Week 1 (Officially)

(Because it was unofficial until now.)

Monday morning started bright and early because I had to be at Bamako Christian Academy to supervise Grade 10 and then Grade 9 math classes from 7:30 – 9:00. This is great because it means I have to get up early and not spend half the day in bed...

Which I never do.

Ever.

Regardless, my weekdays start early. With math. It's not an ideal situation, but at least the kiddies do their online math course (because there was no one to be a math teacher this year!) with (hopefully) minimal intervention from me, although there have been a few... hiccoughs. Which I shall soon iron out, no problem. (SOS, God, SOS!)

The walk there takes about 20 minutes and is no problem in the mornings (especially since the ebullient Sharon G has either driven or walked me there a few days), because traffic hasn't really begun and the African sun hasn't yet begun its solemn duty to fry the living heck out of any creeping thing. The walk back, however, is somewhat akin to trying to make it across the Sahara.

On Monday, I got lost. In black skinnys and a tunic top that only hit mid-thigh. (Gasp!) After being gently warned about revealing clothing by both Sharon G and Becky C and walking back and forth across the same area about five times (in the vain hope that my duplex would suddenly pop into existence like the Room of Requirement in Harry Potter), I was beginning to fear that I would be killed and tortured and maimed on a random street in West Africa. (Although I should have realized that it might be a bit of a waste of time to torture and maim me after killing me.)

And then I heroically found my way home.

(Did I mention that I called Sharon G, who carefully directed me back home and did not scream, “GO BACK TO CANADA, YSLE!”? No? Good. Let's focus on how heroic I was for not bursting into tears and drowning myself in the nearest gutter.)

Bottom line: I made it home. Then I made it back to BCA the next morning. And though people still stare at me like I am an orc in a skirt, it gets easier each time. Even crossing roads is not as mind-numbingly frightening as before! I am growing by leaps and bounds! My confidence knows no limits!

And yet I fear Sotramas as though they are sent by the devil.

Which I am quite certain they are.

(Not joking.)

They are giant green trucks that sometimes have Che Guevara stuck on the back and say things like, “Merci Maman,” (“Thank you Mom”) and, bizarrely enough, “Japan.” They have one driver, one 'conductor' (for lack of a better word), who solicits people to ride in this giant green monster, and people (usually guys) hanging out of all windows and doors. The conductor makes kissy noises (not out of rudeness, but to attract attention – and they certainly get mine, let me assure you), or hollers things from the window to try to attract passengers... The whole thing is a nightmare. (I can also take a taxi, but I believe I have mentioned my 'thrifty' ways before?)

I should take these things home every weekday because even by about 9am, it feels like you could roast a chicken in the heat. However, I usually evaded it by hook or by crook all of last week until I absolutely had to take one for practice on Friday. I rode it with the delightful Becky C, who is like no librarian you'll ever know. The conductor tried to get me to fit in about 10 centimetres of space between a woman and a poor skinny boy who was practically welding himself to the wall of the Sotrama.

My one thigh would not fit into that space. I giggled like a mental patient as I stared at the 10 centimetres, then at the boy, then at Becky, then at the conductor who all, in turn, stared back at me. It was a trying time for everyone involved. Finally, the boy moved somewhere else (I feel like it was into another dimension because there was certainly no room in the Sotrama) and I had a window seat. And then, after asking both the conductor and a woman on the Sotrama whether it went down our 'street', we drove past the intersection that would take us home, had to get out, and walk another 10 minutes.

It was...

... I have no words. By the time I come home, I will be called the Ruler of Sotramas. (Or I'll be dead.)


More to come tomorrow!