I have decided to found a new country. It shall be called the Democratic Republic of Immodium Partiers (D.R.I.P.) and its national slogan shall be, "Without Immodium, There is no Party." My parents's friends started the Immodium People's Party while in South-East Asia; founding a nation is the next logical step.
The people in Manga are really friendly and love to show hospitality to foreigners. This means plying us with even more food and drink than they do their Burkinabe guests, and since there were funerals to attend everyone was expected to eat more than usual anyways. It was the combination of meat and dolo (homemade millet beer) that did me in. I ate more meat in one sitting than I had over the last six years, and my body revolted. I guess the Dukoral did it's best, but it's intended to prevent cholera more than anything else. Anyways, Mama Zida blamed my illness on the dolo-to combination (to is an unappetizing staple of the Burkinabe diet and was also served at the funeral) and she won't allow me to eat anymore to or drink anymore dolo. I'm not going to disabuse her of that; I'd rather eat meat than to.
I really liked meeting Mama Zida's mother and the rest of the family. One of the kids made it his personal mission to educate me in Moore (the local dialect) and he taught me all the barnyard animals as well as the word for stomach ache and some other useful phrases. Mama Zida's mother is quite the character. She is tiny and wrinkled as anything, and even though I couldn't understand a word she said I could tell that she has a wicked sense of humour. She reigns supreme over the family's dolo-making operation from her stool on the front porch.
It's 10 am Tuesday morning as I write this and we just got back from Manga after a four hour drive. I'm going to take my siesta now and in the afternoon I'll go to the orphanage to see how it has changed.
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