So this week I thought I was going to get to see a baby be born. There was a young girl in labor and Miriam asked me if I wanted to come in and see. I said of course. This is what I’ve been waiting for…it’s what I’m here for. I walked into the delivery room, which is a cement walled and floored room with a delivery “table” in it, a sink and a couple of little tools (which my Leatherman is probably better equipped for the job than this set of tools was) to cut and tuck stuff after the delivery. When I walked in there was a young girl, maybe 16, laying on the table with only her shirt on. Legs up, just bent, there are no stirrups on the delivery table, thrashing her head back and forth with each contraction. Crying is not something that Malians do and making any noise during delivery would also not be acceptable. Miriam went over and talked to her for a minute and then slapped her stomach around a few times. Now I’m not a doctor or someone with a 6th grade education that went to class for 9 months to learn to deliver babies but I can’t imagine that she was taught to do this. I’ve had a couple of babies of my own and have many, many friends that have had babies and none of us have had our stomachs smacked around during labor.
Miriam then came over and kind of shuffled me out of the room. I went across the hall and sat in the “recovery” room with the girl’s mother. When she heard noise coming from her daughter she went in the delivery room to be with her. Miriam came out and told me to go home. I asked her if she was sure. I wanted to stay and it was what I was here for. She said, no, to go home. I saw Miriam up at the butiki about 4 hours later and the girl had just delivered a little boy. I say the mom and the grandmother outside by the nyegen washing off the delivery table padding with a bucket of water. No soap, just a bucket of water. I don’t even want to know what they do with the after birthing mess. Bury it, throw it down the nyegen. I don’t really have the language skills to inquire if I did want to know. So finally a baby born and I still haven’t gotten to see a birth.
The next day the regional director for my area came by to check on me. I told him that things were going OK. That I am a bit lonely and finding it hard to cope with being at site by myself and not having the language skills to communicate well with my community. He asked if I was helping out at the clinic with Miriam. I told him of yesterday’s events. He said he would talk to the matron and let her know that it would be OK for me to sit in when she has a patient, when a baby is born, when she does pre-natal consultations, etc. Miriam agreed that this would be fine.
Now even though the clinic is a “maternity” facility it’s the only medical like place in our village. So Miriam, a matron/midwife with a 6th grade education and 9 months training to deliver babies, will see sick babies, sick women, sick men, anyone with basic injuries that need cleaning and bandaging. Everyone else she would have to send to Zantiebougou, the next village 7k away that has a “clinic” and a “doctor” so to speak. So the very next day after the regional director talked to Miriam about me sitting in when she had a patient we got our first patient since the baby was delivered. It was a young man, about 25, limping over with 4 other men, two on each side of him. She told me to come along with her to see him. I suggested that he had hurt his foot perhaps? She said, no, and pointed to her crotch. I wasn’t sure what that meant. This young man was already in a room and there was a male doctor from the next village in there with him already working on him. When I walked in this young man was on the “delivery table” stark ass naked with his knees bent up much like the young girl in labor was on the very same table just two days earlier. Since the table end is facing the door I walked in and was eyeball to ball with his…well balls. He had what appeared to be an infection. An infection that was so bad that his testicles and penis where covered with sores and puss and oozing slime the likes of nothing I have ever seen before in my life (I told you not for the weak of stomach). I was sure his balls and penis would either need to be removed or eventually would fall off on their own. The smell was overwhelming. In my head I was imaging the smell to be of the iodine this doctor was using to clean his crotchal area with. Apparently this man had this infection for some time and was in for a dressing change. Old gauze was being removed, hair was being cut away from the area, the sores were being cleaned and treated and then dressing was going to be replaced.
