I took a one-hundred dollar bill in my Jill-the-Pill coin purse, intending to change it for CFA at the bank, combine it with my CFA savings, and purchase the frigo. Seydou sees the one-hundred-dollar bill, and suddenly the 75,000 CFA price is reduced. Clearly, a nice, crisp $100 talks. Not wanting to take advantage, I suggested that he check the exchange rate so that additional CFA could be paid. So with my clear intent to throw in a few CFA, Seydou said that he’d clean the frigo and throw in a few plastique chairs. Oh, how I love this country. Seydou also told me that I was a skinny white girl and needed at least two years in Po to get fat and have my skin turn black. I’ve been invited to dine with his family. I failed to tell him that dining with Burkinabe is how I lost 20 pounds. Nevertheless, this was clearly a compliment on the part of Seydou – he is suggesting that I will fit or currently do fit-in in Po . . . either me or my crisp $100.

So I have a frigo on the way, and I also have a houseguest. Last night my host family brought me a plate of frites and alaco. . . . french fries and fried plantains. Yummy! But as I opened the screen door, in ran lizard. Not a gecko, thank God . . . they’re freaky-fast and not my favorites. Though rest assured, as it ran by my foot and as Martin heard me squeal, it appeared plenty fast and quite large. Today I’ve spied it sitting on my sofa -- true. It’s really not that large . . . not yet.

Last night there were billions of bugs in the air. Everyone in the courtyard noticed it. Bugs somehow make their way inside through the air-space surrounding my screen door. There’s not a big call for weather-stripping in Burkina. So maybe it’s the season for billions of nightly bugs. Billions, as opposed to the usual millions. In any event, a lizard could be a great solution to the bug problem. I’ve warned her not to eat the bug poison around the perimeter of the hut, nor to eat a poisoned bug. I think we reached an understanding, despite my limited French.

I tell myself that the lizard is terrified of me . . . that she will know that I’m in bed, motionless and asleep, and that she will never want to run across the bed at night. I almost believe this. If I’d just not seen her sitting on the sofa.

Will the frigo arrive in time to chill-down the vodka and tonic for cocktails? Skinny white girl that Seydou says I am, can I return to my WASPy way of keeping vodka in the freezer? What does a crisp one-hundred dollar bill say? Rich American worthy of robbing? I think not . . . I hope not. But maybe I’m fooling myself, just as I am with the intentions of the new house guest. Will she be happy eating bugs, or is she going to want to eat crackers in bed . . . my bed!? We can only speculate.