The Eighty First Story

Sitting in this spot, the reality of where we were really started to sink in (for me, my mother is a little quicker on the uptake, I think). We arrived in town by mid afternoon, and the very first thing Mamadu did was to order us food (We had already learned to order food at least three hours before getting hungry). He asked us if we wanted meat or no meat. Mum and I looked at each other, shrugged a little and asked for meat. He shouted something to a little boy, and we wandered around the rest of the day, only later realizing that the child had gone to catch the town's one goat.

Now- I'm quite certain we paid more than enough to replace that goat. It's not that I feel bad about it, per se. It's just- what if some other travelers came through the next night, and the townfolk had not yet gotten a new goat and had to explain this? Or maybe that's what happened- maybe this place usually had a goat on hand, it had recently been consumed, and when we surprised them by ALSO asking for meat, they had to scramble, and as luck would have it, someone else had a goat. But what if that emergency goat already had plans? What if it was meant for a particular feast, and now there was no goat? What if someone had to get married with no meat dinner? What if someone had already started to prepare it for a sacrifice and had to start all over?

In short- I spent the night thinking about how, in a place with very few travelers, one set could really fuck things up if they wanted to. We didn't order meat again till Timbuktoo.

The Eightieth Story

One of my old neighbors interviewed for a cleared job with the government, and warned me that the FBI might want to talk to someone in the neighborhood and asked if i was ok with this (I gather it was a high clearance). Weeks passed. I forgot. I got a knock on the door, and went up to answer it, dustmask and hearing protection in place, hammer in my right hand, glove on my left. I opened the door, and stood there dumbfounded, thinking "Not the UPS man, Shoes to shiny to be selling bibles" while he stood on his side, presumably thinking "THIS is the person he's got vouching for him?".

Once we got past this, I invited him in and offered him tea. He asked me questions about my neighbor. I admitted a large amount of ignorance, but said i liked the fellow well enough. He asked me, several times, in several different ways, if I would recommend him for the job. I responded, several times, in several different ways, that without knowing the job, I couldn't well know the answer. "I'd trust him to feed my dog, but I wouldn't trust that he knows the proper way to feed, say, an elephant. It's not a referendum on his character. I think he's great. But I have NO IDEA whether he'd be good for the vague task you are describing"

The Seventy Ninth Story

There's a spot in town where the sidewalk is made of brick, and someone, years ago, planted petunias. They've inched there way into all the cracks, and now, come the right season, every year, the flowers sneak out and cover the sidewalk.

the Seventy Eight Story

A conversation I had yesterday with my mother, as overheard by
Caitlin, just for amusement:

"I don't know what you're going to do with the stump,
either...standing that thing up might be harder than getting rid of
it...yes, that would be wonderful... oh, even better!...like the
throne up in cambridge?... I love it... even if they can't stand it
up, maybe they could carve it into a low bench... what?!... I've never
even used a chainsaw...yes,yes...I know you have, but cutting limbs
off a tree is entirely different than a plunge cut... mum, this is a
terrible idea... mum, wait, mum... no, MUM! we will lose limbs...I
can't think of a way to do it without a plunge cut... I'll look at it
when I come visit."

Caitlin's reaction: "It's so great that your mother has so much confidence in you!"

the Seventy Seventh story

 

 

We had planned to spend our remaining four days in Djenne, but... we didn't. Instead, after one full day, we made our way back to the Carrefour and hopped another bus, this one going south. We got as far as Sikasso, jumped out, and asked folks what to go see. Unanimously, everyone I managed to communicate with agreed on this place, who's name translates to something like "Mosque of the Grotto". We hired ourselves a cab for the day, and headed out, expecting to see a mosque much like the rest of the ones we had seen.
But no. There are no photos of the wonder of this place, because it was too beautiful, and I too tired, to muck around with the camera. There's this one snapshot, and that's all. These rocks were worn with centuries of worship, prayer carpets made simply by so many knees kneeling in the same spot. There were droplets falling from this, the skylight, making a thin, sparkling, glowing veil. Mum and I, an agnostic and a raging athiest, looked at each other, and agreed that this was the right place to worship god.

the Seventy Sixth Story

This tree, when we were walking up to it, was in full bloom- covered in large white flowers that, from a distance, looked like magnolia. As we got closer, some of the flowers started to lift off; by the time we were within a hundred yards, it was bare, and the sky full of egrets

The Seventy Fifth story

 

In DC last weekend, we attempted to go to the Sunday concert at the National Gallery. No go. It had just been written up and the line was out the door. We waited anyway, just in case, but were just a tiny bit to far back in line. I was a bit disappointed. Walking back to the Metro, we ran into this fantastic violinist on the steps of the Natural History Museum. This gal and her friend had arrived just before us, and she was dancing, beautifully, to the music. Dustin and I sat and watched for a long while, long after she left, until we felt as though the violinist was playing just for us, and we knew we weren't gonna pay him enough. It was glorious.