You Don't Know Beans

You could say that my village is a bit “scenic” in its locale. Thiewal Lao is buried 15km in the busch. I am slowly learning to enjoy the eclectic terrain that separates me from the main road including dirt, clay, rock, sand and a peculiar form of salt flats. At a steady pace, I have narrowed my bike time to about 50 minutes from my hut to the road barring any natural disasters. And approximately three weeks ago, I experienced my first natural disaster (a disaster only in terms of my transportation needs).

“Ndunngu” – Pulaar for the “rainy season,” has arrived. For three months, and three months only, we will get consistent rain fall which will not only flood the fields making it the single most profitable time of the year, but also flood the roads. Specifically, the rainy season has flooded MY road. My road of dirt, clay, rock, sand and salt, following each rain, is simplified to flowing water and mud. And my 50 minute bike ride has now periodically become a three hour walk/wade to the road.

Concurrently, each Saturday my road town, Dabo, hosts a “lumo” – Pulaar for “weekly market.” Each Saturday men and women walk, bike and bus themselves to Dabo to sell everything from vegetables to tools, and clothes to goats along the road in small huts. It is not only my one chance each week to buy vegetables, but also, as I have discovered, is my chance to eat a bean sandwich. Bean sandwiches have very quickly become my treat to myself. Not only are they NOT rice or millet or any other empty starch, but bean sandwiches have coveted protein and taste amazing too.

Last Saturday Thiewal Lao received copious amounts of rain. My plans to venture out to the road were squandered, and my prospects of a bean sandwich all but eradicated. Dramatic, I know, but the little things DO matter. Nonetheless, I took this all in stride and ended up having a great day in my village. However, I woke up Sunday and my head was just not in the right place. Period. I missed my family. I missed my friends. I missed ice cream. I missed not sweating. It was a slippery slope my mind was on, and I was sliding fast. For reasons I cannot explain, I decided that the single, solitary thing that could fix my mental state was… a bean sandwich. With the road to Dabo still flooded, I decided to WALK to Dabo (that would be 15km to the road and 15km back), much to the dismay of my villagers who were convinced the crazy white lady was actually crazy now. I put on my GoreTex shoes (thank you REI) and started my trek. Three hours later I surfaced in Dabo, bought my bean sandwich and a litre of water, and immediately started walking three hours back to Thiewal Lao as I savored every last bite of my beans. Dramatic, I know.

In the meantime, with six hours on my hands, I sang an incredibly random assortment of songs, soundtracks, theme songs and product jingles (Almond Joy is a tricky song to get out of your head once it is there). I had a few chats with the man upstairs, if you know what I mean. I walked in silence for part of it; actually a lot of it. And I got my head in the right place. By the time I returned to my village, not only was I ready to be there again, but my villagers were so excited that I didn’t die en route that you would have sworn I had been gone for weeks with the welcome reception I received.

So, 6 hours + 1 bean sandwich = happiness… at least in Senegal. I don’t think I will find that kind of math on the GRE, but it is one of many equations I am slowly learning to solve.