playing in compost, sans hipscarf

Kaedi refectoire

Theme of the day: information overload. Paired with agroforestry kids, environmental ed learned how to plant seeds and make compost. In all honesty, learning these tasks was simple. Executing them successfully in the middle of the Sahara, however, will be challenging at best. If I could just remember to space seeds 10cm apart, water with two cans, space compost layers 10-15cm apart, water with one can unless its dry or check every week or day or every other day… damned devil in the details. I was happy to learn that 10cm is approximately the wingspan of my thumb and pinky finger, otherwise known as the length of my hang-loose-Hawaii symbol. Which I plan to flash and wiggle in the garden. Daily.

After playing in compost for an hour, Caleb and Keith assigned us homework for our homestay sites. Upon arrival, trainees are to start gardens and compost pits. Translation: I will dig a hole in front of my family, fill it with poop and goat food (i.e. kitchen scraps), and explain why in a language I don’t speak. I didn’t catch any giggles or smirks on the part of our illustrious coordinators, so I have to assume they were serious. Feasibility notwithstanding, I’ll give it my best shot come Thursday.

After session and a quick bucket bath (compost dust is just not fashionable), I met with Victoria and Alison to rehearse for the talent show. Today’s temperature, needless to say, was not cooperative with our belly dance choreography. I blame the arid desert climate and our hot moves, the latter of which will be revealed tonight for an audience of trainees, volunteers, and facilitators. Although we will be sporting more clothing than I’m used to, our number should prove sufficiently scandalous. Eight counts Egyptian, twelve counts Turkish shimmy, sixty entertained Americans, twenty shocked Mauritanians. Ey-ah-wah…

ps. Miss you F, this shimmy is for you.