Politics

Some of you have asked about how Malians(in general) view the US elections and what we are hearing, through local media, about the primaries. Basically, and this is generalized, Malians don't like "Bushi" as he's referred to here. They say he "wants to avenge his father and will sell his people for oil."
So they are excited by the primaries. Hilary Clinton, not so exciting, although they did love Bill. I think part of the reason is that a female head of state is nothing new in Africa. Its happened before. But Barak Obama, well, thats something else entirely. "Il est noir!" The tell me and ask skeptically if Americans would ever have a black president. When they find out his father is Kenyan, well, he's even better then. The foreign press I see seems to wonder if he's our savior.

It just is such a good reminder to me about how self absorbed our country is. Seriously, even being here, I couldn't tell you 1/10th of the information of Malian politics that Malians can tell you about ours...

Dionfacourou: Conclusion

After 5 days or so, our clean water was running low and it was just time to go home. M had still not been able to change her money and work wasn't done, so we had to leave without our original travel companions. We enjoyed a leisurely morning until Kara's little brother Toure, who was going into Bamako to change M's money and sell some of Kara's wildlife parts to help him subsidize her not paying him, asked annoyed why we weren't ready yet.
We threw our things in our bags and tried to not act rushed as we wandered towards the main road saying our goodbyes along the way. We promised to try to come back. Everyone said how much they'd miss us. It was sweet. Two cups of raw peanuts were given to keep us nourished on our journey. We arrived just as our bags that had been put on the back of a bike did. There were about 6 others waiting, including Toure, 8 huge bags of peanuts, a few boxes of things and other large packages.
The car from Manatali arrived and was completely full. Despite asking Kara the night before if all was arranged, he did not mention what he did at that moment which was we could have called Manantali and reserved our spot. No worries, we're told by Kara, cars come by all the time. We take a seat in the shade.
20 minutes later a large freight truck that we had seen in Bamako(distinctive with its big JAMZ! graffiti on it) stops and starts loading up bags of peanuts. Kara explains that its the fish truck and every day they haul in about 2 tons of fish from Lake Manatali to Bamako. As we're chatting, I notice our bags being loaded on. I say something thinking there must be a mistake. Kara just gets excited and says, "Oh, no, this is good! This is fast, you will be home soon."
We approach the truck as Toure is hopping up on top of a bunch of crates, I'm thinking to help load up some things, but he's, in fact, finding his seat. He is literally 15' up.
"Djeneba, An ka ta," Kara says to me as I'm looking up. He takes my bag and motions upwards. I can't even quite figure out where the foot holds are, more or less understand how this works with Marshall. Ian is literally being pushed on.
"F@#$ that! An ka ta HOW?!" I ask. 10 years ago as a Peace Corps Volunteer, no problem, but I have a baby. I'm older now...
Kara laughs with a couple of others at my suprise and says in English, "Ok, you go front." I am hurried to the cab so we can be on the way.  Kara takes my bag, letting me only grab Marshall's water.  I have no idea how long I'm on this truck...
You can only imagine Ian's trip, but here's a picture he took to show his time up in the truck with the smell of warming fresh fish.




Thats Toure on the left. He took good care of us. Poor guy, being left with the whities and their baby...

Anyway, up front, although more standard of a place to ride, was not without its issues.  There were four of us up there.  The driver, and 3 of us, not including Marshall, in the passenger seat.  I was right next to the gear shift and if Marshall wasn't trying to grab it, he was about to kick it at any given time.  The driver asked me at least 10 times how to get a visa to go to the states.  I explain each time that, being from the states, I've never needed one, so have no idea how.  He doesn't buy this.  

His driving is good, but he tries to treat the freight truck as if its a Land Rover and being right up front, I actually experienced some motion sickness for the first time in my life.  About 2-3 hours later, we arrive in Kita.  I'm really not sure if we're stopping here or not, but I'm hoping so, because I'm needing off this ride for a bit, at least before another 4-5 hours to Bamako.  As we go through town, its looking like we're not as we pass place after place that I would think we'd stop.  I take a deep breath and remind myself its going to be over soon.

On the far end of town, just past a round a bout, we pull over although I'm still not sure we're getting off.  I wait until someone tells me to.  As soon as I get off, the motion sickness hits full force and I hand Marshall over to Ian as I feel like I'm about to pass out.  I'm hoping Ian didn't understand that, because at the same time he's telling me to move, we have another bus to catch.  As I'm about to tell him off, I throw up the bit of water I'd just drank.  Toure is standing to the side not quite knowing what to do.

