I’ve not blogged much lately following my “man-plague” – actually a staphylococcal skin infection that is quite common in the rainy season and no big deal, had it been diagnosed properly. It’s all cleared up now with the correct medication this time. So the past week has found me recuperating – for four weeks, the skin beneath my arms had ripped every time I’d turned over and so I’d barely slept.
Aside from that, I’ve been working on the house and garden. We’ve been white washing the walls inside our house which has transformed it into the beginnings of a home, especially also now that the ground water level’s dropping and the floor’s beginning to dry out. Next up, we’ll tile the bathroom and kitchen work surfaces. Many fruit trees became waterlogged and died, which is frustrating, so also during the last week we’ve been planting coconut, guava and avocado trees on slightly higher ground.
Thursday was a calm day, blue skies, a little breeze, no clouds and bright sun. I sat under the shade of my verandah enjoying a cup of coffee whilst admiring the orange flowers of some orchid type flowers I’d recently planted. A typical morning at the Little Baobab, in other words.
Then Facheba raced past, waving a stick, chasing something, that he whacked on the head and killed. It was Morris, the monitor lizard. A year ago I’d have been upset and angry, but this time I was happy. We have about 20 chickens and 3 ducks, but rare is the day I eat a home laid egg as Morris helps himself.
Before long, we’d skinned the egg munching komodo wannabe and stretched out and mounted his skin next to the kitchen. The flesh was marinated and then we cooked it directly on the fire.
I sent a text to some English friends telling them to get themselves over pronto if they wanted a treat. I’d forgotten one was vegetarian and hadn’t realise the other had stomach problems. He was regretful as he said it was one of the more interesting texts he’d ever received, but he had to pass on this occasion.
When they later asked me what it was like, I replied “similar to rat meat”. That drew blank looks, so I offered “like monkey, but nicer…”. According to the cliches, it was similar to chicken (as is rat – a cross between chicken and rabbit), but not nearly as good as crocodile, which is a delicious dark and lean meat.
…is the nickname of a friend. In the past few weeks he has declared he no longer wishes to be know as Ansu, but as Fitty Futta. Try saying that after a few bottle of Gazelle beer. Nicknames are quite popular here.
I’m now “Sherrif Mango”. I was asked to choose a Senegalese name – I went through the main ones and decided I wasn’t destined to be a Mohammed, Lamin’s a bit common, Ibou has bad associations…Sherrif – yes, that has a certain gravitas. Any of which has been subsequently lost when I declared myself Sherrif Mango.