There poor man/kid appeared to be in excruciating pain. Thrashing his head back and forth without making a sound, again much like the girl delivering her baby on the same table just days before. I felt so bad for him, not only because of the infection and not only because there was a female Malian woman in there watching but now here’s this tubob (white ghost) woman also in there watching. Although I was not watching. The glimpse and the smell I caught on the way into the room is something the likes of which I will remember and see at night when I close my eyes many times over in between now and the end of my days. I quickly moved over into the corner by the sink trying not to make eye contact with him or his balls. Not only for his sake but for mine. The room was about 110 degrees and I was sweating profusely…as was the doctor only my sweat was not dripping on to some man’s infected testicles. I felt faint and I wasn’t sure exactly why. The heat or the site and smells of the “delivery” room. By the time the doctor was finished with the dressing change his balls were neatly wrapped like a present with a strip of gauze wrapped around his waist to be used as a sling to hold his “package” up relieving them of the pain of their own weight. The doctor gave him a couple of shots of something (they love giving shots to everyone no matter you are in there for) and told him he could get dressed. This poor guy had so much trouble just trying to sit up he was in so much pain. I didn’t know if I should go over and offer to help him up, pick up his robe off the floor or just stand there looking like an idiot in the corner not making eye contact. So that’s what I did. Stood in the corner. He got up, put on his robe and limped out to his friends waiting in the front room. The doctor rolled all the old gauze, blood, hair and guts into the plastic sheet that was under this guys legs into a ball and proceeded to wash the tools in the sink with a little laundry detergent and put them back into his medical bag and was off. This was clearly one of the most hideous experiences of my life. Again, I will see this man’s balls at night when I close my eyes. It will be a site I will not forget anytime soon.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
May 14, 2011
Although it’s about 15 degrees cooler out than it has been it doesn’t feel that much different. Samaya, or rainy season, is officially beginning. Although they are still referring to it as the mango rains the humidity is stifling none the less. Where before the empty fields behind my house were desert like and baron they are not covered with a green layer of growth. All the sheep, goats, cows and donkeys are loving it. All this fresh vegetation. There are a hundred baby one thing or another running around. They are so cute…but make an awful lot of noise. Sometimes a baby will get separated from its mother and the noise it makes until she comes back for her baby is something else. The first time I heard it I thought it was a kid standing outside my house just yelling for the sake of being heard. I went outside to tell them to stop it only to find the cutest baby goat just yelling over and over again. I guess they are a lot more like a human baby than you would think.
My little Jarrod
I try so hard not to get upset or let the boys know that I am unhappy when I talk to them, but just hearing their voices reminds me of how alone I’m feeling and how much I miss them. I knew I would miss them but never imagined it would be something that I could feel inside and out. When I went to NY in September for 3 weeks, I realized after, that was the longest I had ever been away from them since the day they were born.
After talking to Jarrod for a few minutes it became apparent to him that I wasn’t having the experience I had hoped this would be and how unhappy I was without them near me. I told him I more or less made my bed…I can’t just pick up and run with my tail between my legs after 3 months. I at least had to give this some more time and do something of what I came here to accomplish. He told me that he has realized since I’ve been gone that I am his hero and the best role model anyone could ever hope for. I had a goal in mind, worked harder than he had ever seen anyone work and sacrificed more than he had ever seen anyone sacrifice to reach that goal. I did it according to him. I was a Peace Corps Volunteer in Africa. I had already done more than most people would even dream of, and if it turns out that it is not what I dreamed of and hoped for there would be no shame in coming home. He could not admire me and be more proud of me than he already was.
After talking to Jarrod for a few minutes it became apparent to him that I wasn’t having the experience I had hoped this would be and how unhappy I was without them near me. I told him I more or less made my bed…I can’t just pick up and run with my tail between my legs after 3 months. I at least had to give this some more time and do something of what I came here to accomplish. He told me that he has realized since I’ve been gone that I am his hero and the best role model anyone could ever hope for. I had a goal in mind, worked harder than he had ever seen anyone work and sacrificed more than he had ever seen anyone sacrifice to reach that goal. I did it according to him. I was a Peace Corps Volunteer in Africa. I had already done more than most people would even dream of, and if it turns out that it is not what I dreamed of and hoped for there would be no shame in coming home. He could not admire me and be more proud of me than he already was.
Monday, May 9, 2011
A funny thing happened today on the way to the market
May 9, 2011
So I’m walking along thru the back “roads” on the way to the market to get breakfast. About 25 feet in front of me was a little boy about 2, maybe 2 ½, years old stark ass naked with a big dirt mark on his butt walking about 100 feet behind his mom. I don’t know what possessed him to turn around but as he was walking he turned his head and looked right at me. His eyes almost popped out of the sockets, his mouth dropped open he turned back around and started running. He ran as fast as his little feet could take him…right past his mom and just kept going and going and never turned back around. There was a young girl behind me (about 20) that started laughing. When the mom started yelling for him to stop and come back and he just kept running the girl behind me explained to the mom why he was running. The three of us got a good laugh. We turned off to the left so we lost sight of him. As far as I know he’s still running. He’s probably half way to Timbuctou by now.