Ian understands now, hands Marshall to Toure, puts a cold cloth on the back of my neck and explains that I'm sick(duh) and that we need to take it easy.  I'm feeling so green, but at the same time, elated as I see the freight truck drive off.  My elation helps me start to feel better and we slowly make our way across the street to the bus station.

Kita is modern enough.  There are cold drinks, electricity and the like.  The bus company has placed all of the really comfortable seats they took off the converted Belgian tour buses to make their fleet just outside the station in the shade.  We sit down, get cold water and sodas and slowly but surely, I start feeling better.  Neither one of us has had much to eat, but we share some peanuts with Toure and relax.  

Our bus left about an hour later and the driver, thankfully, was determined to beat his fastest time and stopped only for the quick police stops after we were searched the first one.  It was funny, people had to show their IDs and if they didn't have them, had to show their bus tickets and give a tax for not travelling with their papers.  All were closely inspected except for ours.  He saw the US passports and passed right on by...

We arrived home timely with few hitches and lots of gifts from bus passengers for Marshall.  If I haven't mentioned it already, this kid gets things everywhere he goes.  Free kilos of potatoes, money, extra tomatoes, you name it.  This ride he got bottled water and an apple from one guy(big gift, expensive things), a couple of bananas, and a few other things I can't quite remember.

Kara got back 4 days later and Ian is catching up with him for the first time this afternoon.  We aren't quite sure what has transpired, but we have heard that M still hasn't given him any money.  She called the other night asking if we had her "medicine."  No idea what she's talking about, but she's sure its with the baby's stuff.  She's feeling kinda sick, she says.  Well, we knew that!

Ian has been invited to a village up near Segou and after Dionfacourou, we are tempted to go and enjoy rural Mali again.  This time, without M.

Dionfacourou: More images

The boy in the purple just caught the gabon viper that is being roasted on the grill. Its supposed to be really yummy, Ian's had it.


Local kids


Marshall taking apart the furniture


More kids


The poor bull that was sacrificed looking like he's well aware of his fate


The head wife in our compound and the second wife's daughter


The old women bonding with Marshall


Typical commotion. The woman on the right in red is my new BFF. She says her name is Nana. She's Kara's older sister. People call her "Big Sister." She always made sure we had water to bathe, loved Marshall and was just one of those super lovely people that make you so happy you met them.


Hangin' with the neighbor kids


The neighbor ladies. The one on the far right was mad because I wouldn't let her breast feed Marshall.

Dionfacourou: Marshall and me

So, for the most part, Marshall and I hung out while Ian was off hanging with the boys doing "work"(no matter what he says they were drinking wine and tea and making crass jokes).  Marshall had great fun hanging with the kiddies, sitting in buckets of water and sleeping on mats in the shade.  The kids felt it was their job to watch him, as it is with the babies in their world.  Here he is playing with/attacking some of them.  I don't really know what happened to the sound...

Yeah...fun had by all.  We shared our meals with "the boys," but spent the rest of our day staying cool, either in water(we both ran out of batteries on our cameras, and missed a super shot of him in a small bucket of water laughing and talking) or in the shade.  In the morning, we'd wander about and get to know the village, the other families.  Typically we would send at least on child screaming.  One poor girl in particular took 4 people to calm her.  Her sadistic mother brought her by our place the next day to greet us, mom laughing all the way.  Poor thing.  To her, we're ghosts!

In the evenings, we'd sit by the light of a lantern and a very small fire and a very large moon, chat and appreciate full bellies and Marshall would drift off to sleep.  The women finally stop working at this time, the heat subsides and there's just a sense of calm that comes over the place.

Oh!  I almost forgot, Marshall made great friends with the local Kora player who came by regularly.  He wanted to learn how to play, well, or just taste it perhaps...

The guy came back to get a pic with his wife, but we didn't see him after that.  Maybe it was the liter of rubbing alcohol he drank one night on a dare.  I swear, there were moments, for the guys at least, I think they thought this was Dionfacourou Spring Break 2008...

Kara

This is Kara.  Sigh.  I think he's kinda dreamy.  This isn't the best representation of him, but its the best closeup I could find.  Most women think Kara is dreamy.   According to the locals, this is because he was born on a Thursday.  All men born on Thursdays are irresistible to women.  All women born on Wednesdays are irresistible to men.  Dontcha know?  What day of the week were you born?  I'm sure you are wondering now if you didn't know already, so I found this handy link...

