country love

i have been in africa for about 2 weeks now and a lot of that time was spent waiting- waiting for buses to be fixed, for station wagons to get filled up, for meals to be served. I made it to a concert where i got to see mali's creme de la creme of music from the fifth row (for a VIP ticket price of $7)! I have been proposed to multiple times ( as are all the tourists) sometimes with an offer of 10 cows. I have had grilled lamb, shared watermelon, papaya, countless cups of tea with the locals on tabaski. and now finally, i sit and write about the Africa i have seen and experienced during walks and bus/taxi rides.

the bus/wagon weaves through a maze of finished and unfinished road, barely avoiding a cow skull on an occasion, leaving a dust cloud for the followers to swallow. i see a teenager kick a soccer ball at a bus stop in the middle of nowhere, his bright yellow Ronaldo #9 jersey shines on as does his smile in the blistering heat. NY caps and Unicef t-shirts are everywhere as is Obama- he makes an appearance on pants, his smiling face embroidered on one leg, on bedspreads, motorbike stickers, even on flip flops- a pair of which i couldn't help buying.
A mother and daughter, with their high cheekbones, hold tattooed hands.
motorcycles, cycles, goats are tied on the roofs of buses along with backpacks from REI. at a police checkpoint, a policeman opens the trunk, hoists a goat by its legs, then drops it back in the trunk and the car goes on its way.

i have been on 2 long bus journeys (8-12 hours), and both have been punctuated by mechanical failure after about 2 hours.
all passengers wait on the roadside praying for a miracle to happen while the driver takes the bus apart. men and women laze around on the languid afternoon under skeletal shacks, precariously balanced on knotty wooden poles passing tea around in a little communal shot glass.
a little girl dressed in her traditional attire, the color of sunshine, plays games on a cell phone. Another girl prances about singing songs as her mother struggles to hold her down to put purple extensions in her hair-an effort to tame her wild hair.
a mother has her son tethered to her breast- no one gives a second look.
a little boy holds a dead bird in his hands, as he would a soft toy while his sister, in her shocking pink dress and braids that end in kaleidoscopic color clips blinks her eyes repeatedly at me.
i play with the 2 year old kid Mambi, who either starts crying at the sight of me, or imitates my every move.
a woman on a scooter calls out to me saying I love you, perhaps the only English words she picked up from an english movie.

i take a walk in the village, little mud houses with corrugated tin sheets as doors all opening to a common courtyard. many men have multiple wives here.
in spite of the chaotic facade, everything, everyone seems to move at a snails pace here- except the african women. they strut around in their traditional garb with a regal air about them. an epitome of grace, a shoulder casually bared sometimes, a baby slung low on their backs, they cook food, grind millet, carry water while the men sit and 'discuss', an african man said to me over a slice of watermelon.

i find a corner in the shade and try to read a book while a woman nearby pounds millet with her daughter making beautiful music, a baby set in a constant hug on her back.