So I’m walking along thru the back “roads” on the way to the market to get breakfast. About 25 feet in front of me was a little boy about 2, maybe 2 ½, years old stark ass naked with a big dirt mark on his butt walking about 100 feet behind his mom. I don’t know what possessed him to turn around but as he was walking he turned his head and looked right at me. His eyes almost popped out of the sockets, his mouth dropped open he turned back around and started running. He ran as fast as his little feet could take him…right past his mom and just kept going and going and never turned back around. There was a young girl behind me (about 20) that started laughing. When the mom started yelling for him to stop and come back and he just kept running the girl behind me explained to the mom why he was running. The three of us got a good laugh. We turned off to the left so we lost sight of him. As far as I know he’s still running. He’s probably half way to Timbuctou by now.
How could I forget Mother's Day
May 8, 2011
Today is Mother’s Day. I guess it’s easy to forget when you’re in a place that has no sense of time, no calendars, watches and the time of day or night mean nothing. They don’t celebrate mothers or fathers or birthdays here. Why would I remember. I’m in Bougouni and when I got on the internet that’s when I realized it was Mother’s Day. My son Josh cried and told me how bad he wants me/needs me to come home. Talking about feeling like crap for Mother’s Day. As for my mother. There isn’t a minute in a day that goes by that I don’t think of her and remember and celebrate the very short life that she had. I didn’t think it was possible to miss someone so much and continually for so long. Happy Mother’s Day mom.
Today is Mother’s Day. I guess it’s easy to forget when you’re in a place that has no sense of time, no calendars, watches and the time of day or night mean nothing. They don’t celebrate mothers or fathers or birthdays here. Why would I remember. I’m in Bougouni and when I got on the internet that’s when I realized it was Mother’s Day. My son Josh cried and told me how bad he wants me/needs me to come home. Talking about feeling like crap for Mother’s Day. As for my mother. There isn’t a minute in a day that goes by that I don’t think of her and remember and celebrate the very short life that she had. I didn’t think it was possible to miss someone so much and continually for so long. Happy Mother’s Day mom.
I don't throw up...I won't throw up...
Or will I…
May 3, 2011
I’ve been having a real problem getting my eating and food situation under control. Yes it may be nice that I have lost about 30 pounds since I’ve been here but in America we would say I haven’t lost it healthily. I can’t find anything to eat. At first in Muntugula my host family was cooking for me. It was good food and I ate 3 meals a day but I really watched what I ate. They eat an awful lot of carbs…for lack of anything else. Here in Bugula for the first week I was eating with Miriam. Her food was ok but a lot of carbs…and a lot of reddish brownish vomit sauce. Sometimes it tastes ok and other times it tastes like it’s a week old. Which may not be far from the truth…and without refrigeration that’s not a good thing. But now I am cooking for myself. Between not being able to get to the market and the fact that there isn’t anything there to get besides rice and stuff to make reddish brownish vomit sauce it’s been hard getting a routine together. And of course no refrigeration. It’s not like I can stock up and everything is “fresh” somewhat so what do you do.
So when I go each week into Bougouni (the big town) I try and stock up. My shopping list consists of tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, potatoes, tomato paste, canned peas and a couple of bags of pasta. Eat the fresh stuff at the beginning of the week and resort to the dry and canned stuff at the end of the week. If I’m lucky I can find an eggplant or some cabbage. So in my village I can buy eggs…sometimes. So I figure I could get some protein in by eating some eggs a couple of times of week. So I bought 6 eggs. Hard boiled 4 of them. I figured I would eat a hard boiled egg sandwich for lunch and another one for dinner. I make enough at lunch time to feed me at dinner as well. Since you can’t save leftovers it sounded like a good idea to me. The other 2 eggs I was saving for breakfast. I made my egg salad. Eggs, diced onions and mayonnaise (which as you know doesn’t need to be refrigerated…even in 120 degree weather). I put it on some French bread with slices of tomato and ate the death out of it. It tasted so good.