General stats on Kara.  He's 52, I think.  He has 5 kids ranging in age from teenagers to a 2 year old.  He has one wife and unlike the typical Malian man, no matter what, wants to keep it that way.  That doesn't mean there aren't lots of women he "flirts" with.  He was born on Thursday.  

Kara was born and raised in Dionfacourou.  From what I can tell, since his father was so travelled and politically active, education was important to him, so Kara and all his brothers and it seems, even his sisters, all went to school a long ways, at least to pre high school.  

He is brilliant, in my opinion(may just be the Thursday thing...).  He speaks at least 5 local languages, French and even a fair amount of English.  

Kara has not been a full time diviner/traditional medical practitioner/good sorcerer all his life.  He's had quite a career as documented by a large photo album that he allowed Ian to bring home one day to share with me.  He travelled all over the region for a while with a West African theatrical troupe, as both a member and a manager.  He was a politician.  

He's been a hunter for a while.  He's done collections for American scientists.  He's supposedly the man you go to if you want hyenas.  When Ian met him in 2002, he was an animal parts vendor.  He still has some people selling things for him, he still hunts, but for the most part, now, he consults the sands, does sacrifices and helps people with their problems of all kinds.  Hes a therapist, a doctor a psychic and a magician.  He's a Renaissance man.  

Kara is a wanderer, a soul on a journey.  He's practiced both Islam and Christianity in his life, given them good shots, but decided neither one was for him, found the practitioners often not the good people they claimed to be.  And thats important to Kara, because beneath it all, he's a really good person and thats why we call him our friend.  Sure, he may drink a bit too much and smoke some things that we have no idea what they are, but he's always alert, always coherent and always wanting to give the best to his friends and family.

He leads a relatively normal life, despite his job, which is what it is.  Its a means to make money.  Now, he does believe in it, but its really just that, a job.  A way to support his family, a way to allow him to do the things he really enjoys in life:  spending time with his buddies, having a few bags of wine and laughing at crass jokes.  

My favorite memories of Kara while visiting Dionfacourou have to be in the middle of the night.  We ended up sharing a 7 foot by 7 foot room with him and M.  Marshall was adjusting to being in a new place and would wake up fussy.  Kara would literally crawl under our mosquito net and tell us what needed to be done.  And every time it worked even though my instinct was to do something different.  Ian now calls him the "Baby Wisperer" and we get great fun out of thinking about him having a show on TLC, helping people with fussy babies.

Dionfacourou: M...

So, as I said, the catalyst for this adventure was one of Kara's French clients.  He consults the sands for her daily, talks to her on the phone and as a result, she sends him about $100 a month.  She's a good client.  I hate being elusive, but as you will soon see, I just don't think its right to say the things I am about to say about someone by revealing too much about them.  I have a picture of her and her name, but, well, yeah..you'll see.

M is a woman in, oh, I'd say her mid-50's.  She was born in Guadalupe, is of an Afro-Caribbean background, and moved to Paris when she was young.  She has 3 grown children and 3 grandkids.  She is recently, I think, divorced, and her ex is with another woman.  M is convinced that the other woman is consulting with a Maribou, another sort of magic maker/diviner like Kara, against her, her friends, her family... generally anyone associated with her.  Her most recent work with Kara and the trip to the village was intended to counter the work of this Maribou and work against the evil ex who she is also convinced is trying to poison her.  

Oh, and she's also scared of the "black liquid."  Yeah, so to be honest, as you would imagine from any shaman/witch doctor/diviner, which is what you would consider Kara, he is often under the influence of something or the other that acts as a medium in his work.  One day after a few puffs of something unknown and lots of wine, he was on the phone with her and mentioned something about black liquid(Ian thinks he was pouring some tea and just said it randomly as he was looking at the tea being poured) and to be wary of it.

Ok, so here's where it gets good, she is visiting her son one day.  Hes working on his car outside and she sees some of this "black liquid" under his car(um, yeah, that would be OIL).  She freaks out, is convinced harm is coming to her son...

Anyway, I digress.  Someone asked me, "Did you expect her to be all there?" Of course I didn't.  But what I imagined was a bit of an eccentric, a Shirley McLane, Psychic Friends Network groupie type.  Someone grasping for something to believe in and something to help her control things in her life that were hard for her to deal with.  Ok, she is that, but in addition, she is terribly paranoid, horribly culturally insensitive, needlessly cheap, and as Ian said daily, "truly certifiable."

