Merry Christmas
You’re Going to Hell.

Well. It’s been an interesting month. Highlights include…. It being over. I’ve been treated for Malaria, Amoebas and Shistosomiasis. Imagine the hellish symptoms leading up to that! Still, they would come and go so I had some terrible nights and some doable days. Like Christmas.

So try to imagine my morning. I was up on and off the previous night with a death-fever and my back was killing me for some reason. Finally the morning is here and my fever has broken and I’m trying to not feel. Just laying there not ready to start the morning.

Someone comes into my concession. “NNSOMA!... NISOM!... AASOM!!” Over and over he shouts I ni sogoma, but in a (what I feel is) rude short, inarticulate shouting, curt,… ok so it’s maybe starting to become apparent why I’m going to hell right?

FINALLY! After like five minutes of him shouting, and me determined not to get up (no chance in my little hell), he goes away. Jeeze.

So I’m laying there. Wishing I wasn’t awake, but what can you do right? A couple minutes later the guy comes back in with renewed determination to shout his little mantra NSOG!!!! NSOG!!!!! NNNNSOG!!!!!!!!!!

(I’m sorry mom. I don’t use foul language very often, but I may or may not have used some here. Though I’ll admit, what I think I actually said on christmas morning was something I don't say most years, let alone the day we celebrate Jesus' birth.)

Finally I realizing this one doesn’t go away but with fast and prayer. I get up with some very unchristmasy language and storm through my house and slam open (somehow) my door and march up to this well-dressed young man and stop a couple feet short. The image is obviously a little startling for the poor teenager and he, startled, takes a few steps back.

He’s too scared now to say anything and I’m too angry to have pity. I drop my head as if to say “WHAAT!?” and the poor lad delivers his message:

“Sidiki told me to tell you that Christmas services are at 10:30 not 9am.”

Sigh.

“OK. Tell Sidiki I’m sick and may or may not make it depending on how I’m feeling. Thank you.”

OK so you’re going to hell. Big deal. You’re in too much pain to care.

I try to find a position on the mat that assuages my pains but nothin doin.

Having only just survived (in quite pathetic fashion I’m sure) into the 10am hour, I decide to just take a fist full of Advil and see where that takes me. They kick in handsomely around 11am and I feel like maybe I can do something with the day.

Just in time because Kadia shows up saying they need money for cattle feed. Why are these cows not sold yet? When will they be and WHERE were you planning on magically finding this money?

Yes, yes, I realize I’m white, but I don’t keep that kind of money around my house. I don’t even have that kind of money to spend on your cows. WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO THE MONEY FOR THE PROJECT, THE PLAN, THE BUDGET, EVERYTHING WE SAID WAS GOING TO HAPPEN???

OK so I call over guy who’s been helping on the project because I’m not getting anywhere (good anyway). He comes over (thank goodness), and they begin to have like an hour long argument in a language I don’t understand.

I’m praying to know what to do to help this project not fall apart. I don’t want to enable irresponsible actions but I want to help. I want to do the best thing.

In the end the question is “OK well, how much money DO you have.”

I take this opportunity to remind him that it’s my holiday. It’s Christmas. (THAT’s right… Happy fette. May allah bring us another year of such.) Thank you.


I continue, I’m in africa by myself trying to help these women. What’s his motive? He says he wants to help and doesn’t expect money. OK let’s continue.

So I spend the day at market helping them by feed and using all my energy in doing so.

Here’s another funny thing about this day. I wanted lunch. Guess what. The cattle feed place that I was spending my time was RIGHT NEXT to a place who sold market day food to our lowly pilgrims. They even had Zame. So I find out the woman’s name, do the standard joke/greeting and say I want a plate of zame.

Ten minutes later.

Yeah I know I’m white but I seriously want some food.

Heh, of course you do. WINK.

Ten minutes later.

I’m waiting for a guy to come back from haggling over the price of feed. Make me a plate.

Right away sir WINK AGAIN.

Uh, are you out of zame now? What the freak? Forget it, I have to work again.

After all is said and done I pass through market and pick up something to eat. I can’t remember what now. I go home and call it a day.

It’s still the afternoon but I’m tired. And going to hell. Merry Christmas anyway.