Crabs in the Kitchen

Mr. Crab spend the morning tolling in the water looking for small animals to eat, then spied a hunk of meat, and found himself in a cage. No liking the small space, Mr. Crab certainly did not like sharing it with others. Scrabbling about, he searched for a way out. The Crab family would be missing one at the table that night. HELP!!!!!

Mr. Crab ended up on a large platter with others of his kind, resting on top of a woman's head as she walked miles to sell him. Eventually, he was bought and taken from the head, put into a bag, and finished up in a kitchen near a boiling pot of water.

You know the rest of the story. Yummy Mr. Crab.

Dear Waffle

Dear Waffle,

Thank you for appearing on the menu. I know that being served for dinner is unusual and disrupts your calendar but your presence was much appreciated. The new workout routine shows in the large square pockets on the front and back. It impresses me how you can hold a slice of strawberry and banana at the same time on a grid section. Seriously, the large, deep, square pockets just accentuates how you are are waffle and not a pancake, full of texture and form. I can't even manage a six-pack.

That was some sauce you brought to the table. The creamy texture of the whipped cream mixed with the chocolate drizzle excited the table. It was big of you to share the center stage. Be proud of it. Not many deserts can stand alone and be a substantive meal earlier in the day. Your flexibility and compatibility with sweets and bacon or eggs really makes you a great choice on any menu. Someday, I wish all food could be as flexible and versatile as much as you do.

I understand how disappointed you were when reaching my stomach and finding a boat load of sushi already there. While you weren't the first dinner item, I consumed you with the most pleasure. The lack of space was a clerical error in food consumption and in no way reflects on the quantity or quality of appreciation I have for you. Please don't be offended.

This desert was special. I will remember it always.

Love.

XOXO

Fanti Boats

The Fanti own fishing boats along the coast. Floating by the vessels, the decorations become clear to the eye. Normally, out on the ocean, the boats look like colorful specks on the horizon, up close the details emerge. Painting of flags, Bible verses, and soccer team symbols show above the water line. The poles on the boat hold up clothes line covered in wet apparel.

Floating by in a canoe, I felt like an invader. This was their life and the guide was taking me through it. Paddling between the boat and the mooring line, it felt like personal space. I watch the fishermen and they watched me. In such intimate space, the water offered a barrier making each of us a show for the other.

The Fanti were finished for the day and headed home. The laundry appeared relatively dry but was not going back on their bodies. Mostly shirtless, the men smiled and talked with each other while completing the day's tasks. A few called out to the boat to inquire what the man paddling was doing with four women. From the repeatedly questioning, the hint of a joke arose. Done with the day, they must have wondered why anyone would hire a canoe to see their boats sit empty and tied up for the night.

Children had come to use the boats as a jumping platform. Opportunistic, they tried asking for money. How did they think they could get it? Swim over to a moving canoe and hold the bills until they returned to shore out of the water? The tourists amused them into expanding the jumps and raising their voices to call out.

The way back was shorter with the current helping out. My fascination with the boats did not end, but I was glad to be out of their space. Too close of examination led me to see the flaws and appreciate the designs less. The Fanti lost interest in the canoe of touring women as the sun signaled the end of the day. As the children swam to shore, I wondered how our lives compared. The canoe ride ended with money for the paddler, new knowledge, and the sun decorating the sky.

Ghosts of Churches

Old churches hold a special place in the heart. With traditional design, solely purposed for worship and ceremony with a bell tower. The classic design speaks to convention and singular purpose. This was an active church for prayer, sermons, choir, and ceremonies.

Now it's a ghost. Abandoned for another building, conflict in the congregation, or from the civil conflict that lasted for over a decade, the roof is missing, walls need paint, and grass requires maintenance. None of the repairs required excessive resources or energy. Why was it abandoned?

In the future, will the ghost revive or be finished with a bulldozer? A statement in architecture reminds pedestrians of the past and to contemplate the present to future.

