Ebben has a theory. Or perhaps it was originally someone else's theory, and Ebben merely exposed me to said theory. Ready? OK. Donkeys regularly pass gas, and evidently the noise or the wind or the smell frightens them. Then they run and cry. Ebben says cry. I say bray. Donkey’s don’t cry . . . they bray, right? And I’m not positive that they’re donkeys. I say burros.  Burro: is that a Texas-thing? Anyway, there's not much more amusing to me than seeing a burro running and braying at the same time. And we know all too well that burros bray in the night, waking everyone . . . so I wonder whether they run in the dark. I like Ebben's theory. I think it has some validity. In a little burro brain, I suspect they wonder, what the heck was that?! and they turn, look, and run-off braying.

Golly, the things you think you can’t handle until you have to and do. So I’m standing outside on the terrace Wednesday night pouring cups of bisap into flimsy plastic sachets using a funnel, and suddenly I’m surrounded by ants. Millions . . . nay, probably billions of ants. I scream for Martin (who, praise the Lord, is home from vacation) and retreat to the hut. But Martin is either having his dinner, from which absolutely nothing will interrupt him (other than Elizabeth), or he’s left the courtyard. In any event, I find myself inside the hut stomping on ants, very large ants . . . some very, very large ants. But no amount of stomping stops the ants, which are coming in under the closed door and on both sides. The floor is literally crawling . . . moving . . . alive with ants. No amount of squealing seems to be attracting any attention. Eventually a crowd arrives, but no one will dare step onto the moving terrace. Finally, I throw 5000 cfa out the door and scream for a child to take my bike and buy some insecticide. With the arrival of the insecticide (an eternity later), the crisis slowly subsides. Coincidentally, everyone from GaMoWigna decided to drop by throughout the evening. Now these guys are specialists in everything plant-and-animal-related. Experts! But no one can agree as to what caused the ant invasion. The troupe was derranged. Yeah, I'd say so. The rain caused the movement. What rain? The cool temperature puts them on the move. Cool!? OK. And they won't hurt you. Really!?! So why would no one venture forth to my terrace?

Recall that Sada's mother recently lost her life. I say recently, but check the date of my last blog post and you'll realize that it was over a week ago. Evidently the funeral is this Saturday. What?! All those folks in the courtyard last Sunday . . . the ones to whom Leon was pouring Scotch . . . that wasn't the funeral? Talk about wildlife! I've been told that in Burkina there may actually be one or more days of what we would consider a wake or a funeral service and (get this) that the actual burial may not take place for months! In this climate? Think about that.

So if it's not a fight with a mother hen [her chicks got into my well-fenced garden], or the very large lizard that lives behind the map in my kitchen, or ants on the march, it's a bat in the house. Martin will simply trap a bat in his cupped hands and release it to the wind. I like a bat; I really do. And I've had my rabies shots, but still I'm not inclined to touch one.

So here in the B.F., if it's not one thing, it's your mother. And, yes Virginia, they are burros! Hasn't anyone in this country read Brighty Of The Grand Canyon? Have we learned a lesson about always keeping insecticide on hand? Where do you suppose Sada's mother is being kept? We can only speculate.