don't be selling here, bitch

But do come to our school

Number 15, Baby


“No Hawking.” “Do not touch wall.” “No parking on the Kerb.” For Haring.” These are  the latest signs I’ve noticed on my walk to school or run around the neighborhood. The school next to ours, “Golden Age,” a pre-k to 8th grade, just had the first two signs painted on the freshly painted wall that surrounds their school. The wall is yellow and the letters some kind of red/brown. Lovely. The “Do not touch wall” sign has nice a nice big handprint to show you what not to do.  No ‘time, patience, trust, faith’ at this school. No murals of children with big noses and ears and mouths askew as interpreted by their little painters at this school. And sadly, no Fan Ice bicycle guy waiting for me to buy ice cream or frozen yogurt from the cooler mounted on the front of his bike. (He also has a glass case with fresh meat pies, two kinds, but I’ll pass thank you.)

The latest veggie count: 8 yummy bananas, 6 limes, 2 small papaya, one head of cauliflower, ½ pound green beans, one cabbage, and two LARGE avocados–$6

My new favorite is a slightly under-ripe papaya, so it is sweet and crunchy, with lime. Yum!

Motorbike accident man is out of the local hospital and on his way home to the US after one night in his own local bed, as we speak. Haven’t heard more (got that news from our housekeeper). However, I believe that is all good news in terms of his stability.

It feels like we just unpacked and here we go packing up. Not much to pack really. Most everything stays here—sold the sewing machine, the ihomes, Jeff’s bike sold, others will be donated, Noeline gets the dishes, appliances are sold, all shoes (what is left of them) are staying, as are most of the clothes. That leaves a few instruments and Amy’s fabric, and Amy’s beads, and Amy’s binders…oops.

I will miss the market (which I will quickly replace with thrift stores and the Sebastopol farmer’s market). But I don’t imagine I’ll be called “my beautiful eldest daughter” by any large, senior black women. No one will cut me a fresh coconut with a scary machete, let me drink the cool, fresh juice, and then chop it in half and place the rubbery innards in a plastic baggie for me to take home (not even for the market rate of 1 Cedi–.67 cents), I won’t be able to get lost, I probably won’t be able to buy flip-flops in bulk, nor get 12 limes for 50 pesewas (33 cents) (the limes are MUCH less expensive at Makola market—as the local veggie stands just have taxis deliver their goods directly from Makola every morning),  and probably no kids will be thrilled when I answer their shouts of “obroni!” (white person) with a shout back of “beebini,” (black person—which surprises the heck out of them and always gets a wide smile) and a high five. (Jeff said last night as we were running home after sundown (in the dark, with some traffic as the power was out and the street lamps remained unlit) that he will miss sweating like a pig. And I knew what he meant! This kind of sweating is where you need to clear your ears because the sweat builds up in them like pool water!)

So, in the typical Amy fashion, I’ve hopefully painted a picture of daily life. By the way, I enjoyed a fab Mother’s Day. Jeff made me breakfast., I got a song from Jeff and Sarah, and the sweetest card from Allegra. I decide Mother’s day should be Jewish holiday and start on evening before after sundown and finish at sundown the next day. Works much better for a Sunday holiday.

Xoxoxo A

PS Just got update on Motorcycle man–great news, he is a vet! If anyone will get knowledgeable help, it will be a man with access to a military hospital. Work is he is home in US.

Basic Rules to live by