One day a guest of Neene's tells me that if he goes to America he would like to find a wife there.
Guest: But she must speak Pulaar.
Me: But in America, people do not speak Pulaar. Women who speak Pulaar, they are not many.
Guest: But you can speak Pulaar!
Neene: But all volunteers do not learn Pulaar. Most learn Mandinka, some learn Serrehule...
Guest: Yes! I knew one white person who was living in Garawol, she spoke very clear Serrehule.
And the guest, thus distracted, rambles on about the amazing encounters he used to have with the Serrehule-speaking toubab. I'm not even sure the guest spoke Serrehule...which probably explains his amazement.
I am assuming he did not bother me about being his American Fula wife because he'd been duly informed about my husband Saliou. Never has a child been more useful.
Unless...I forget about him.
On a different afternoon, a man enters our compound and greets us. His greetings to me include the standard, "Do you have a husband?" I forget my standard response and reply, "No."
If life were a movie, I would have forgotten about Saliou because the stranger's devilishly good looks disarmed me so Fate could foreshadow that this man was to be my destiny. I'm not. I hope. I don't know the real reason I forgot Saliou after months of his impeccable service. Maybe I'd been lost in a daydream. What I do know is, I instantly wanted to pound my head against a wall for its memory lapse. If I'd remembered Saliou, we could've finished up greeting and the guest could have gone and chatted with Kairaba. Instead, I got stuck defending my right to not marry the guest.
I'm not going to recreate the conversation here. It involved me answering about a dozen questions, all variations of, "Why won't you be my wife?" as well as listening to half a dozen remarks along the lines of, "I want an American wife."
If I'd been in a better humour, perhaps I would have requested a herd of cattle, but...
I really just wanted to watch the clouds.
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