The Burkinabe. So they have goats, and they eat yoghourt. They have cows, and they drink milk . . . but only powdered (milk, not cows). And they eat cheese, if you can call it cheese . . . the no-need-for-refrigeration version called Laughing Cow. Here in Burkina Faso, it's called VQR. Or maybe that's a typique PC acronym. In any event, it stands for Vache Que Rire (cow who laughs). No complicated French needed there: Rirer is the French infinitive verb meaning to laugh. So they eat and enjoy cheese – the Burkinabe, not the laughing cows. And when it comes to this yoghourt, actually, they drink it, even when it's served in little American-type yoghourt cups.

 

So let's do the math on this one: we have female goats, and we have baby goats, thus we have goat milk. And we have a nation with a healthy appreciation for dairy. What's missing in this equation? Wait for it. It's goat milk! Why isn't someone milking these cute animals? Would a little bit of milk loss now and then ruin the health of the baby goats? Is that how it works? Answers needed here. At the Disneyland/Marina Market in Ouaga there is chevre cheese, and it's mild and delicious. Again, my daily boggle. Where are all of the goat-milk produits? Details to follow.

 

I've been sick, with too much time to ponder. Too much time, that is, when I've not been sleeping in a drugged stupor. Evidently some bacteria caused severe flu-like symptoms. Don't get excited, no GI symptoms. God, I love the PCMOs. They take no chances. You look a bit pale? They'll toss you in bed and begin treatment with their plethora of miracle cures. And after that happens, it doesn't take long. Another PC miracle. It's such a beautiful machine that it's enough to make you want to be sick. OK, obviously that's an overstatement. In fact, I felt so poorly that I cried for hours. Anyone who knows me appreciates that the sight of Kathy Davis crying for hours is a rare occasion. Probably didn't help with the dehydration, either; but weeping surely felt good. Did I mention that the PCMO makes house calls? That's right . . . home-delivered drugs. Gotta love that, right Alan?! We can only speculate?