The paranoia I think I've already highlighted.  You go between being annoyed at her and feeling sorry for her and the way she needs to believe that the world is out to get her.  What a sad sad life that is.  Here she is in a fabulous small village and all she can do is complain and freak out and cry in front of people that don't understand public crying.  She was not able to enjoy a minute of it from what I could tell.

But that I might be able to forgive her for if it wasn't for her insensitivity to where she was.  For every day we were in the village, it costs Ian's teacher 10,000cfa, about $22.  Thats for our food and food for all the people helping us and their extended families.  About 10 families, close to 50 people total.  This is normal.  This is why its expected when you visit a village like this that you take gifts, typically money or food items that can be contributed towards meals.  M did not pay a dime. And when it came to the work(mainly the purchasing of the bull, she only gave Kara $1 when we had left for his actual professional services), she brought Euros to pay with thinking that she could "change them just like I can in Paris!"  Uh-huh...does the picture below look anything like Paris to you?  Someone had to be sent to Bamako to change them for her at the cost of $20 in transportation that she did not pay for.   Kara was going broke from her being there.  We helped out where we could, but at the same time, did not feel like it was any more our responsibility to float her.  She nickled and dimed everything.  Ian meets with Kara today to see where things stand.  I've offered to work up a bill, something typically not done in his line of work, but something I think she'll understand more than anything.  He lost a week of work out there for her.  Dionfacourou gave her meat and grain they didn't have to spare and she had nothing but complaints as thank yous.

Apologies, I know I seem to be going off a bit on her, but you have to respect the ways of the places you visit.  Is she expected to know all of these nuances we can because of our time here in Mali, no, but she is expected to ask, to show some sort of appreciation and to not expect them to just do things her way.  

Perhaps I should stop my badgering of her.  She spent a lot of time with me, as well, trying to tell me what to do with Marshall.  I feigned a small understanding of French.  She spent a lot of time telling a lot of people what to do in French, expecting them to understand, even a 3 year old child.  Some of Kara's friends said that, in their opinion, this is typical of the French.  They think West Africa is their playground and they can do with it as they will.  Its but one result of colonialism...of course this is a general statement, but people like Miss M help affirm it.

Morals of the story:  Don't let your anger with your situation ruin you appreciation of all other things in life and always, always, show respect to those who feed and shelter you when you are far from home.

Dionfacourou: An overview

Dionfacourou "North" at sunset.  The tree in the foreground is a baby Baobob

Excuse any obvious information to those of you familiar with African history.  Even after being here, though, I still find there is so little I know.  We didn't learn most of these things when I was in school...

Dionfacourou is a village of about 2000 people(so they say...I put it more around 800 tops).  The name literally translates to "the mountain where the slaves are sold."  Not slaves to the white man as you may imagine, but slaves within West Africa.  Not anymore, but ways back there was a local slave trade.  

If you are looking at a map of Mali, go west of Bamako and find Kita.  Go just west of that about 60km and you will come upon Dionfacourou on the way to Manantali.  The landscape is like most of inhabited Mali, as you will see below.  Dry, barren and not unlike parts of Arizona/Nevada/So Cal.

Ok, well thats just some of it.  Dionfacourou actually has some taller trees in its midst that provide more shade.  Also, as you can see above, its mostly circular mud huts in the stereotypical sense although some of them are painted with some simple designs that you may see in some later photos.  Its located near the Bafing reserve, a protected area and one of the few places you'll still find a fair amount of wildlife, well, at least the kind you'd imagine in Africa: lions, hyenas, etc.

The people in this part of Mali are largely Malinke.  The Malinke speak a language similar to Bambara(what Ian and I use here in Bamako on a daily basis) as it is the root language of many languages in West Africa.  Depending on who I was talking to, we could sometimes understand each other.  The area is also, historically, one of great political activity and resistance.  These guys fought hard against the French.  There are all sorts of stories...The dugutiki, or mayor of the village is Ian's teacher's father.  He is an incredible 90 year old sweetheart who hangs out in the shade all day while people come to him for counsel on various matters.  His "spot" was right in front of our bathroom, so we always had some good chats with him.  Ian found out one night on the way back that he was buddies and activists with Modibo Keita and Leopold Senghor, heavy hitters in the Independence movement in West Africa.  I'd Google them, if I were you, to find out more.  They were incredible folk...

They do two major things, in Dionfacourou, that I can gather.  They grow peanuts and a few other things, and they hunt.  I have to admit I did neither when I was there...but I did enjoy the company of some great hunters and I did eat some of the best peanut sauce I've ever had.

