So whilst Baks was up to his usual tricks I was bone juddering my way 55km along the dirt track to Kudang. An hour and forty minutes later I arrived, not looking my most beautiful, at the Upper Basic School for a workshop. Breakfast first, some sand covered dough with mashed sardines swallowed down (by some) with the strangest tea ever tasted. Oh how my Dad would groan. No tea pot and boiling water here. Oh no. Served in a plastic bucket the tepid ready over sugared liquid is transferred by dipped cups.
For the next few hours I found myself teaching twenty teachers how to sing Tommy Thumb, Here We go Round the Mango tree and how to tell children a story without using books. I love the way all tunes and songs get ‘Africanized’ here, rhythms change for, of course, the beating drums pervade all.
Workshop finished for the day, teachers waved off with their smiles and travelling money I walk to the village Lumo. A bit like a farmers market most big villages have a lumo each week. Palm leaves cover the makeshift shelters, so low that I stoop to peer at the small piles of onions, chillies and sorrel leaves which is all there is on offer this time of year. Small children follow me, badgering me to buy an ice, a small plastic bag of frozen coloured water at D2. I do. It’s cold and wet and yummy.
Behind the food are the stalls packed with multi-patterned fabrics in a myriad of hues and shades, cheap crazy coloured beads, scrubbing brushes, washers, talcum powder, children’s toys, oversized shoes, indeed everything you may or may not want (except chocolate and cheese and and and) all pervaded with the smell of slightly rotting smoked fish and plastic bags.
I negotiated material buying for a hand sewn skirt, my next project to distract me from the World Cup, and full of pride, ice and good humour trek my way back to my trusted steed for the bone juddering return home.
A good day for Hawa.
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