I'm leaving the old intro here, but adding this- it appears the doves have taken over my blog for their fiction. Just as well, I was doing a piss poor job of updating. They're doing much better.

This blog is infrequently updated, full of incorrect spellings, misused words, and general bad grammar. It started when I was trying to use google+ (which I've since given up on) and discovered there was no character limit for posts. If you've known me a long time, a lot of these stories will be old hat. If you plan to know me for a long time, you'll no doubt hear many of them in person. But, folks seemed to enjoy them, so here they are.

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

the fourteenth story

Been a bit, here's another short, unedited story.
In Mali, with my mom, we went on a walk through the Dogon country. At one point, we dropped off our packs in one village and walked to another- Mamadu knew I was a metalsmith and wanted to introduce me to the blacksmith. On the way back, Mamadu looked at the sky, and casually said "maybe we should hurry". Mom and I thought very little of it, he seemed so relaxed about the idea; and while we didn't stop to take pictures, we didn't really hurry, either. After about fifteen minutes, Mamadu looked at the sky again, and said, in his same, relaxed manner "Maybe we should hurry". Mom and I started walking faster, but the rocks were tall, and climbing not easy, so we still weren't making good time compared to what Mamadu would do on his own. About half way home, Mamadu looked at the sky again and said, with respect but a bit of an annoyed edge "Maybe we should hurry". Mom and I got the point, and started moving as fast as we really easily could. Then, about 3/4 of the way there, Mamadu looked at the sky, grabbed my bag and said "Maybe we should hurry", and started helping shove us up rocks. Within sight of the village, but with one very large dropoff left to go, Mamadu looked at the sky and said "Maybe we should hurry" Only then did mom and I see what he had seen over an hour before- a black wall. We started clambering down the cliff. Mom, who has always been more comfortable with down than I, took my camera, and all three of us entered into the downward climb at a speed that makes more sense as a partially controlled fall. We made it to the bottom just as the sand hit. I grabbed my camera back and wrapped it in my hastily removed headscarf, and we started trying to run for the village, totally blind. Just as we made it to the village, the sand stopped, and the rain hit. Newly exfoliated, we sat in our lovely mud hut, built with its back to the direction of the wind, and watched waterfalls form on the rock walls of the valley.

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