their own country for their own profit.

Sorry for the tangent. Back to today, the Cameroonian embassy man hinted (not very subtly, I must say) that he could probably get my visa pushed through today (what I was really hoping for) if I could find an appropriately sized gift. Subsequently, I am going back tomorrow to get my visa. :(

When I got back from downtown, I went directly into a meeting of the Mbato language group who had gathered together to discuss how to develop their own language which they recognize, is in the process of disappearing. They were already talking about the details of what letters need to be included in the alphabet and were doing well. It just so happens that a French linguist who had worked on a neighboring language was in town and he had come to help too. This was great since he had lots of good examples and was able to help them find patterns very quickly. I was able to compliment this with the non-linguistic reasons for choosing different symbols for their alphabet and encourage them to find ways to involve lots of other people before making too many choices. I gave them the background essential information of what they need to know before starting a literacy in their language as well as give them some ideas of how to get started. The meeting was very encouraging. They are very motivated and will be holding a planning session next Wednesday to decide how to move forwards. It is always exciting to be involved in the very beginnings of a movement. The potential is just beginning to build and it is great to see.

Had fried plantain banana for dinner. Mmmmmm.... Can't get it like this anywhere else in the world! Awesome.

D'oh!

A couple of weeks ago, I posted on "the story of my life". I had gone to the far side of town to get a visa and remembered everything EXCEPT my passport photos.

This is just one of many examples when I feel like slapping my forehead and exclaiming D'oh! like Homer Simpson. Somtimes the simplicity of my own brain surprises. How could I have done that? Why didn't I think of this earlier? etc. etc.

I had another one of those moments about half-way through my bus-trip down here. I had been pondering the annoying timing of things (leaving Ouaga before I was completely ready, spending too much time in expensive Abidjan, Brian and Tabitha might not be in Banfora when I get back, etc etc,). Then, it suddenly occurred to me, as I was jostling (OK bone-jarring) along, that a much better solution would have been to visit Brian and Tabitha on the way down, spending the weekend with them, then arriving in Abidjan during the week so not having to pay for the guest house on Sat or Sun, and then starting my bike trip immediately upon return to Banfora. Perfect solution! Except I was already half-way to Abidjan. Arrrgh.

I thought to myself... self... how can you be so stupid to miss such an obvious solution? Then I started thinking... this happens to me a lot, but in the end, it usually ends up well. How is that? Sometimes I feel like the bumbling detective who does everything wrong and somehow thwarts the bad-guy coming out victorious, no thanks to his real prowess. As I thought back over the events of the past few weeks, I realized that there is great truth to the statement that God works in our weakness.

As it turns out, not having got my visa that particular day was a good thing because otherwise it would have expired before I finished needing it. God was looking out for me. Another example happened only a couple of days ago when I was supposed to send my bike to Banfora with a friend, but left it at the mechanic's too long and when I went to pick it up, found the shop locked up. It turns out that when I picked up the bike the next day, I was able to make some important last-minute adjustments that wouldn't have been done if I had gone in time to send it with my friend. Thanks, God for saving my butt on that one. Come to think of it I can list about a dozen such instances where a stupid act on my part turned out to be really useful.

Basically it comes down to this. I can't take credit for squat because I just forget things and make stupid decisions, etc. God is the one that makes things work out. And that is the truth. Nothin' I have done can be credited to me.

So, I started thinking... why is it that God might be wanting to do through my stupidity this time? Well, today at church, I ran into an old friend, Laurel, from University in BC. She now works in Mali and comes down to help in Abidjan every once in a while. She told me that she is having a big meeting with a language commitee tomorrow, but feels over her head since she mostly does library and computer work, not linguistic or literacy stuff. The meeting is to help advise the people of a certain language how to move ahead in developing their orthography (that is a fancy word for the writing system of a language which includes the alphabet, the spelling rules and grammar choices. It is a highly delicate subject that takes into account a whole mountain of different factors, of which "readability" rates very high. I have studied this a lot, worked on the problem when I was doing Anyi literacy, and taught the subject in courses, so I had lots of advice for Laurel. After about 2 minutes, she cut me off and invited me to be a guest at the meeting.

A-ha. It is all becoming clear now. God wanted me here on Monday morning for a reason. I have no idea what the meeting will be like or who will be there, but I am praying that I will be able to provide wisdom. May He accomplish good things through my weakness.

travel plans

Well, the bike is almost all loaded up. I am going to ride it to the bus-station and then send it on it's way to Banfora before I get on the bus to Abidjan.

I'm leaving my computer in Ouaga so it'll be internet cafés for the next week or two. I'm missing my computer already.

And on to the next thing...

