Lettuce...

I went to Kantaly again and tried to avoid receiving lettuce.

Fatou's Mom: Should I go and get lettuce for you?
Me: No, don’t go.
Fatou's Mom: Should I go and get lettuce for you?
Me: Uh-uh.
Fatou: Binta, she is asking if she will give you lettuce. Would you like lettuce?
Me: No, don’t go.
Fatou's Mom: You will not eat lettuce?
Me: I will eat lettuce, but—don’t go.
Fatou's Mom: You like lettuce?
Me: Yes, I like lettuce.
Fatou's Mom: I will go and bring you lettuce.
Me: Okay. Thank you.

Then I tried to prevent another salad disaster by buying onions and vinegar before even returning home. I stopped at a bitik along the road, one I’d never been too. Luckily I noticed I’d forgotten my wallet after I’d already asked for vinegar, “No vinegar here,” and two onions. Only after two onions have been placed on the counter did the wallet not appear. Why was this lucky? If I’d noticed the forgotten wallet ahead of time, I would have continued home, and risked salad disaster. Instead, I was the recipient of one of those lovely little acts-of-kindness/clever-marketing-strategies unique to small towns. The shopkeeper told me to keep the onions and give him the money tomorrow. Then he gave me six dalasis so I could buy vinegar from the window down the road.
“I will bring the money later.”
“Or tomorrow.”

When I return the next day, the man tells me, “If you need something, come here to buy it.” And I would, too, even though his shop is farther away, except that the store is kind of dark and bare and devoid of anything except onions, exercise books, and what appear to be whoopee cushions.