Horse Sense

I got nothing. So how the crap are you supposed to ride a horse? I’ve ridden them several times at camp or with cousins, in Mexico etc. and it has never been this painful. The truth is I don’t know much about how to do it. I think I have some suspicions though. I think my stirrups are too short. Wait, is stirrups the word? The leg thingies. Here were my choices last time. Murder one of the following: my balls, my tail, my legs, my shins, my knees, my back. I decided to split the difference. But I tried to do that “trot” thing I think I’ve seen in the movies where your ass hits the horse every other stride and you sort of hop up and down. But it was like doing constant squats but no full extension. It was hard and I was really sore after. So my leg thingies need to be longer right? I mean, bareback, my choices are limited but with this terrible, African saddle there’s got to be a way I can get used to where I don’t have to recover for a week afterwards right? Right? Laura, I’m kinda looking to you on this. I nether even WENT to Texas.

Grandma’s Teet

I know this might be a little crass but hey, no children commented on my recent beast-post so I think I’m in the clear. I saw something on market day that… was…

OK so no one adjective could possibly fill that vacancy, but it was many things. I’ll just describe it. An old woman. An old Peuhl woman. She is looking after—what I can only assume is—her grandson. He’s a toddler, maybe he can say a few words, but still plainly young and innocent. So it’s been a long day at market I’m assuming. Grandma is sitting on a stool and waiting. Grandson pulls her shirt down. He’s hungry, who can blame him? Like I said, it’s been a long day. She kind of pulls her shirt up half-heartedly. The boy insists. She is kind of not paying attention. Uh. Is this thing on? It doesn’t seem to be working. Grandma seems to have all the equipment, but something is amiss.

Now have you ever seen a little boy try to suck a thick malt shake out of a straw? You know, a little boy or like me, in college? Baby be goin’ to TOWN on Grandma. And to no avail. Every so often grandma sort of tries to push him but boy be all determined and she’s not really embarrassed. So the boy starts really digging in. Now it’s like a guy trying to push, heft and heave a heavy vehicle out of deep mud. He is pushing as hard as he can, ramming grandma and his feet are futiley (which is a word now) losing traction in the dirt. He pushes and pushes and sucks and sucks and grandma just has a resigned look on her toothless face.

I wanted to take a picture but I knew what a great honor it was to just watch this hilarious, if sad, situation. I also knew I’d never be able to capture it. Then I started to think about that situation and it kind of reminded me of Africa in a way. How hard was that boy toiling to get what should have been his? Grandma (Africa) was not unwilling or withholding, she just didn’t have the resources to provide the boy with a fair reward for his efforts. He spun he wheels and huffed and puffed but in the end there was no use. You should see the effort people put into growing an onion, or a stalk of millet, and the marketable value it has in the end. Companies in the developed world may claim that their greatest asset is the people, but here, people’s work is nothing. It’s almost free. If someone can work all day to get something that they wouldn’t have had otherwise, they do. Holy crap I feel for that boy. Such effort would have been amply rewarded if the little boy’s caretaker had just been a little more fruitful. Know what I’m sayin?
Don’t get me wrong though. It was hilarious.

And a photo that has nothing to do with any of that.