Well, it’s the rainy season. In my village it’s great; I hide out in my hut (the Senegalese do too so there’s no guilt) and listen to the rain on my grass roof. In Thies the rains sort of sucks because all the roads wash out and the taxis charge double to take you within a mile of wherever you are trying to go. Also, no grass roofs, but those leak anyway so I guess that’s a good thing depending on your mood.
It started raining today just before class got out. I had planned on meeting some other people at a café with wireless (so I could write all of you - and no, Mauritania’s coup has not affected volunteers here). The rains made it too difficult for us to get there, we had all taken separate routes to run errands, so we ended up at a place with cheaper beers but no Internet. That was a little too fun and lasted a little too long, so by the time we left I couldn’t find a cab to take me anywhere near my house.
My only option was to return to the training center and spend the night in the medical hut. That's where I am now. Other than the quiet (actually, this is huge), it didn’t appeal to me much at first. But I sat on the bed and when I looked to my right I saw the lone book on the shelf is a Carl Hiaasen novel! It’s a sign. I gotta go now.
P.S. In the cab I was waffling about whether or not I should hike the 2km in the mud, but then I remembered last night’s mishap and decided not to take my chances. On my way home last night I rounded a corner, stepped in a slippery spot and did a near face-plant.
I was covered and had to take a bath outside before I could go into the house. The mud was a strange consistency, tacky, which wasn’t entirely unpleasant but nothing I want to repeat.