Dionfacourou: The voyage there

The Friday before we left, Kara sacrificed a chicken to assure us, what the sands were predicting, a good voyage.  Ian and I held to this hope as we awoke at 4:30 the next morning so we could meet Kara and M at the bus station at 6 am.  We go out to the main street about 2 blocks from out house at 5:30 to catch a cab, but in 10 minutes only see one moto pass.  Ian calls Kara to let him know we might be late as we are still waiting for a cab.  He obviously wakes him up.

We get to the station at 6 am, on the nose.  Bamako is still rising and the crowd is minimal.  The station we are at is basically and alleyway behind the nicest hotel in town.  We are relieved to see actual buses, always a step up from the converted trucks of all sizes with nothing but wooden benches inside. 

Ian calls Kara again to tell him we made it and where we are sitting.  He's woken him up again.  We sit and wait and fend off the luggage lock vendors and children who have stopped to stare at us.  We wait for at least an hour.

Kara and M arrive just in time for us to get on the bus.  We get a great seat in the back next to one of the few window openings.  Kara has brought some bread and the cooked remains of the chicken that was killed the day before.  He is quite proud of being so thoughtful and offers it excitedly to us once we hit the road.  

The sacrifice was worth it as the voyage, did, in fact, go without a hitch.  We stopped in Kita for a quick break, which ,for Kara, meant a stop at the bar to down a liter of wine, and ditching M to do it.  There were a couple of rough detours, but overall, smooth sailing.  Marshall handled it all with such grace and was passed around the back at one point so that all could appreciate his peaceful happiness of the day.  We arrived around 2pm.

Dionfacouru: Introduction

This entry begins an epic series of entries about our recent 5 day excursion to Ian's teachers village, Dionfacouru.  Hope you enjoy...

So, Ian's teacher, Kara(who you will learn more about later), has a loyal client, that I will call M for the purposes of this story.  M is French, lives in Paris.  She and Kara met years ago when she travelled to Mali with her now ex husband.  They talk everyday on the phone.  He does work for her and her family.  She sends money.  Her life is, in her opinion, "falling apart."  Again, more on this later.

She decided that she was going to come and visit him for two weeks this month.   The main reason for her visit was to see Kara and get some "big work" done.  He suggests going to his hometown to do the work.  Reasons for this are, first, he can do work that is more pure in the place of his birth and, second, there are other big "sorcerers" there that can help him out.

So, as his apprentice, Ian is, of course, invited to come, and in turn, Marshall and I as well.  This past Saturday we departed for our adventure.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Net lag

I've been trying to post some pictures for a few days now, but the net has been really slow here.  Not much going on.  Went to the 5 star fancy hotel yesterday to visit a travel agent.  There was a group of what looked like Saudi business men getting into a a fleet of SUVs when I arrived.  They had a Malian security detail of at least 30 men.   Insanity.  I was a wee bit worried about getting by as I was scrutinized as I approached.  Whatelse...ah, its getting hot.  The cool season is passing.  Its making it hard to think.  Well, hope to have those pictures up soon.  They are kinda silly..

Some things around our house...

Pure and fresh Shea butter. Great for the skin, but smells nasty.

Degue. Yummy. Imagine fresh yogurt drink, just the right amount of sweetness, a hint of lemon and spongy Grapenuts. Ok, well its much better than it may sound. As you can see, I can't quite get enough of it.

How would you feel if you walked into the store and Dannon had run out of strawberry yogurt tubs and so had printed some labels out on their lazer printer and put over a blueberry yogurt? Yeah, I'm not sure either, but no problem for Mali Lait!

Milk. The best we can get. Fresh stuff could have TB and needs to be boiled. We dream of ice cold pastuerized goodness...

Marshall's bottled water label. Its hard to see with my sub par photography(seriously, I understand the concept, but I can NEVER take a good shot to save my life), but the label around it saying, "Happy Tabaski" looks all like snow capped mountains and starry skies...funny.

Ian's favorite apple soda. I have to admit, it is pretty tasty. They have a pineapple one too...

Again, I know, I just can't get the flash right. I couldn't turn it off...anyway, great mosquito repellant, although I' m sure it contains some things that are illegal in the states.

French Canadian Duracell I guess doesn't have to worry about trademark infringements? They seem to have bastardized the Energizer Bunny.

Ok, this is not something around our house. This is my friend Ibrahim. A French teacher. He is trying to learn English and helping me with my French and Bambara. Everyone wants a picture with Marshall. Lots even just want a picture of Marshall. Maybe we could sell them...

