i am a bush woman...

o   I eat their food drinking chutum (cooked millet, water, and sour milk) and eating gniri (millet and sauce that looks exactly like mucus).

o   I sleep outside with the chief’s wife, daughter, and several grandkids.  Most nights I get no sleep because they throw every body part they have on me.  Therefore, I gradually try to slide out from under them resulting in sleeping on the ground with no mat but lots of ant bites.  If I get to sleep at all, it is around 2 o’clock. Two and a half hours later, at 4:30 am, the chickens, sheep, and goats are our wake up call to start the day. Despite the lack of sleep, my nights in the bush always remind me of God’s promise to Abraham as I look at the abundance of stars in the clear night sky.  It is truly a site to see.

o   Recently I have been able to cut some palm fronds in the bush, dry them out at my friend’s house, and patiently try to make the bowl covers that they sell at market and use to cover their chutum.

o   Apparently I have become the local tailor of “B”.  I took my needle and thread out in the bush to sew up a patch of one of their skirts.  Then the kids started handing me all their skirts and pants to patch up holes that run along the whole seam of their clothes.  Needless to say I kept myself busy that weekend. 

o   I help them draw water from the well, at least until my arms can stand it.  Since there are no wells in America, my hands get red from all the tension with the rope.  The older ladies look at my hands and refuse my assistance at the well, trying to protect my hands from looking and feeling like theirs. 

o   On several occasions I have even had the pleasure of riding a donkey back from the well with the jarkas of water on both sides of me.  Especially on those days I know for a fact that I am not in America anymore.