“Get to the throwing up part” you say. Well about 2 hours later I could still feel that sandwich sitting right in the pit of my stomach. I started sweating really bad…I thought it was because it was hot, but then got a little shakey. I figured I better go lay down for a while. I spent 6 hours sweating with the chills and feeling like I was going to vomit. It was so bad I blacked out at one point when I tried to stand up. I thought as much as I hate to, and I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve thrown up in my life, I had to do it. I had to get the egg sandwich out of me. So down went the fingers and up came the sandwich. Apparently when it comes to egg sandwiches in Mali the 3rd time’s a charm. After 8 hours and throwing up 3 times I could finally go to sleep.
I can’t help but wonder, what if it wasn’t the eggs. Maybe it was the mayonnaise. Maybe it was the cucumber. There are no good ways to find that out. But eggs during hot season is the first thing I’m eliminating. Yesterday for lunch I had a tomato, cucumber and onion salad…and waited…nothing. Phweeww…it was the eggs. I gotta figure something out about what I’m going to eat. I can’t survive on a diet of tomatoes, onions, cucumbers and pasta for 2 years. Today for lunch guess what I had. A tomato, half an onion and half a cucumber. For dinner guess what I had…a tomato, the other half of the onion and the other half of the cucumber. All I have left is 2 half pound bags of pasta, one small can of tomato paste and one onion. It’s Thursday and I won’t be going into Bougouni again until Monday. What to do…what to do!!
May 3, 2011
I’ve been having a real problem getting my eating and food situation under control. Yes it may be nice that I have lost about 30 pounds since I’ve been here but in America we would say I haven’t lost it healthily. I can’t find anything to eat. At first in Muntugula my host family was cooking for me. It was good food and I ate 3 meals a day but I really watched what I ate. They eat an awful lot of carbs…for lack of anything else. Here in Bugula for the first week I was eating with Miriam. Her food was ok but a lot of carbs…and a lot of reddish brownish vomit sauce. Sometimes it tastes ok and other times it tastes like it’s a week old. Which may not be far from the truth…and without refrigeration that’s not a good thing. But now I am cooking for myself. Between not being able to get to the market and the fact that there isn’t anything there to get besides rice and stuff to make reddish brownish vomit sauce it’s been hard getting a routine together. And of course no refrigeration. It’s not like I can stock up and everything is “fresh” somewhat so what do you do.
So when I go each week into Bougouni (the big town) I try and stock up. My shopping list consists of tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, potatoes, tomato paste, canned peas and a couple of bags of pasta. Eat the fresh stuff at the beginning of the week and resort to the dry and canned stuff at the end of the week. If I’m lucky I can find an eggplant or some cabbage. So in my village I can buy eggs…sometimes. So I figure I could get some protein in by eating some eggs a couple of times of week. So I bought 6 eggs. Hard boiled 4 of them. I figured I would eat a hard boiled egg sandwich for lunch and another one for dinner. I make enough at lunch time to feed me at dinner as well. Since you can’t save leftovers it sounded like a good idea to me. The other 2 eggs I was saving for breakfast. I made my egg salad. Eggs, diced onions and mayonnaise (which as you know doesn’t need to be refrigerated…even in 120 degree weather). I put it on some French bread with slices of tomato and ate the death out of it. It tasted so good.
“Get to the throwing up part” you say. Well about 2 hours later I could still feel that sandwich sitting right in the pit of my stomach. I started sweating really bad…I thought it was because it was hot, but then got a little shakey. I figured I better go lay down for a while. I spent 6 hours sweating with the chills and feeling like I was going to vomit. It was so bad I blacked out at one point when I tried to stand up. I thought as much as I hate to, and I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve thrown up in my life, I had to do it. I had to get the egg sandwich out of me. So down went the fingers and up came the sandwich. Apparently when it comes to egg sandwiches in Mali the 3rd time’s a charm. After 8 hours and throwing up 3 times I could finally go to sleep.
I can’t help but wonder, what if it wasn’t the eggs. Maybe it was the mayonnaise. Maybe it was the cucumber. There are no good ways to find that out. But eggs during hot season is the first thing I’m eliminating. Yesterday for lunch I had a tomato, cucumber and onion salad…and waited…nothing. Phweeww…it was the eggs. I gotta figure something out about what I’m going to eat. I can’t survive on a diet of tomatoes, onions, cucumbers and pasta for 2 years. Today for lunch guess what I had. A tomato, half an onion and half a cucumber. For dinner guess what I had…a tomato, the other half of the onion and the other half of the cucumber. All I have left is 2 half pound bags of pasta, one small can of tomato paste and one onion. It’s Thursday and I won’t be going into Bougouni again until Monday. What to do…what to do!!
