Home sweet home

I rolled into Nampoch and unloaded everything around 8 pm. It had been about a 13 hour trip. My homologue (or counterpart) was not there upon my arrival but as I was moving my belongings into my house he appeared, a wild glare in his eyes. He was excited to see me and had good news. When I came to Nampoch a month ago for a week long post visit his third and from what I can tell youngest wife was very pregnant. Kodjo told me that when I returned I must bring an American name for the child. The good news he had for me was that his wife had given birth to a boy. Not only had she had the baby, she bore the child 45 mintues before I arrived!
Everyone's excitement clashed with my fatigue and I felt a bit loopy. It had been an emotional day and while I was excited to be there I wanted nothing more than to rest my weary bones. But first I had to see the baby. Kodjo's compound was full of people chattering away loudly, excited and somewhat intoxicated. Kodjo pulled me into a room where the infant lay asleep on the concrete floor. In the corner sat his wife, a thousand mile stare on her face. People jumped and shouted but she just sat there silent and drained of all she had. I was taken aback at the sight of the child. He looked very pale, almost white, wrapped up, eyes closed and lips pouty. Outside Kodjo was blasting some Konkomba music on his boombox. I love the old late 80s/early 90s boombox he has. Think Radio Raheem in Do the Right Thing or John Cusack in Say Anything. All the kids were dancing and then Kodjo popped in a cassette that a Peace Corps volunteer from 1998 had left him. It was Ace of Base and as soon as "The Sign" came on he turned to me and insisted that I show everyone how we dance in America. I was reluctant because of how beat I was but I got up there and danced a little. Afterwards I fell on a bench dead tired. I think Kodjo could tell and he understood I wanted to go to sleep.
I woke up the next morning and had one of those where am I moments. Oh yea, you're in Africa. It was Sunday and marche day in Guerin-Kouka, the bigger town 11km away. The main road was too sandy to take by bike, so Kodjo and I pedaled off into the bush. I had a few things I needed to buy at the marche. The most important was a bed frame for the mattress I purchased in Lome. I would later discover the mattress doesn't actually fit in the frame. The mattress is slightly too wide so my bed's a bit sloped but it's not too bad. Kodjo asked me to give the child an American name so I named it John after John Magee.
Djabab my neighbor is a very intelligent 14 year old who helps me practice my Konkomba while I help him with his English. I've begun fetching water for myself and carrying it on my head which is really, really difficult. I've only successfully carried the little bucket and my neck and arms ache. I'm even developing a thick knot on the top of my head.
The other morning I was cleaning my dishes after breakfast when I heard a tremendous squeal. I looked out my little window and saw Kodjo and another man carrying a huge pig. The pig was screaming and squirming in their arms. They hurried past. A little while later one of Kodjo's children showed up at my door. Kodjo's calling you he said. So I walked over to his house. There the pig lay in pieces with a group gathered around sorting out the fresh meat. Everyone was in high spirits and the blood flowed as Kodjo skillfully cut. The sight of the pig carcass didn't bother me. There wasn't even a strong odor. I was more worried about the blade missing and Kodjo losing a finger as he cut the slippery beast. Off to the side set the pigs head swarming with flies, truly Lord of the Flies. I made some joke about the pig didn't look to happy and was met with a roar of laughter from the group. I counted this as a personal success as getting jokes across in different languages is really difficult. One man asked meif we ate pork in the U.S. Oh yes I replied, lots of it. He didn't like pork. Dog was the meat for him. I was intrigued. This was not the first time I'd heard how delicious dog was. He was surprised when I told himwhen I told him I'd never tried it and that we don't eat dog in the U.S. Then he said they'd kill one Friday and I could try it.
On the brighter side of speaking about dogs. I really want one. As a pet, not as a main course. Hopefully I'll get one soon and I've repeatedly told the members of my village that my dog is not to be eaten and they seem to understand that. I love dogs and I think they make terrific companions but to the Konkomba dogs serve a different purpose. They're guards and as such they're usually ill-tempered, vicious, scavengers and they also happen to be a source of food. One thing I'm not too fond of in Nampoch is the slimy palms I embrace everytime I shake someone's hand. It's the same feeling every damn time. This happens about 30 times a day. They don't wash their hands (or brush their teeth) here and it's pretty nasty. So I always make a point of going back to my house to wash my hands before dinner. The tin of water they offer for you're left hand doesn't suffice. I need soap. I'm pretty sure this is the reason I got amoebas during post visit and that's not happening again.