And So Begins My Adventures In Mokolo....

I opened my eyes, yawned, and stretched a bit before lifting my head up from the floor to see if my new friend from last night was still there. Yep. He was still clenching the wall in the exact same spot as when I went to bed, his beady reptilian eyes facing the ceiling. Hmmm. Maybe my new lizard friend was actually dead. Or worse - maybe 'he' was actually a 'she' and she was having little lizard babies on my wall. But I knew I shouldn't get too worried yet...after all I hadn't moved much from the mattress on the floor since I'd laid down about ten hours ago, so why I should I expect more from a less conscious life form? And since my new bedroom was huge, there was enough space for the both of us.

Actually, too much space was the problem. I had just moved into a two bedroom Peace Corps paradise with a gigantic living room. But I didn't have enough money to fill the rooms. (I know. Poor me, right?) No matter how well I budgeted...(Okay, not true...I bought a mini-fridge that took up 50% of my original budget)....But besides that, no matter how many times I crunched the numbers, I could only come up with a bed, a couch, a kitchen table and a desk. Plastic chairs would have to be the answer. Ahh, besides. I might just want to spend more time outside on my front patio, where I could gaze out over my desert-chic compound, replete with sand, ceramics, papaya trees, and cacti. There was also a small cottage face to face with my house, which was a terracota- colored miniture version of my own, but with grecian-blue doors and windows that were accented by a nearby bush flecked with pink flowers. Not quite the rugged hardship that I'd imagined when I'd signed up for this gig...but I was definitely not complaining.

As I began to raise myself out of the nest of cloth that I was using for blankets, the reality of how cold I was began to set in. I'd heard rumors that Mokolo could get cold, but they hadn't convinced me to buy the necessities. Luckily, when I arrived the night before, my post mate had thrown a small knitted shaw my way as she warned "it's been chilly," and I'd also just recieved my belly dance veil in a package. So these doubled as a a mini blanket and sheet - materials to build a small cocoon in which I shivered my way into morning. But I was determined to enjoy it while I could. From all accounts, I'd be so delirious with heat come March and April that I wouldn't remember what the word "cold" meant.

Unable to even fathom an ice-cold shower, I decided breakfast would be first on the order of things to do that day. I knew from site visit that on nearly every street in Mokolo there was a woman that would sell beans and begniets in the morning. It was just a matter of finding the nearest one. So I turned right out of my compound and headed uphill. Just 50 feet from my house there was a group of women sitting under a tree. I grinned. "Does one sell beans and beignet?" I asked politely in French. One of the women smiled back. "No. There was some earlier, but not now." My confidence faltered. Damn. Damn the early bird. Okay, where to next? I was at an intersection, and each other way I looked, there was only dust and rocks on the road, - not throngs of women with steaming hot pots in colorful garb as I'd imagined. But not to be deterred, I thanked them then headed across the street into a small boutique. Okay. Plan B. Eggs. "Does one sell eggs?" I inquired of a twelve-year old boy who seemed to be running the place. "Oui," he nodded. HaHa. Score, I thought. "Prepare?" I asked, just to be sure. "Non. Pas Prepare." Crap. I didn't have anywhere to cook raw eggs. I thanked him and walked out of the boutique and just stood, dumbfounded by my lack of success. I stared out into the dusty abyss, confused, not having a plan C and by now a bit famished.

Then I saw a young woman, maybe 16 or 17, walking toward me and I decided to try again. I was on a mission, afterall. "Where does one buy beans and begniets?" I asked her. "It's late," she responded after a bit of confusion (probably due to my accent). "But you can buy them in the center of town. I'll walk with you and show you." Another young woman about her age with a baby tied to her back suddenly came out of nowhere to join us as we walked the dusty road toward town. I learned their names, Matin (Morning) and... then I forgot one of their names...As we walked we talked a bit about Peace Corps, America, and learning languages. We took a shortcut through a small neighborhood built into a mound of fallen boulders that might have once been a mountain. In contrast to the Mayor's muti-house compound that I lived near, these compounds were comprised of adobe huts and grass roofs.

After awhile, near the edge of town, I suddenly heard my name, "Tina!" I looked up and realized that I was near my postmate's house and her beans and begniet lady was staring up at me, with pots full of warm food. I had eaten there a couple of times during site visit and she had remembered my name. I thanked the girls, and told them I knew where I was now. And as I sat and chatted, I was sure that if my next two years in Mokolo were anything like this day had started, I'd be just fine...