Since the course is over, and nearly all the participants and staff have left already, I thought I would celebrate with some of my other friends here. I taught an American, Swiss and Cameroonian how to play up and down the river! Tons of laughs and a meal of delicious peanut sauce and rice. Swiss chocolate for desert was perfect!

This morning, I wrapped up the last of my staff responsibilities and have spent the rest of the day getting ready to go. The first part of my trip will be by bus. I am headed to Abidjan (Cote d'Ivoire) to get a visa for Cameroon, where I hope to end up later on. Unfortunately, Abidjan (a 20-hour bus-ride) is the only city near here with a Cameroonian embassy!

I have a bus-ticket for tomorrow night at 11:00. It goes all night, then I change buses at 6am and head into Cote d'Ivoire. I should arrive in Bouaké in the early afternoon and hopefully get to Abidjan before dark. Bus trips are long, hot, dusty, cramped, bone-jarring, and smelly (no one showers for 20 hours of continuous sweating, not to mention the chickens and goats that might be in the bus with us). It is the perfect chance to do some prime-time people watching.

You can learn a lot by observing people on the bus. Several layers of society can all be on the bus, intermingled together and it is intriguing to see how they interact. The entertainment comes part way into day 2 when everyone is tired but too uncomfortable to sleep and the one and only cassette tape (invariably reggae) is worn out. Almost without fail, one or two people will nominate themselves to be entertainment. They will pick a "fight" with another person or make some rediculous comment in a loud voice. The ensuing dialogue becomes something that the entire bus can participate in; people yelling their thoughts from many rows away. There is usually no "winner" person with the most wit in his arguement is considered the hero for engaging the others and brining laughter which eases everyone's discomfort. I used to think that tempers were flaring, but with time have come to learn that it is a deliberate strategy to pass time. I can't always follow the exact dialogue - it depends on what language they are using, but I always enjoy the antics.

It will probably take me 2 or 3 days to get my visa in Abidjan so I considered heading up to Abengourou to visit all my dear friends there. But I was there for a week last year and came nowhere close to seeing everyone that I should have seen. With only a couple of days, I don't know how I could do any justice, and I hate writing letters to explain that "I came to Abengourou but didn't have time to visit you, sorry."

When I have my visa, I will head back to Burkina, but stopping in the town of Banfora (close to the Ivorian border). There, I will spend a couple of days with friends before mounting my bicyle and heading off on the first leg of my journey: back to Ouagadougou.

Well, that is my plan for the next week or so. I should be able to update regularly during this period.

ps- this is the water-bottle holder that I designed with some friends that I made at the local welding shop. They are a group of handicapped (polio mostly) people who got funding to get tools and training to open a workshop. They did a fantastic job making this for me!

photos...

Not much to say, I've just been doing office work all day.
















The participants did a marvelous job with their presentations. I was really proud of them and the work that they did to put what they learned into practice.



















I just did a bit of math, and between the 24 participants at our course, they are responsible for over 41'000 literacy students in the year 2007 alone!!!!!! This does not take into account the thousands of teachers and supervisors that they train and oversee, or the hundreds of government officials, church or mosque leaders, NGOs, traditional chiefs and other influential people that they directly impact.



















Notice the difference between the 2 roads (one in front of the President's house, and the other in front of the market near where we are staying.

Extraordinary women

OK - my Facebook rant is over. Sorry to all those people I offended. Well... not that sorry, really.

Rahilla and Guilaine are the only 2 female participants in this course. I really wish that there were more, but it is rare to find an African woman educated enough to take a university -level course. Especially one who has dedicated their life to helping others read.

These two ladies are room-mates and soul-mates. Rahilla is from Niger and Guilaine from Congo - worlds apart in many respects, but they are inseperable, here. Both are extremely strong-willed, extraverted, dynamic personalities that hold their own amongst the men. They both have several children and are anxious to see their families again after 4 weeks away. But what really impresses me about these women is their utter devotion to helping their people read.

Rahilla had it good. She was hired by an NGO to head up the literacy component of their larger work in Niger. Last year, she came to the course with lots of experience, but almost no formal training in education or literacy. She ate up everything we could give her and was so encouraged to understand the deeper concerns, rather than just surface-level management. But when funding dried up earlier this year, her employer informed her that she would be let go and the project dropped. She was devestated, but not dettered. Using her severance-pay to come to this course, (the fairly significant cost is normally shouldered by the sending or sponsoring organisation) she is determined to find a way to learn and practice everything she can.

