Here in Senegal, French is the European language and then there are several native languages.  When I’m surrounded by French words flying every which way, I easily get exhausted.  I catch a few words in each sentence, but the meaning blows by me, especially if the speaking is fast.

Oh well.  It’s part of life … being with friends whose first language isn’t mine.  There’s a different flavour when my Belgian friends and I are sitting around the dinner table.  The language is Flemish, and since I know very few words, the conversation feels like music.  It rolls over me.  I’m not trying to understand anything.

***

It was 7:00 am this morning and a choir was coming by.  I heard the chant from far away … and then so close.  It was joyous.  It was crammed with energy.  It rose and fell and then rose again.  And softly faded from my reposing body.  Turns out that it was the military parading through Toubacouta.

***

Our neighbours in Auberge La Praline are also from Belgium.  They were leaving this morning for another town in Senegal.  One woman, whose name I never learned but who had a great smile, was laden down with two backpacks.  I had never seen anything like it:

I kidded her that those bags were just full of air but the strain on her face said otherwise.

***

Yesterday I found a marvelous painting of a baobob – the classic tree of Senegal.  I wanted it for my guest bedroom in Ghent, which has orange walls.  The question was whether it would fit in my luggage.  The owner of the jewelry shop didn’t have a tape measure but he gave me a length of wire.  We measured the length of the painting.  Back home at the Auberge, the length would just fit.  Then I measured the width of the suitcase.  Back at the shop today, the width of the painting was slightly less.  Yay!  A baobob will grow in Ghent.

***

And now the big questions:

Can I stay happy in this heat?

Can I stay kind in this heat?

Here’s me in today’s uniform:

The headband is not an adornment.  It’s essential.

I’m learning to rest in the afternoon.  To give myself the air conditioning when it’s working.  To slow right down.  My head often wavers in slowness of thought.  Sometimes I make bad decisions.  Here’s one:

My friend Boon-dow lives across the street from Lydia.  I don’t know how to spell her name but that’s how you say it.  I was walking by with my cherished baobob tree.  I thrust the painting into her arms and started walking away … a stunt I’ve done dozens of times.  Then I swirl back and run towards her with open arms.  She runs away!  I chase.  And around and around we go.

I stagger away, complete with laughs and a painting.  But this isn’t the moderate temperatures of Canada.  This is the searing heat of Senegal.  Soon I’m doubled over on the edge of a swoon.

Really dumb, Bruce!

I hereby declare my commitment to be careful in this heat.  It’s a word I’m not entirely familiar with

On we go