Home Again, Home Again Jiggity Jig

These past 10 days of being home have been spent primarily trying to keep my head above water in terms of having dived back into the school year. Exactly a year ago I was overwhelmedly juggling the schooling of 3 girls whilst attending to a newborn, sinkingly wondering if I had bitten off more than I could chew--which doesn't even compare to this year, when said baby is playing beaver to all electrical wires and unearthing chopsticks, delightedly performing her lurching run with one pointed at her uvula and the other at her eye. Spare moments have been spent glutting myself on the gorgeous view out our back door, not to mention the prodigious stash (sans rodents, I might add) of junkfood in our pantry. Time to lay off the Oreos and chips and focus on fitting into my matron of honor dress in a couple weeks.

Have I mentioned how good it is to be home, though? Just doing the normal things like drinking water out of the tap, purchasing a tomato without the whole haggling song and dance, walking out the front door virtually unnoticed (as opposed to Bushland, where stepping off the property sometimes feels more like an escape from Auschwitz scene when glaring searchlights converge on the hapless bolter). Bushman has been enjoying the more banal aspects of life back home, too, like scavenging at the numerous neighborhood garage sales or taking out the trash--though due to his attire preferences, he prefers to enjoy this chore under the cover of night.

We've also had precious private family time together, sharing meals, hanging out on the patio, playing games. Last night we played "Guess What Color Underwear Dad's Wearing," and though her sisters went for staunch monochromatic guesses of white?-gray?-blue?, Golde won a dollar for her two-toned proffering, which proves that it takes one to know one.

At first glance, you might think the following picture depicts the family taking in the beauty of a pan of brownies, or perhaps relishing the sight of a Domino's pizza.

Alas, Bushland is alive and well even in spirit on this side of the Atlantic.

The Root of Goodbye

So I'm sitting here in the cool dry air, carressing the carpet with my finally-clean toes, ignoring our 3-month pile of mail and the frantic flashing of our voicemail indicator. Ah, the bliss of seeing the dear faces of friends awaiting us at the airport, and then coming home to our tidy little nest (which had been stocked to overflowing by the aforementioned saints with every gustatory delight we might possibly have pined for while we were away. I won't have to shop for a week... I love you guys!!!).

Saying goodbye was indeed bittersweet--a combination of tears and banter and the pervasive anxiety that we wouldn't make it to the airport.

C showed up smashed and added to the spirit of the adieus, wrestling the kids into awkward embraces.

He somehow managed to find his way into our private restaurant meal, eliciting disdainfully raised Fwancais eyebrows at neighboring tables and thrilling Escotty to no end.

Of course, Bushman was warmed by C's unruly presence, taking deep emotional draughts of the singular brand of charm found in Bushland. The thing is, though Bushamn appreciates the freedom and ease life back home affords, he generally finds it boring compared to the feeling (you have to say it with a West-African accent) of Bushland, where there's something enthrallingly bizarre or appalling happening around every corner.

And our final night didn't disappoint in this domain.

Sometime between the seafood pizza and the bill, surely to aid in our digestion, C's gums decided to send off into the world one of their own.

Even more beguiling was when Bushman plucked the abomination off the placemat, depositing it in his wallet to take home as a souvenir. Strangely, I couldn't find an appropriate blank to itemize it on our customs declaration form.

Sparkly

We just got back from a girls' trip to this village's Tuesday market, a highly anticipated event. The market moves to a different location each day and offers a host of wares--anything from undergarment stalls (you should see the doozies I got Bushman) to Barak Obama flip flops to enormous bales of used clothing still boasting their Goodwill tags.

It's lushly hot today, and the kids had a grand time spending their pocket money on bangles and cloth.

We're leaving tonight, and I must clear this computer of my files before passing it on, so this will probably be my last post from here.

Leaving will be bittersweet.

A Few on My Favorite Things IX

I just wanted to tell you a bit about my deep affection for this plant. I'm one of those people who can scarcely bear to watch those parts on reality shows where the dry-heaving girl eats a meaty tarantula for $100,000. Bugs give me the heebies, especially when I encounter them in my food. Which is where this dear, dear plant comes in. It's located ten feet out CrazyLady's front door and has been the recipient of countless furtively flung worm- and weevil-infested pastries from Crazy's oven. We just had afternoon coffee time, and of course the latest tart was served up, this particular specimen particularly rife with 'decorations.' Like I said, I LOVE this plant.

Homemade Fun

You guys remember Barbarella, right? Well, lately she’s been whisking our 3 oldest girls off to rehearse a secret performance. A few days ago they returned from her home bearing printed invitations to the gala, so yesterday we got all gussied up and headed off into the auspicious night.

Upon our arrival, the kids were marshalled through the front door, while Diamond (her late-20’s hired help) pseudo-solemnly escorted us through the back door and into Barbarella’s elegant living room.

In one of the doorways was pinned a mysterious white sheet, behind which emanated all sorts of promising sounds.