Guilaine found out about literacy in her own language just a few months before serious fighting broke out (not sure which time) in Congo. The expatriate group who was in charge of this project had to pull out. When she heard that the project would be shut down, she went and pleaded with them to stay. That didn't work, so she made an appointment to plead her case with the director of the organisation. She was told that the decision had already been made, but that did not deter her from pushing for a solution. She told them that if they were going to go, the least they could do would be to leave her the materials so that she could carry on the work. Reluctantly, (it takes a lot of trust to hand over the reigns to someone you hardly know) they agreed, and she has been organizing literacy throughout the region ever since. She loves her language, and we all love to say it. "Munukutumba" is just a fun word to say. Not quite, but almost as fun as Ouagadougou.

Facebook is the devil...

Listening to "Flight of the Conchords".

(Makes me smile every time!)

Ok, so I got sucked into joining Facebook so that I could look at the photos of some friends and of my baby nephew. The reason that I've been avoiding it for years is now confirmed: It's a royal waste of time! Wow.

Not only do I get useless updates like "Bill is going to brush his teeth", but I get an email notifying me that someone has written a note on my wall and I have to go online to look it up and then respond to it, which in turn will send an email to them to notify them that I have written on their wall. Why didn't you just email me in the first place?!!

But the bigger problem comes when I try to upload photos. After several failed attempts, I search online and find that there is a conflict between Facebook and Firefox and that I need to download an IE adapter. In order to do this, I have to download a newer version of Firefox. Great, except that now all the bits and peices like the Google search bar need updates, installations and the uninstalling of the old ones. Still no good, so I try and actually use Microsoft IE to do it. First I have to install ActiveX. OK. FINALLY... It gives me a dialog box that says "upload has failed, please try again". ARrrrg. Explain to me why this is such a phenomenon...

Fortunately the day has been productive with other things for finishing up the course. It seems surreal that we are done already. The time has flown by. I am currently putting the finishing touches on a powerpoint slideshow with contributed photos from all the participants and staff, telling the story of the course to music.

I'm really wishing that Burkinabé TV would show some of the Olympics. We only get one channel here and there isn't much to work with. They showed aobut 45 seconds of the opening ceremony on the news last night. I guess when your country is as poor as this one, you don't go around splashing millions to buy TV rights to airtime for that 1% of your population who own TVs. Still, I miss it.

The good thing that happened today is that Nicki and James finally won a City Chase event!!!! Yeah! They're going to Newfoundland for the National Championships! They stand a pretty good chance. Last year Nicki and partner Jen came 3rd. James and his old partner won and also won at World's. AWESOME.

http://www.mitsubishicitychase.com/championships.asp?nav=champ

The light at the end of the tunnel...

Not that this has been a tunnel, by any stretch of the imagination, but, like the rest of the people here, my mind is beginning to focus more and more on what is ahead...

And I'm starting to get excited. Tomorrow is our last day of classes. Monday is the final assesment. That in itself is going to be great - We have given each small-group a role-play through-which they will solve a problem and demonstrate what they have learned about a particular topic to the group. Each role-play calls into question 2-3 different topics and numerous principles than are to be invoked. Since they have had written tests at the end of every week, this is a great way to prove their ability to apply the learning to a complex reality. They are actually REALLY hard questions, but the quality of the participants is so good that I can't wait to see what they come up with.

Tuesday is wrap-up stuff and Wednesday is the closing ceremony. By Thursday, everything will be done and I'll be free to go. It will be sad to say goodbye to the participants, many of whom I have developed a very deep relationship, with. But on the other hand, another adventure awaits.

This afternoon, after staff-meeting, I rode my bike across town to pick up my passport with a "Regional Visa" It gives me 60 days to go into any country in francophone West-Africa as many times as I like, as long as I don't leave the region. I probably won't use it in every country, but it only cost me about $60 - that's less than what I paid for my original entry visa for this country!!

On my way back, I stopped at the "Institute Geographique" and picked up a couple of road-maps to get me started. Now it is really hard to concentrate on the jobs that I have left. (There is actually quite a lot of administrative stuff that needs to be finished up so that I can leave next Friday).

This evening was the "Staff Dinner" where Cathy, our course-director took us all (there are 7 of us including herself) out for dinner. It was nice to spend the evening in an air-conditioned, fancy restaurant, enjoying yummy French cuisine. I shared a meat platter with a colleague and it came with french-fries and spinach as side-dishes. Yep. The French do have good cuisine, but sometimes it is just weird.

I'm kicking back this evening, enjoying the cool pre-rain breeze, listening to Colin James, eating a bit of nice French chocolate (dark with mint filling) and tossing around some philosophical thoughts.

In this year's course, we have been talking a lot about epistemology, (the study of knowledge). Why in the world do literacy teachers in the backwoods jungles need to know anything about western philosophy and logic?

Partly because what you believe about the world influences greatly what you believe about how people learn and what literacy should do. And partlybecause they need to interact with an ever-widening group of NGOs, international funding agencies, government education systems and outside experts, all of which have there own underlying reasons for believing what they believe.

