Evenings Like These

After the heat of the day has passed, Daagbé comes alive again.  Around 6pm, when the sun slowly makes its way toward the palm trees and rust-colored dirt road, we gather at the water pump.  First it’s the woman with the big smile who runs the pump, sitting there and chatting with whomever wanders by.  Then I come out to wait for the grandmama who sells akassa.  I sit next to the water lady and we talk a little, greeting in Gún the little French we share. 

My neighbors join, Elise and Gabriel, and kids from around the neighborhood play on sand piles, rolling old tire rims with sticks and laughing at the faces we make at each other.  The women start to come.  Every morning and every evening, the women of the neighborhood arrive at the pump to carry water home, each with a big, brightly colored plastic basin on her head. 

The women meet and talk, share stories about their husbands, chickens, or naughty children, about funny things, about sad things., about life.  They chatter as they fill their bowls then walk them home, their hips swaying so that the water won’t spill. We sit and watch them, welcoming each with a smiling “Kualé, kualé-o!”  The water pouring, the women talking, and the singsong greetings punctuating it all.

It’s a beautiful thing, this life, this community.  Being here in this place.  I don’t understand a thing they’re saying, and still they treat me like I’m one of them, including me in the elbow nudges and group jokes.  A mama leans over and hands me a piece of kola nut to chew, and laughs heartily when I make a face at the flavor.  The akassa lady claps her hands in delight when I order from her in local language.  She gives me an extra leaf-wrapped piece of it just because.

The sun is almost gone now, and the bats start to tumble out of the mosque tower, swooping up through the air to eat the mosquitoes that come out at night.  It’s time to go inside and make dinner, maybe get some work done.  And yet I stay just a couple of seconds longer, silently willing myself to store this up for later.  This perfect place, these amazing people, this beautiful village evening.