Anita and I shared an air mattress last night. We have no lights, so we went to bed early. We stayed up talking for a while, but even then we were asleep by a very unusual hour. I woke soon after dawn when Anita got up to vomit. She is the second of us to be sick upcountry.
We had a choice of activities for the morning. I decided to go see the potters and the blacksmith. Unfortunately, the potters weren’t around. The blacksmith was there, but we saw no smithing today. Liza and Bill had arranged an afternoon meeting with a group of hunters to ask about abandoned villages in the bush for Liza’s archaeology. Evidently, something was lost in translation and the hunters were already gathered at the blacksmith’s. Instead of smithing, we sat in on the meeting. Everything was in Mandinka, of which I understood only a little. The translator didn’t really speak English so Bill was left on his own with his rusty Peace Corps Mandinka. The meeting reminded me of others I’ve sat in on, though I didn’t expect to be reminded of the living wage sit-in and Acorn today. Everyone had their chance to speak and they attempted to reach a consensus. It felt peaceful and unhurried. I wonder what my nonviolent communication friends would think of this group of hunters. My peers were frustrated by the lack of potting and smithing, but I figure the morning wasn’t a complete loss.
In the afternoon, we headed to the river and didn’t swim. The river is actually safe for swimming, but there were too many people around for us to feel comfortable violating cultural norms about clothing and bodies. Upon returning to Bajakunda, we went to see the baker because we hadn’t yet seen a single oven in this country. Our guide was not intent on returning us to the compound quickly, so we wandered around the village for about half an hour, gathering a mob of children. I felt like the Pied Piper.
The light has faded. I can’t even see the page. Good night, dear reader.
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