So, your best friend sends a great little bottle of gin. You put it in the freezer. And you finally decide to buy a bottle of tonic for a cocktail. The tonic is placed in the freezer until it chills beautifully. . . without becoming frozen. You pour yourself a drink and find yourself busily doing things in the courtyard before darkness falls. And then your gin & tonic gets warm.

I don’t have the largest hut in Burkina, but I’ve got the best hut. I don’t have the fanciest toilet, but I’ve got the best toilet. I don’t have the most luxurious shower, but I’ve got the best shower . . . certainly the best group shower. I don’t live with the most important family in Burkina, but I live with the best family (and, in truth, they may be the most important family).

My latrine cannot even be called a true latrine. It’s a room, outdoors, open-air, with a plumbed porcelain toilet and a running-water shower with a rainfall-type shower head. No, not donated by the Peace Corps but by the best family in Burkina Faso. And for almost three weeks of each month, the shower and toilet are nicely illuminated after dark by the moon, which has most certainly been placed in the heavens just for me . . . so that it may shine like a little night-light directly into my . . . my . . . well, I don’t know what to call that area of my world. Because it’s a shower, true enough. But it’s also my dish-washing/laundry area, not to mention my toilet. Lizards love this area for some reason. Hens, too. But they scurry away long before I can even step into the . . . the . . . this place needs a name. Anyone? And then one day the best family in Burkina does you a great favor, and everything falls apart.

I returned from Tiebele to find the following:

My bureau, Ga Mo Wigna, wants a library. A library? From what? Books from where?! Oh! All that stuff in Yaya’s office?! That stuff is informative?! Good Lord. How embarrassing. Eight months and I’ve never dug through Yaya’s office to see what all that junk is. A library! Community- (or at least Bureau-) driven . . . just the way the PC likes it. OK. This has Kathy Davis written all over it. Dust off those books and pamphlets, find someone literate in French to catalogue ‘em, and make a library in the front room of the bureau. Why, look! There are even coloring books donated years ago by the Minister of Environment. I can bring the colored pencils that Sue & Tom donated, and students can learn about gardening and environmental issues. What a brilliant idea. Now I’d like to think that this library inspiration came from my recent interest in the Mayor’s library . . . but I’m entirely delusional. This is totally a Ga Mo Wigna project, as it should be.

Next: The eggs in the little room at Ga Mo Wigna have hatched without me. Chicks wait for no man . . . or woman. I didn’t get to sit on the floor and run my fingers through chicks. Some people may dream of running their fingers through cash or gold or diamonds. I dream of chicks. OK, I do dream of diamonds, too; but chicks are almost as thrilling. Alas, the chicks have already been moved to the maisonette.

Martin and Louis have diligently watered my seeds, and I now have sturdy seedlings. Regrettably, I’ve forgotten what I planted, though some are clearly destined to be peppers.

The Pô ladies with whom I made an impromptu batch of soap have sold everything and want more. Again, can’t I just make soap all day, every day?  And my students made a batch of soap from the products I left for them; but I didn't leave the perfume, and they won't continue without it . . . which may reveal their keen insight into consumerism here in Burkina.

Lastly, a roof and a door are being installed in my . . . my . . . whatever we’ll call it. My bath-suite-slash-laundry-room-slash-dish-washing-area. How thoughtful. Best family in Burkina. Or maybe not. Today craftsmen were in the courtyard with large, denuded tree trunks. Four of ‘em. What is going on? And there’s a 2x4 and some corrugated metal roofing material. Indeed, what is going on? Oh no! They’re enclosing my . . . my . . . whatever. Change of plans. Time to call-in the Kathy Davis architect-student. No, those tree trunks absolutely are not going inside the walls of the shower. Group shower rules demand space. Please place the four tree trunks outside each corner; and yes, I realize that means placing two of ‘em outside the courtyard wall. And I really don’t want a door at all, but OK, if that’s what Leon has ordered. Then up goes the roof, forever eliminating the moonlight placed in the sky just for me and my evening dishwashing/laundry tasks. But wait, it get’s worse. Their plan is to entirely enclose the . . . the “whatever-room" with wood and/or wire mesh. Nooooooo! Lizards will be trapped in there with me . . . in the dark . . . with no escape . . . for any of us. Uh-uh . . . which is the Kassim word for ain’t-no-way. Seriously, Uh-uh is Kassim for Nope!

So Leon arrives in the late afternoon and I try to explain that the roof is fine (after all, rainy season will inevitably bring large limbs and debris), but please leave an open area under the roof for lizards to escape. Leon agrees. After all, he’s the best host-father in Burkina Faso.

And thus my moonlit room is now moonless. And the craftsmen considerately clipped-off the metal bars that had previously stuck-out from the mud brick, serving to hold my Spam can in which rested my dish-scrubber (hey, what else ya gonna do with an empty Spam can?), and which also held a roll of toilet paper. So, toilet paper holder . . . gone. Spam-can holder . . . gone! Darkness falls.

But perhaps this bathroom roof will have as-of-yet unforeseen benefits. The genies. For ‘tis a well-recognized fact that if one showers after 6:00 p.m., genies will curse you and turn your children into thieves. I’m known for taking a shower sometime after 9:00 p.m. So, you be the judge. Saved from genies by the best family in Burkina? Or doomed to squeal about lizards? Is there such a thing as a water-proof headlight? Are those electricians who are headed my way? We can only speculate.