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Negative Nelly
April 25, 2011
Friday night I left for Bougouni, my transit house city and banking town. When we got installed at site we were supposed to stay 2 months with only leaving two nights in that time so we could immerse ourselves into our communities. For me, that wasn’t gonna happen. For two reasons…1. I’m not going a month without talking to my kids and family and 2) I was at site 9 days and already wanted to poke my eyes out. I’m going to assume I’m homesick, have culture shock and as a result am depressed…which would explain being curled up crying like a baby.
My intention was to meet up with another volunteer who is having a touch time in his village as well. We will bitch and moan, eat some good food, regroup and come back with a fresh attitude. I was going to come back yesterday, Sunda, but then realized it was Easter. Not being religious it was just an excuse to stay out of my site another night. By this morning although I spent all weekend without saying one nice workd about Africa, I actually felt better and ready to get back.
We went through the market and I bought some pasta, tomatoes and cucumbers. My plan is to start cooking for myself. What I plan on making with only the above I don’t know but it was a start. I was back in village by 11 ready to move forward instead of cowering in the corner. Cheta was by the road/pump doing laundry so she was the first person to see I was back. She helped me back to my house with my stuff. I emptied my backpack and spent the next 2 hours drenched in sweat organizing my room. Then I went to greet the neighbors and over to visit Miriam with a few gifts. She has been feeding me since I arrived and thought it would be appropriate to bring back a couple of items…including a head wrap that I sooo wanted to keep for myself.
We chatted, caught up the best we could taking into consideration the significant language barrier, she gave me a little lunch and I was on my way. I decided for dinner I was going to have tomatoe and cucumber salad. This is tricky and time consuming. If you are going to eat uncooked anything especially if it has skin it has to be washed then bleached for a half an hour and then rinsed. Without unlimited running water this is a challenge and a pain but it will be well worth it. Now they are soaking in vinegar and oil. I’m dying to eat them but I want to take a bath and put on clean clothes so I can relax and enjoy. I’m making that my new mantra…relax and enjoy.
A friend of mine called me from San Diego today. She said she stopped reading my blog because it was too negative and all I was doing was bitching and complaining. I promised to write about the good, the bad and the ugly. I just didn’t realize when I came here there would be more bad and ugly than good. After taking a long hard look at myself and my self made situation I’ve decided that an attitude adjustment was in order. I want to apologize for soundling like a whiney baby, bat that is exactly what I’ve been feeling like. I’m not going to leave out the bad but I am going to make an efford as of right now to have more good days than bad. I will study harder, greet and chat more and remember what a good sense of humor I have and use it!!
*Usually when I take the bus back and forth to Bougouni I get on a big public transit bus. Some look nice and aren’t too bad inside. Almost look like they might have a/c…but they don’t. Some buses don’t look like they run at all and you’re sure when you get in the floor will be open and you have to use your feet to get it going like the flinstones car. Today I missed the big bus leaving just as I was walking into the station. So I could wait 1, 2 or 4 hours for another one or jump on the van that was pulling up. I opted for the van. It wasn’t as small as a bush taxi, it had all it’s windows (which is a plus) and it was empty besides one other person. They told me they had to stop to pick up some stuff to go on the roof to be delivered along the way. No problem, I was just happy to be moving. We went two whole blocks and stopped. They spent 20 minutes loading steel beams and bags of cement. Now I don’t know if you could imagine what it’s like to hear steel beams being scraped across the roof of a car but it was like nails on a chalk board only deafening to say the least. These vans are old…really old. It’s a wonder some of them can even get out of their own way. The shocks are worn and like I said some don’t even have windows, but they get the job done…eventually. With every bag of cement I felt the van getting closer and closer to the ground. I thought it’s a good thing I’m only 32, away. Even if this thing can only do 30kpm, I’ll be home in no time. I don’t have anything to do today and I’m starting my new attitude. This will be a good test of patience.
I didn’t realize until now that the road home was a lot of uphill until this thing had to keep downshifting just to get me home. Other buses, vans, motos and scooters were passing us with a vengeance. A bird passed us at one point. I think it was shaking it’s little fist at us to get the hell out of the way. It’s all OK. I’m in no hurry!
