6/23/2001:another pleasant afternoon here in babadjou. the sun is out, it's warm and there’s a gentle breeze rustling through the corn stalks and banana leaves. Isma’s going between me – on the porch, alone – and a few women – Mirabelle, Mme. Suzanne, etc. – sitting in the shade of the young papaya in front of the kitchen. my hands/arms hurt from doing laundry this morning. wringing out my clothes wrung out my muscles.
this is my first real day off. in hindsight, last weekend (with all the ceremony here) didn’t count as a holiday. this is the pace i couldn’t wait to live at as early as the trip from the airport in Yoaunde. i do, of course, have some work to do... French, tech, cross-culture. but peace and serenity come first. i’m to help Mirabelle prepare supper in about an hour... rice and peanut sauce. i’m afraid the dried fish i brought her back from the market will also end up in the sauce...
we’re all wearing a piece of fabric identical to a dress Valerie (Yoyo’s widow) is wearing. it’s to reflect/commemorate our common loss. more than anything, it keeps her and all the pain she is and will have to suffer through on my mind... it reflects that even though we may all be in this together, she bears the burden most significantly.
IMAGE: my laundry hanging to dry. the line is stretched from the main house (in view) to the kitchen (behind me taking the picture) across the way. this is one of my firsts loads of laundry and, thus, quite an achievement. worthy of a photo, i thought.
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