Every now and then I have what I call one of my “Holy shit I’m in Africa” moments. One of my favorites was when Kwesi and I were sitting under a large shade tree in one of the small villages outside of Damanko talking to a group of people about our plans for a latrine-building project. There we were, sitting in plastic chairs and wooden benches in the middle of a group of mud and thatch houses, the “bush” not ten yards from us. Half a dozen cattle wandered behind us trying determinedly to get a mount, just as normal as could be, with chickens skittering around their hooves trying to peck of the tasty bugs. This is how planning meetings occur in the village setting. No suits, briefcases, and fat conference tables here!
Then today: Sitting on top of my water tank with a book and the cat. The market space was busy with the evening market as the weather cools off and people come back from farm. The dust creates a haze as people walk with their fetched water on their heads, as children scamper everywhere, and bicycles cross to and fro. Then all five of the mosques nearby start singing for evening prayers. It provides quite the soundtrack.
Holy crap, where am I?
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