Our fruit(well, and garlic) tray. Mangos, avocado, a lime, little green mandarins and a palm fruit(the brown thing in the top right) that we are supposed to be able to soak in water and enjoy, but its just as hard as a rock as before...so there it sits, making us laugh each time we see it.

Yummm...gateus. Like cupcakes but with millet flour. Spongy-er and denser, but with a little jam, oh so good.

My flash may have ruined these next two shots, but if you can see, the "good to know" info is all about how healthy Nescafe is for you. It gives you energy and doctors say its good for your health...really?!

Ok, I may be insane for putting this out here. Disclaimer: I am not a terrorist nor a supporter of them for the record and any government watchers out there. But Ian found this on the street and it was too...well, I don't know, not to share. What amazes me most is that its in English...why? By the way, this is an anomaly. This is the first I've seen of this and all Malians I've met have issues with "Bushi," as he's referred to here, but not the US in general.

Out of Context

I'm not sure if I've mentioned before about the "dead toubab" markets...bear with me if I have.

These are the markets that sell used Western clothing.  Basically, the local Goodwill.  Clothes that are given away to charity are boxed up and shipped here.  Vendors buy them by the kilo off the trucks and then take them to market.  Sometimes they are sorted for speciality vendors, mostly jeans and button down men's shirts.  

Again, if I haven't mentioned it before, toubab is a general slang term for white person.  Ian and I disagree on weather or not dead toubab is a term used by Peace Corps volunteers alone or Malian's alike.  Regardless, the markets are called "dead toubab" markets because, here, they think that the clothes must come from dead white people, otherwise, why would they be given away, they are in perfectly fine condition.  How's that for a little perspective...

Anyway, a funny side effect of these markets tends to be found in the t-shirts you see around here.  I don't know about you, but most of the things I find myself giving to Goodwill are t-shirts of all kinds.  Ones I bought for charity, got for free, the works.  I collect them and purge them annually, it seems.  Well, many of those shirts end up here.  I've seen corporate t-shirts, fun run shirts, high school track team shirts, and on and on...Oftentimes, they are totally out of context as in a couple I've seen recently.  I have to share these two...

A slim and very tone 20 year old man in a turquoise and pink Curves t-shirt.  You know, the woman's work out chain...

A young Muslim man, going to pray wearing a t-shirt that read in very large print, "Catholics Rock!"

Overstimulated

Wow, time is getting away from me lately.  Has it really been almost a week since I blogged?  I guess we've been a wee bit busy.  Trips to the markets, hanging with the people, keeping the house in order.  We're also taking a trip to Morocco in a couple of months and perhaps to Ian's teacher's village in a week, so preparations have been progressing for both of those.  

Yesterday, we took a big walk and stopped by the animal parts market to see Ian and meet some people and had planned on going to a bunch of travel agents afterwards.  The street leading up to the market was a mess.  It truly did look as if a storm had blown through, but alas, it was just the local police.  I guess they've decided that some of the vendors for about, oh, a 1/4 km stretch, have stalls too close to the road.  So they dealt with it in a very mature manner.  Late at night when all were gone, they went through, en masse, with batons, and broke everyone's tables and benches.  When we arrived, they had brought a dump truck in and were telling everyone to clean up their mess...fantastic stereotype of corrupt African government, I know.  We then sqeezed our way through the crowds to a coffee shop that was new when we were here before.  I stopped in for some cool, refreshments and a place to let Marshall out of his carrier.  10 years can really age a place...

The rest of the day was busy with market trips, house work, travel agents, long walks and lots and lots of playing.  Marshall just can't stop sometimes.  I think he was so stimulated yesterday that he didn't even sleep well last night, so here he is, now, the next day.  I had plans for us, but it seems he has plans as well.  Our little one is quite tired and nothing is rousing him.  Even a playful father...

I think someone killed the rooster

The blind one, that is.  Haven't heard it in weeks.  Was also thinking that someone must have taken out our local wandering prayer call man, but he must have just been on vacation.  This morning I heard what I thought was a bit of distant chatter outside the window which, before I knew it was a resounding, "AAAAAA-LUH!"  Just wishful thinking...

Going AWOL

We construct this wall in the living room that foolishly attempts to keep Marshall corralled. I call it the 5 minute fence as, if he's distracted by the right toy, you can get 5 minutes before he scales it and starts heading towards somewhere non baby friendly.

This morning he decided to really show us the folly of our efforts by climbing in the wall. Granted, once he was discovered, the escape was but moments away...at least he escaped towards me.