photo credit: Angelika Ragsdale
Alright folks, its here: hot season. I know, because I don't sleep. The mangos are here and the rains wait for April like our own Midwestern springs, except instead of May flowers, we'll have May mosquitoes. Enough complaining. At least its not thirty below.
Every few weeks, between working at the Bible Institute and living with my host family, I visit Ferke, the hospital market town north of Korhogo. I climb into a definintely-not-street-legal passenger 'bus' van with 18 other people to huff and puff our way a hour along a paved road. If the cargo doesn't include charcoal, its usually delightful. Every where I go I am a spectacle - especially when I take public transportation. Most white people drive cars. But as I neither have one here nor the States, its buses. Traveling with a buddy is best since breakdowns are frequent. My favorite one so far involved one at night in bandit country, but we're not gonna write home about that one...I hope mom doesn't read this entry.
Anyways, Ferke. This past Wednesday, after a successful doctor's appointment, Hannah and I scrounged the cupboards of the guest house to produce the loveliest Mexican-African meal this side of arrival. Spanish rice, guacamole, alloco (fried plantains), chili potatoes, handmade tortillas, and 'shasta bread'. I love cooking with her, she's a creative chef and I am her 'sous'. The next day, leftovers turn to chips, guac, and stale bread made bruschetta. All this after eating rice and sauce for weeks.
I love the hospital staff too. Practicing our French with the gate guards and gardeners. Discussing shoes and fashion with nurses and admin. They treat us like their own. Ferke is my second home.