*So I finally got tohe market today, just not by bike. My homologue took me. I was able to get some bread, tomatoes and onions. Still not much variety.
Friday night I left for Bougouni, my transit house city and banking town. When we got installed at site we were supposed to stay 2 months with only leaving two nights in that time so we could immerse ourselves into our communities. For me, that wasn’t gonna happen. For two reasons…1. I’m not going a month without talking to my kids and family and 2) I was at site 9 days and already wanted to poke my eyes out. I’m going to assume I’m homesick, have culture shock and as a result am depressed…which would explain being curled up crying like a baby.
My intention was to meet up with another volunteer who is having a touch time in his village as well. We will bitch and moan, eat some good food, regroup and come back with a fresh attitude. I was going to come back yesterday, Sunda, but then realized it was Easter. Not being religious it was just an excuse to stay out of my site another night. By this morning although I spent all weekend without saying one nice workd about Africa, I actually felt better and ready to get back.
We went through the market and I bought some pasta, tomatoes and cucumbers. My plan is to start cooking for myself. What I plan on making with only the above I don’t know but it was a start. I was back in village by 11 ready to move forward instead of cowering in the corner. Cheta was by the road/pump doing laundry so she was the first person to see I was back. She helped me back to my house with my stuff. I emptied my backpack and spent the next 2 hours drenched in sweat organizing my room. Then I went to greet the neighbors and over to visit Miriam with a few gifts. She has been feeding me since I arrived and thought it would be appropriate to bring back a couple of items…including a head wrap that I sooo wanted to keep for myself.
We chatted, caught up the best we could taking into consideration the significant language barrier, she gave me a little lunch and I was on my way. I decided for dinner I was going to have tomatoe and cucumber salad. This is tricky and time consuming. If you are going to eat uncooked anything especially if it has skin it has to be washed then bleached for a half an hour and then rinsed. Without unlimited running water this is a challenge and a pain but it will be well worth it. Now they are soaking in vinegar and oil. I’m dying to eat them but I want to take a bath and put on clean clothes so I can relax and enjoy. I’m making that my new mantra…relax and enjoy.
A friend of mine called me from San Diego today. She said she stopped reading my blog because it was too negative and all I was doing was bitching and complaining. I promised to write about the good, the bad and the ugly. I just didn’t realize when I came here there would be more bad and ugly than good. After taking a long hard look at myself and my self made situation I’ve decided that an attitude adjustment was in order. I want to apologize for soundling like a whiney baby, bat that is exactly what I’ve been feeling like. I’m not going to leave out the bad but I am going to make an efford as of right now to have more good days than bad. I will study harder, greet and chat more and remember what a good sense of humor I have and use it!!
*Usually when I take the bus back and forth to Bougouni I get on a big public transit bus. Some look nice and aren’t too bad inside. Almost look like they might have a/c…but they don’t. Some buses don’t look like they run at all and you’re sure when you get in the floor will be open and you have to use your feet to get it going like the flinstones car. Today I missed the big bus leaving just as I was walking into the station. So I could wait 1, 2 or 4 hours for another one or jump on the van that was pulling up. I opted for the van. It wasn’t as small as a bush taxi, it had all it’s windows (which is a plus) and it was empty besides one other person. They told me they had to stop to pick up some stuff to go on the roof to be delivered along the way. No problem, I was just happy to be moving. We went two whole blocks and stopped. They spent 20 minutes loading steel beams and bags of cement. Now I don’t know if you could imagine what it’s like to hear steel beams being scraped across the roof of a car but it was like nails on a chalk board only deafening to say the least. These vans are old…really old. It’s a wonder some of them can even get out of their own way. The shocks are worn and like I said some don’t even have windows, but they get the job done…eventually. With every bag of cement I felt the van getting closer and closer to the ground. I thought it’s a good thing I’m only 32, away. Even if this thing can only do 30kpm, I’ll be home in no time. I don’t have anything to do today and I’m starting my new attitude. This will be a good test of patience.
I didn’t realize until now that the road home was a lot of uphill until this thing had to keep downshifting just to get me home. Other buses, vans, motos and scooters were passing us with a vengeance. A bird passed us at one point. I think it was shaking it’s little fist at us to get the hell out of the way. It’s all OK. I’m in no hurry!
*So I finally got tohe market today, just not by bike. My homologue took me. I was able to get some bread, tomatoes and onions. Still not much variety.
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