Mes Pensées, Le Voyage à la Maison et Pauvre Simba

In a certain way, I feel like I was made to fit into this culture, to fall in love with it. When I say this I don’t mean to give the imppression that everything is perfect and pure bliss, that’s not the case. But I am filled with a contentment when I’m crammed into a car rapide, unable to move and holding my hand out to help pass the change back and forth from the passengers and the guy collecting money, or when I see people walking down the street prayer beads in hand and openingly praying. A charm exists in the fact that faith is not hidden in this culture. I just can’t help but think I was created in a unique way that allows me to see the attractiveness of the people and life here.

Yesterday I was attempting to go home after dark by taking a car rapide. I only had a 500 CFA (equivalent of a dollar) on me, so I couldn’t afford a taxi home and was really depending on the car rapide. Besides the fact that I never know which car goes where, yesterday I was even in more confusion because the car going to where I live never showed up. Luckily, I met a student who was attempting to go to the same area as me. We took a different car rapide and transferred cars in a different area. By luck there happened to be a car rapide heading to Parcelle at the other station.

During my short contemplation on deciding whether I should start panicking about being stranded, I realized that I can rely on the kindness of people here to help me out. I’ve found that people here will take the time to help a stranger out, even if that means taking a few minutes out of their own agenda.

Oh I do have sad news to share. Simba, the goat that was spared during la fête de Tabaski, passed away this morning. He had been sick and didn’t make it through the night. Everyone was pretty sad about it as we watched him being dragged out of the house… poor Simba. He was a good sheep.