We sat around smiling at each other with gleefully raised eyebrows, especially when an assortment of refreshments was shoved at us from beneath the sheet with directions to serve ourselves. Then the lights dimmed, and the fun began.

The shadow play, titled “Fisch und Vogel, Meer und Wald,”was certainly meant to be ethereal and enchanting, and it was. Gossamery paper cutouts of fish and birds cavorted gaily behind the sheet to strains of delicate music. Until the CD player crapped out. Then the uncertain paper creatures ceased their frolic as Barbarella began to scream in frustration at poor Diamond to fix the music, so he did the logical thing and proceeded to wallop the machine. Evidently, this method worked, because the music started up again, only to die again, so we enjoyed the rest of the performance amid periodic roars and beatings. Of course, at this turn of events we truly were enchanted.
Next, we were treated to some kind of scarf dance (bless my children for being so easy-going), and things really got good when it was insisted that we join in the romp.

As you can imagine, the guys found this part very exciting.

The girls got to keep their dancing cloths.

Golde ran around in her sister-fashioned orange toga while we chatted in the aftermath.

A good time was had by all.

Baby Visit

M is the one woman who works in the shop. She's a bit of a tomboy, not flirty, and can hold her own among all those 'stinky boys,' as Crazy calls them.
A month ago she had a baby, so yesterday we womenfolk headed out to pay them a visit.

I can't overemphasize the hospitality here--as usual, we were invited to hang out on the bed, and one of children was sent scampering off to the boutique to procure us a 2-liter bottle of Africa Cola (which, in accordance with local taste, is like regular Coke mixed with a vat of syrup).

I've been mopey in my last posts, and now I'm getting a wee bit choked up, because as much as this place drives me crazy, this is precisely the sort of thing I'm going to miss.

I wasn't kidding about the bushes on laundry day

There's something in the chocolate

Bushman often remarks that living here you have to laugh, or else you'll cry (and quite possibly never stop). I haven't blogged in the last few days because I'm in one of those get-me-outta-here funks that just won't let up, my mind obsessive-compulsively flitting between two thoughts: 1) the number of days till we go home, and 2) how stupefyingly, mind-alteringly backwards things can be in this neck of the woods.
I dare not delve into the heavier ones, but here are some of the lighter:
J's formerly-white fuse box after a morning's work

and you just have to live here to realize the exercise in futility this tool-organization board represents, except perhaps to remind Bushman of the tools he used to have. For some reason, he forgot to outline the tools' legs.

On a different note, getting Golde to take her Meph is increasingly interesting now that she's wised up to the fact that her chocolate is laced with the powdered antimalarial. It sure is fun scraping her face and making her swallow every last drop.

Hourglass

I'm not feeling plucky nor pithy right now, but on a blog a drivelly sign of life might better than none, eh? X's on the calendar aside, there are moments when it's all I can do to not pick up the phone and demand room on the next available flight outta here, and I'm in the midst of one of those. It's laughably selfish, especially in the face of the obvious human plight surrounding us, so I haven't blogged about it, but those of you who know me well also know this is a struggle of mine. So I'm counting my blessings and posting pics of a few of them:

Adorable J, who's worked so hard on his first 50 calendars

My precious girls who smile for the camera, even when we're doing school and it's too hot to think

The fact that duct tape really does work for everything.

15 Extra Minutes of Eco-Unfriendliness

We just returned from 2 days at our favorite getaway spot--a little beachside hotel on the female side of the peninsula. During the winter months, it's rife with French tourists escaping the Paris gloom--mostly wiry men in berets playing petanque, young couples in matching swimsuits (meaning:bottoms only), and lots of ridiculously skinny pork-rind brown women lounging poolside beneath cumulus clouds of cigarette smoke. But during the muggy summer months, we take advantage of the off-season specials and usually own the place.

We celebrated an early double wedding anniversary with Touti and Escotty and treated CrazyLady to some time away from the shop. Walks on the beach, endless shell-collecting, three-course meals served pool- or beach-side, good company, a drenching predawn storm... a lovely respite.

My favorite part hands-down was blasting the air-conditioner and (get this) taking a hot high-pressure 20-minute shower. Sheer perfection, I tell you. Compared to my daily cleansing regimen (which generally consists of stifling curses whilst twitching under a cold dribble after having bludgeoned a centipede to death with the shampoo bottle), this was utter bliss.

Interesting Things in the Water

We headed out for another surfing lesson for Paquin yesterday, but ended up being driven out of the sea by the legions of jellyfish infecting the waves. Two of our crew got stung--one of our children, and one friend (male, adult, otherwise-relatively calm and collected)--hilarious beyond words to see him booking out of the waves in full-on flail mode. Not able to frolic as usual, the kids took particular pleasure in stabbing the washed-up specimens with sticks.

Then we came home for yet another BBQ (Dad, that's your old grill!). Here are the guys making sure the meat stayed put over the coals.

Meanwhile, we womenfolk took care of the salads and side dishes. Thought you gals'd appreciate the color of the tap water I used to wash my lettuce.