I"m not an exclamation mark kind of gal. They're grossly overused and so often misused. Oh sure, there's a time and a place for an exclamation mark; but these are few and far between, and their overuse drives me crazy. I mean, come on . . . just go ahead and end a sentence in a preposition – the exclamation mark makes me that crazy.

 

Quick update on the past few weeks. We made mud stoves. Here's the recipe: Take a large pile of almost-dry-but-still-crumbly mud consisting of about two parts good earth (as good as a pile of earth can be here in western-central Burkina Faso) and one part manure mixed with straw. Combine that first large pile with one part of very heavy and very sticky gray clay (looks like the clay with which you'd make pottery, and I have no idea from whence it comes). Now, the fun part. Top the first two parts with one part cow poop. That's right. Nice, fresh cow poop. No, I'm not talking about compost made from cow poop; I'm talking about actual fresh poop from the cow. En francais, that's vache shit. How large is each large pile, you ask? Picture a small burro lying on the ground. That's the size of each pile. Three, count 'em . . . three of 'em.

 

Now how is this eye-catching, very large and aromatic mixture mixed? Two guesses -- the first one doesn't count. With your hands. No gloves. And when the pouring afternoon rain comes, and when it's actually chilly, and when the hands of at least 12 other trainees are flicking the concoction, you can just imagine the mickle of this thrilling project. I'll try to post some photos ASAP. I'm sure I don't have to tell you: it was an absolute blast. Exclamation mark.

 

So the purpose of this stove is not to cook food. Nay. The mud is built-up from the ground, enveloping three foot-ball-size rocks. The three rocks serve to support the cooking pot. The the mud covering the rock is augmented with more mud, forming a circular well on which rests a metal cooking pot known as a marmit . . . or perhaps marmite. Sounds like the meat-paste-spread from safari, doesn't it, Rusty? Or some little pet animal that you'd keep in a shoebox. Or maybe a fine wine? Chateau Marmite. In any event, the purpose of the mud-stove/well is to retain heat, thus requiring far, far less wood, thus reducing the devastating deforestation across West Africa. Fascinating, huh?

 

Other fun activities included the medical session on infectious disease. Who doesn't love the bilharzia tale? Dengue, typhoid, and worms, oh my. We're learning local language(s) and getting close to receiving the formal announcement about our permanent site. My hands quiver as I type. Well, maybe that's from yesterday's illness; nevertheless, site announcements are pretty darn exciting.

 

So, a word about a PCT who will (almost) remain nameless. I'm not talking about the cheese; I'm talking about one of my favorite PCTs – Brie. No, of course not -- I can't use her real name; so I'll substitute a cheese name. If you have read very far in this blog, you'll know that I often pose questions to myself . . . or questions to you, gentle reader . . . or to the universe . . . or to the PC gods. I'll ask things such as "Who doesn't love a sock?!" "Who doesn't love a cocktail on clear-liquor-Wednesdays?" "Who doesn't love working in poop up to your ears (literally) in the pouring rain?"

 

These are all valid questions. Questions that I often pose aloud to my fellow PC Trainees, especially within my SED group. And in response to these questions, inevitably and just like clockwork, Brie's answer is an audible, charming, filled-with-glee-and-laughter, rapidly-stated, "I don't know a person!" Emphasis on the words 'a person!!!" I adore this (and many other things) about Brie. Sometimes I'll be biking, or walking all alone, or just wandering around my courtyard looking at poultry (that's right, I love to look at poultry). . . and I'll think to myself, "who doesn't love a reposing hen?" and I laugh aloud (I mean really loudly) thinking of Brie's "I don't know a person!!"

Does that laughter make me exceptionally weird to the Burkinabe? And Brie's phrase . . . is it possible to translate into Jula."I don't know a person"? And if translatable, wouldn't it lose it's charm without Brie's laughter and quick wit? I'm quite confident of the answer, but I'll say it anyway: we can only speculate.