Yesterday evening as I was soaking my vegetables in bleach to kill any amoebas, I laughed at how my life has changed so drastically in just 3 weeks. I have almost gotten used to the sound of lizards skittering across my tin roof, the daily call to prayer that is broadcast from a mosque just next to my home and the nightly ritual of washing the day's dust from my feet.
The village of Meskine is a strange paradox. The dust is thick and plastic bags, trash and animal droppings litter the dirt roads and parched grass. Donkeys, dogs, goats, sheep and chickens are everywhere and most all of the buildings are made of mud so everything takes on a brownish hue. However, lush, mature trees line the roads, the women's vibrantly colored outfits break the brown monotony, and upon arriving at the village border, deep green onion fields are dramatically framed by mountains.
Moving through the village, I am hugely conspicuous. The children scream out “white woman!” when I pass, as I am trying desperately to keep my knees covered while riding a bicycle in a skirt. However, just as I begin to feel intimidated, someone calls me by my real name, not my race, or offers a smile as I greet them in my faltering Fulfulde. I am enjoying the interactions that I have with the women in the village as they are patient, cheerful and full of laughter. They build my confidence, and I am grateful to God for them.
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