The communication around our house is pretty iffy. The adorable housekeeper Zuri and I had a conversation yesterday, where it took me five minutes to figure out that she was asking me if I knew any other Americans who might want her to work for them. She has two little boys who live with her mother in Benin, and she says her mother is asking her all the time for money. Then a guy from GSO (General Services Office) came because the smoke alarm in Stefan’s room has been chirping. It took some convincing to get him to change the battery. Then he told me he wanted to see the "feu." The fire. Hmm. I took him to the electrical panel, pretty unsure of what he wanted, thinking we were talking about the smoke alarm. The electrical panel is in the kitchen, he saw the stove and said, "Le feu!" and proceded to fix its problem: the stove wasn’t attached to anything and the pots on the stove tipped over if you opened the oven, making bowling water for spaghetti and toasting garlic bread at the same time life-threatening.
Also we got a new mattress and box springs. I hope the War of the Fleas is now over. I said le guerre contra les puces and Zuri thought that was funny. Especially as she was on the front lines with the vacuum cleaner. Also, my dream has finally come true: when I light bulb goes out, I call GSO and they send someone over to change it.
The gardener, Pierre, was acting as translator about the smoke alarm battery, which is funny, because he and I have a lot of absurdist conversations where everything has to be repeated twice. Obviously, my french has problems. Let’s blame it on the west african accent, shall we? Pierre has five children, "a girl, age 12, then a boy 9, a boy 7 and then the little ones, les tout petits," he says. He asked for a week off to go to Burkina, to renew his visa. I asked him today if his children live here or in Burkina. He says the daughter is here. I told him that le patron and I want to pay for his daughter’s school, which I’ve heard is about $50 a year.We are happy to have the opportunity to help educate someone in a area where the average literacy rate is 13%. Lower for girls.
Ramadan has started, which I see as a sort of Muslim lent. They fast all day, from the first call to prayer at sunrise until the second to the last call to prayer at sunset. I feel so bad making grilled cheese sandwiches for kids at lunch and eating around Zuri, who I know must be feeling faint. She asked to work in the morning rather than the afternoons during Ramadan, because she has more energy. Even the little girls are wearing veils. Peter’s nurse is wearing her hair covered, not for fashion, but for God, she says.
Our daytime guard is the oldest guard we’ve had, and he seems more religious than some, washing his feet or praying every time I want to go in or out it seems. I told Peter I worry about him, he didn’t have a lot of energy before, now to go all day without food or water for an older guy seems almost dangerous. Then at 7 pm (they have 12 hour shifts) he eased himself onto his bike and rode away. I took the night guard a plate of food after the sunset call to prayer. I asked Peter if spaghetti with tomato sauce is wierd for them, Peter said it’s his nurse’s favorite.I figured he must be starving and may have brought food, but if I hadn’t eaten all day, I might eat two dinners.
And it is the Nigeriene National Soccer team that is practicing when I’m running at the stadium.
Can you see me now? 
