I woke up yesterday morning and slept in nice. It was Sunday. I decided to have another pastry at the Pâtisserie le Royaume des Gourmands. But they were closed. Dammit. Then I headed down the street to see if I could find the Auberge Lafia. I couldn't. Then I headed by the Long Ma Chinese place--still closed, but it wasn't noon yet. Then I found the internet cafe. Whew! At least one mission accomplished. While I was the internet cafe, the annoying guy from the Maison des Jeunes came by. Jesus, does this guy follow me everywhere? He's ubiquitous. I can't escape him. And every time he appears, he wants to talk--and by talk, I mean spout continuous BS without needing any response from me. He just talks and talks and talks and talks. If all I do is say Uh-huh, he just talks and talks. He doesn't converse--he delivers a long boring fatiguing soliloquy.
I headed back to the Maison des Jeunes and found the Swiss and French guys having a "coffee" in the local coffee stand. I had one too. Super sweet, but only CFA150 (US$0.30). I headed back to my room and asked the French guy about the guy who appears everywhere. As he was describing his run-ins with the guy, we passed the guy and he of course started to follow us. He and I exchanged a few words. He was angry and I was starting to get angry. He tried to call me a racist. He kept pointing at his eyes then mine saying how differently he sees me nowthat the first night we talked and we were friends, but now I don't have time for him when all we wants to do is help me know and understand his home town where he has lived for 7 years, blah blah blah yadda yadda yadda. It was stream of consciousness embittered malarkey.
I made sure my stuff was still in my dorm bed. All good. Then I headed out to find something cold to drink--preferably something fermented. It was past noon and I figured the Appaloosa might be open. Nope--not till 6 on Sundays. Dammit. I wandered around the streets and finally found myself close to the Long Ma, so I went to see if it was open. Yes! It was. I went in. I indulged in an egg roll, sweet and sour pork (if I'm going to eat at noon during Ramadan, might as well go all out and have pork, eh?), eggplant in spicy sauce, a serving of white rice, and 2 large Castel beers. The whole indulgent bill came to just under CFA10000 (US$20). It was so much that I couldn't even finish it. I headed back to my bed and slept it off.
Later that night, my roommate and his friend came back. His friend speaks English with a very very strong accent. Gee I hope my French accent isn't as bad as his English accent. But it would explain why some people don't seem to understand me. They tried to team up to convince me to go to the American embassy so I could get the guy a visa to come to the United States. I had explained previously to the guy that only a family member can do that. They couldn't understand why I can't, as a real American citizen, just waltz into the embassy, like I own it, and tell them to issue a visa to some guy I just met. They don't understand the absurdity of the request. And they expect to get by in America? They seem to think that you show up in America and bask in the shower of money. It ain't like that. Life is not easy for first generation immigrants. They are confined to certain jobs that don't pay much unless they happened to have received a good education in their home countries. A person without such an advantage shouldn't come to America hoping to get rich. They should come to America for their children, who truly and genuinely will benefit from being born an raised in America rather than Guinea or Mali or anywhere else in Africa.
They talked for a while in their native language and every once in a while looked over at me with a look that either bitter or perhaps a sort of jealousy (why does this guy get to be born there and I had to be born here?). Either way, it was discomforting. Finally, time ticked by and my Chinese meal was still going through me like a poodle through a boa constrictor.
I had a few bouts of diarrhea. I ran out of toilet paper and got to learn the local method. They use these plastic containers that look like teapots. They and short and stout and have a handle and a spout. I don't know how they use them, but I reached my right hand under my front, and put the spout where my tailbone is and poured water down from above my crack. Then I used my hand to rub and scrub. It was positively gross, but when I was done, it seemed clean. I sniffed my hand and it didn't smell bad at all--a little bad, but hardly detectable. I realized then that I should have done that with opposite hands. Oh well, next time. I forget my soap so I just rinsed my hand in the sink under a lot of water. I sniffed again. Not bad.
Finally, the night came and I drifted off to sleep.
September 15, 2008 10:11 Mali local time
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