Yesterday was the lunch and party for the twenty kids whom we Belgian folks sponsor.

I was in bed trying to sleep and locate my head when the festivities started. I expected to be absent from it all. But Lydia knocked on my door, unwilling to have me miss an event that I’ve loved. And she promised that I could lie down when I needed to in Baziel and Lore’s well air-conditioned room. Hard to resist!

It was just as I remembered: girls in bright dresses, boys wearing that extra-special something, some women of the village preparing a delicious meal of beef, seasoned rice, manioc, carrots … Kids were colouring in cartoon characters and having their art displayed on a wall of honour. Balloons were being bounced from child to child. A celebration!

Due to a certain dullness of mind, I never thought to take pictures. C’est dommage. (That’s a pity) But two grand photos were taken – of all of us. Senegalese kids and their families, Senegalese teachers, Senegalese cooks and Belgian visitors.

I especially enjoyed the sparkling eyes of a young girl when they met mine. And such a smile. Apparently she has a mental disability but she’s a champion of connection. I can’t remember her name … but I will not forget her.

There was a visitor at Lydia’s today whom I remember well. Eddy was a bartender at Keur Saloum before he retired. He was famous for making excellent Pelicans (an exotic form of gin-and-tonic). His son, in his 20s, is battling a life-threatening disease. “Je prie pour ton fils” I told him. (I am praying for your son)

I wandered a bit before retiring to my aircool in the heat of the afternoon. (It works!) How about a football game on a patch of bare earth between houses? The price was right. The kids were giving their all. What could be better? And I didn’t need to know the score.

I’ve been to matches in Toronto and Vancouver surrounded by 25,000 fans. Even though the energy of the cheering (and singing!) human beings was immense, I prefer the Toubacouta flow of the game.

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That feels like enough for today

See you when we’re older