What is one to do when one cannot think thoughtfully enough to write, clearly enough to read and strongly enough to listen or speak in Bambara?
A poor nights’ sleep shuddered into wake by an entire flock of guinea foul (no pun intended) perched above my tent as I slept on sweat-soaked sheets and fanned myself in my dazed slumber. Strong gusts of hot winds along with crying babies and the sound of a switch piercing the tender skin of a child’s back.
Indeed a terrible way to rise and with no sunshine, only the gloomy haze predicting a major sandstorm, its hard to force a smile.
Maybe today is a good day to just write… inside… and shield myself from the elements and the locals.