Today, I was role playing "Monsieur Toutestbonne" (Mr. Itsallgood), representative of the post-modern view-point. We all had a good laugh as it was a good skit demonstrating how major views have changed. I really hammed up the appeal to cultural differences to prove that there were no universals. Afterwards, I met with a particular group to discuss post-modernism affected them. One of the questions I asked was "What Mr. Toutestbonne would say about God."

They said, "Well since everything is good for him, then God must be good too, and he would validate all cultures". I pressed a little more, saying, but if God is absolute, then that would be very hard for Mr. Toutestbonne to believe. They insisted, that "No, since every culture believes in a single, all-powerful, creating God, then it is up to each culture to decide how to worship or deal with him. It took me a minute but I realized that our experiences about culture and God were very different. In their experience, every culture (Christian, muslim, or animist) does have this understanding of God as it's basic premise. All west-African cultures (that I know-of, have read-of and have heard of) really believe this, but from there, they do many things differently. I had to explain to them about cultures that they had not yet experienced. About cultures where there are multiple gods, none of them being creator, but each dominating part of life. Other cultures where there is no particular God, just a nebulous "force" that is out there. The really hard one for them to believe was that many people believe that there is no God at all!!

The thought was so far-out to them, beyond their experience, that I'm not sure if they really believed me. They did come around to understanding why the current movement of thought that they read about in the news seems to be very permissive in allowing people to think and do whatever they want with very few constraints (also very very far from their cultural experience). Was very interesting.

Tonight I played the infamous "Lili". This is one of West-Africa's most played games and it is, essentially, a version of Parchisi (which I haven't played since I was 11). My friend Moise, from the neighborhood took me to his house for some beans and a good game. Kicked my but, of course, but it was a fun time!

In the words of my favourite philosopher, it is very easy to tell if someone exists...

Quand on veut un mouton, c’est la preuve qu’on existe. (If anybody wants a sheep, that is a proof that he exists).
-Le petit prince; Antoine de Saint-Exupery

photos at last

A sampling of pics from the cultural weekend.































So much fun...

So much to learn...


Soooo much food!




















So many great people!

So many memories!

The end of a long weekend. Well, the weekend was the same length as any other, but it seemed long. Really long.

The "weekend of culture" was awesome, though. It was my idea to have a weekend set apart for the sharing of cultural foods, songs, stories, dances and more. The participants come from 9 different countries, but there are 23 ethnic groups represented. The staff represent another 7 cultures! So, since it was my idea, it fell to me to plan and make it work.

I was really proud of everyone and how they all pitched in to make it work. We gave the kitchen staff 2 days off and each country (or group of neighboring countries) had a chance to provide one meal during the weekend. They also had to help with the dishes and cleaning, and all these things were a real learning curve for some of the participants who come from cultures where men do not come within 20ft of a kitchen, EVER. But everyone pitched in and it all got done.

(With a little help). Although I had everything delegated out, I still had a lot to do, making sure that the groups were working together well and were able to get there work done in timely fashion. In addition to taking part like everyone else and giving instructions/directions, I had also had several unforeseen tasks:

• Like finding and changing gas bottles when one (we were running 4 stoves to make the meals for 32 people) ran out half-way through cooking Sunday-morning breakfast.
  
• Like playing tour-guide to the front-half of our van while we took the participants on a scenic tour of the city of Ouagadougou (the Burkinabé with us sat in the back seat and had a very quiet voice).
  
• Like teaching a man from Mali (who had never held a kitchen knife) how to peel and chop onions.
  
• Like taking a participant to the hospital (he is OK now), running down to the local shop to get more dish soap when the 3 litres I had bought got used up half-way through Sunday-lunch dishes!
  
• Like mediating disputes over the appropriate cultural ways to deal with infidelity and divorce (was an extremely hot topic of discussion that started with one participant sharing what is done in his culture and ended in a 3 hour debate into the wee hours of the morning).
  
• Like opening up the plumbing under the sink to find the source of the blockage!
  
• Like (succesfully) defending the net by myself while the rest of my football (read soccer) team ran up on an offensive break away that got messed up.
  
• Like telling-off the whole group for worshipping God like white people (we had a church service together, and I got right ripped off that they were being too polite to dance. I ripped into them, saying "If you really believe what you are singing about, you'd better let it show with your whole body.
• Feeding the laundry ladies, groundsmen, guards, and even the public-roads workers who were digging a ditch near our compound with all the left-overs! (S000 much good food, it was incredible).
  
• Like explaining 31 times that I don't know how and am not authorised to make copies of the movie "Animals are Beautiful People", which we all watched tonight as a finale to the weekend.

All in all, it was a great weekend, but I'm pretty tired. Not much rest-time. I'll add some pictures tomorrow.