my week in moments

Everyday there are moments, ones that don‘t seem like much when standing alone, but together they compose life. Some of the moments make me laugh or cry, others exasperate me or make me think. Here are a few moments that have made up the last week or so:

I convince my 68 year old host father, to go walking to ‘faire du sport’ with me. He’s all business, power walking his over 6 foot frame across the barrage. Thank goodness Annie, one of my 12 year old host sisters, comes along and tells me about what she learned in Sunday School, Papa’s not in a very talkative mood.

Talking to my Mom and Dad on the phone makes me miss the states and wish I could somehow be there for all of the summer festivities.

Emmanuel (my 13 year old host brother) in his usual boisterous manner, cleans the concrete section of the courtyard. Impressed with his work he exclaims: Vraiment! Je suis (Truly! I am) un specimen dangereux!

Spent hours hand washing most of my clothes (including all of my pagnes and nearly all of my shirts), and then I watch the rain roll in mere moments after hanging upthe last thing. Note to self: never do ALL of your laundry during rainy season if you want to have something dry to wear the next day.

Watching a 5 year old boy struggle as he gets his blood taken. Most Ivorian children quietly cry, with their parents standing over them, reprimanding them for showing any sign that it hurts. But this little guy isn’t going down without a fight. He cries bloody murder as his mom and Ezekiel hold him still for the lab tech. I can’t help but smile a little; flashback nearly 20 years and there was a little girl who would have raised just as much of a riot over not getting to eat breakfast so that she could then be stabbed with big needles.

Sungalow, who works at the family store, comes to me, yet again, with the subject of marriage. He has 4 Ivorian men, who are very interested. If I marry one then I can stay here, keep a good Senoufo household (which involves a lot of cooking and cleaning) and have ‘beautiful babies.’ Just a few hours later, he explains to me why Ivorian men don’t trust white women. He fails to see this as a reason why I may not want to marry one.

Papa tells some people sitting outside the store that I am truly Ivorian. “Nibonténé is Ivorian; she’s my kid. She might be American when over there, but in Côte d’Ivoire, she’s Ivorian. If anyone says differently, I’ll have to give them a talking to.” My heart swells, that is the highest compliment I could ever receive from those lips.

One morning at the dispensary, Ezekiel reminds me how to do every little step in my work that I’ve known how to do since March. As I get ready to leave, another worker tells me that I’m starting the moto all wrong, and several people stop to watch as he teaches me the ‘right’ way. As I ride back into town, I seriously consider eradicating, “I know” from my vocabulary. Really not that helpful (or humble) of a phrase.

Hanging out with the two youngest at the house: Suzanne and Micale. Suzanne is attempting to do my hair, but my hair is far too slippery. Micale has my ukulele, clumsily strumming and singing a song she’s making up on the spot: “It‘s Julia‘s birthday! Julia is celebrating her birthday”…She stops to ask me if I’ve celebrated my birthday yet this year. I say no, then she continues, “Julia’s birthday is tomorrow, we’re going to have a party!” Goodness, I love these little girls.

My host brother Pierre says that it would probably be better if I didn’t ever leave them. They’re getting too used to me being there, if I leave they’ll come home and wonder why I’m not in the courtyard. They’ll miss me and that’s just too hard. “You have to stay,” he says. I smile and play along, saying that I’ll never leave. A little while later, I am thankful for my dark sunglasses, they’re hiding the tears coming from the mere idea of saying goodbye.