This post isn't about dachshunds, so if you're disappointed, just stop here. It's about terriers. Kidding!

Martin saved some baby birds. Yesterday he found five tiny baby birds who had fallen from their nest in a heavy harmattan wind. Since that eyedropper could be easily misinterpreted as a turkey-baster, I added a Coke cap for scale. So when I said tiny, I meant tiny! The children made a nest of leaves and grass in one of my buckets. I expected to awake to five little birds, dead from hypothermia. But no! This morning two little birds peeked out from under the cover I’d made and fluttered off. They’re some variety of a sun bird, so that explains how such tiny birds can be ready to make it in the wide world. The first two out of their nid perched, singing in a nearby tree but ultimately returned to their bucket nest. As of this writing, the last three are still huddled in the bucket. Truthfully, I have little hope for two . . . they’re just too tiny and don’t even have all their feathers yet.

I’ve got this white bed sheet, 1000-thread count, Egyptian cotton. What was I thinking?! Here’s a hint for your PC Nominees . . . don’t pack a thousand thread count sheet. Especially not queen size. It’s too heavy for me to wash. I can’t even begin to think about how I’d wash and wring-out such a heavy monster. And white? In harmattan season? A few days on the bed and it’s pink. However, it does have one handy use: a blanket.

I’m not good at converting Celsius to Fahrenheit. Neal says to multiply by 2 and add 30. Neal’s a rocket scientist, so I believe him; but I don’t think that simple equation will always nail it when it comes to a precise temperature. Still, close enough for government or PC work. This morning it’s 16 degrees. My guess is that it’s about 60 Fahrenheit, or thereabout. What this means is that at 05h00 it’s entirely too cold to leave the hut for the latrine . . . or at least too cold without that 1000-count sheet folded in quarters and wrapped around me like a blanket. I must look like an idiot. Then, naturally, there’s the issue of not allowing a blanket corner to drag the ground of the latrine. My oh my, the struggles to merely respond to nature’s call in this land. But with the arrival of cold mornings, it's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas. Nevermind that by noon it's 100 degrees.

Nothing says Christmas like the painting of trash cans. I had to rise extra early today to finish the trash cans and to dispense medicine. My PCMO would flip; but those of you who know me know that I'm an excellent diagnostician. So, before the fun with poubelles I held a little clinic at the Maison de la Femme at 07h00. Here are a few of the trash cans.

Note closely the GaMoWigna logo. It's sky, earth, and sea (though the sea is a puzzle to me in this land-locked country). There's a bird in the sky, goats on the earth, and a fish in the sea. Hassan did the logos above. Here is my version. Note how my fish looks like a nurse shark. Hassan does a better fish, but I prefer my bird.

Sadly, the nice folks of Pô believe that I'm an artist. After the world map and now with trash can fun, I'm their nasarra-artist-in-residence. What a joke. Look closely at the photos and I bet you can I.D. my handwriting versus the Burkinabe handwriting. Painting concluded, I began preparations for tonight's Christmas party. Gifts include little scraps of pagne fabric, a rubber-stamp set, a little girl's diary, a miniature kite, and flower seeds. These items would, arguably, not even make the cut as stocking stuffers in the U.S. But here . . . ?

I live in an area of The B.F. populated primarily by a very ancient people known as Gourounsi. I think that somewhere, Gourounsi is actually a language. It's the base language for Kassim. And I'm one of only 60,000 people in the world who speak Kassim.  Think about a town you know with a population of only 60,000. I bet you're hard-pressed to do so. Now imagine that the entire population of that tiny town are the only speakers in the world with their own language . . . and I'm one of the 60,000 few. What's so special about the Gourounsi, or rather, the Kassina people? They're a 50/50 mix of Muslim and Christian, as are most Burkinabe. They inter-marry and celebrate each other's holidays, including Christmas. Any excuse for a party . . . and lights. Gotta love that.

I don't know if Sada and her family are Muslim or Christian. They live right here in my courtyard, and after 16 months in Pô I'm still unsure. Regardless, Sada's family understands Christmas. In Burkina Faso, even the most poor household will construct a little crèche outside the courtyard in anticipation of Christmas. The crèche will be made of mud bricks, which will disintegrate within months. Still, it's a lovely thought and sight. Tonight was my Christmas party, as I'm leaving tomorrow for Ouaga and won't be in Pô for Christmas. What was in these gifts, wrapped in construction paper with nylon twine? Mostly items that friends and family in the States have sent, along with a few found or hand-made items.

When was the last time you got excited about receiving a rubber stamp set? A cheap $2 necklace? A bar of soap? Well, the residents of my courtyard were delighted . . . though Martin & Louis are still holding out for wrist watches. Sada was the recipient of a cheap necklace and earrings. About 30 minutes after presenting her gift Sada appeared at my door with a lovely embroidered bezzin robe (think long tunic). Bezzin is wildly expensive here, as is embroidery, which our tailors make into art. The tunic, somewhat stained, may be the best gift I get this holiday season because it came from Sada's precious wardrobe, which consists of only about three dresses and a couple of pagne skirts. What could be more touching than a gift that clearly meant a lot to Sada? Nada, so thanks ever so, Sada.

What would this world be like if everyone took the time to save a few baby birds? If everyone was happy with a Christmas gift that was nothing more than a 20-cent bar of hand-made soap? Would we all get along if Muslim, Christian, Jewish, Buddhist, or other, took just a bit of extra time to celebrate the cultural traditions of our neighbors? We can only speculate.