Grasshopper

The grasshopper sat in the morning terrorizing a leaf. From a distance, the size was immediately noticeable. Through the camera lens, a robot came to mind. The pattern of yellow and black resembled a graphic found on a computer. Nature produces all colors but the brightness still seems artificial. While still small, this grasshopper appeared sturdy enough to warn that a swarm can cause panic and danger. Terrible to think of hearty bugs attaching in techno-color. Poor leaf, it had no chance.

The Rooster Crows

(Another post about roosters)

Rooster crows heard early in the morning. Mostly they occur 10 minutes before the alarm. Repeating the call to get up, the source's location can be traced through the sound's volume. The roosters are following me, they want to get close to my ear, interrupt my sleep, and bring my morning time to an early start.

Once upon a time, I had roosters. Five roosters free-ranged in the yard and took turns trying to attack me. They puffed up their feathers, flapped useless wings, and danced on their toes. A broom or stick was all I needed to scare them away. Eventually, four were sold and the last one eventually died in the chicken coop of unknown causes. I was not sad to lose my rooster and didn't care if the hens were lonely.

Flash forward to my time in Liberia, the rooster crow became an alarm to wake me up every day. Intentionally, this was the first thing I heard on a daily basis. The crowing worked wonders as a motivator to get up. I did not want to snooze for snoozing meant hearing the alarm again. Sometimes, I heard an answer to my alarm clock from outside my window.

Later, I moved away from that alarm setting. Peacefully, I thought about how I would miss it. Having adjusted to the sound, I briefly wondered if I could miss the rooster.

Into my new home, and into the domain of another rooster. This one was real and again, a free-range. He and his flock peck around the compound unmolested by all. Clucking around, the rooster finds my window for a crow. He finds my window every day. He always finds it before my alarm.

I cannot escape the rooster.

I cannot escape the rooster.

The roost will find me and crow.

Insecticide

One result of living in a warm and humid climate is the prevalence of insects. To combat it, people use insecticide. With the low cost of manual labor, most houses have maids. Being use to exterminators, I rarely think of spraying for bugs or about insecticide. These items came together in a negative way several days ago.

Coming home from work, I entered my room and inhaled. Yes, inhaled a deep breath. That deep breath smelled like lavender and made me cough. This was the start of my problems.

Smelling the lavender, I thought it was air freshener. After putting down my bags, I headed to the kitchen to find the maid. She did not understand air freshener but did understand that the lavender smell was too strong. She has trouble understanding me and I have trouble understanding her, but I thought we worked it out.

I, still thinking it was air freshener, went back into the room, changed our of my work clothes, organized, stepped out to breath and cough, took out my laptop, and turned on the air conditioner "Wow, this air freshener was really strong" went through my head several times. Thoughts about the maid trying to make my room nicer with a scent that made me cough also entered my head. Then, I started to make fun of perfume smells. All of this, as I was coughing. Never did it enter my mind that I needed to leave. Air freshener is meant to be smelled. Large quantities might annoy the senses but should hurt the body, should they?

Another severe fit of coughing send me back to the maid. She thought she had sprayed too late in the day and went to open the window. I asked her not to spray again and got drink of water determined to not let the smell bother my day.

After wasting time in the living room, I thought the room must have aired out. No, no, no, it had not. Opening the window meant she opened the curtains. This did not let in any fresh air. The open door let the smell out into the hall. I had another fit of coughing just passing by the door. Window and door finally open, and probably letting in small bugs, the room could finally air out.

Realization finally dawned on me, it was not air freshener. The maid had sprayed my room for bugs. The bug spray in the can smells like lavender. I was inhaling insecticide thinking it was air freshener.

Two days of sore throat later, I rationalize that spraying insecticide in a room is not normal for me. This makes me feel better as I nurse my injured body. The result of lavender bug spray, a maid trying to do her job, and an oblivious American is burning in the throat and no bugs.

Naked Man

Last Wednesday was Decoration Day in Liberia. Traditionally, people go to the family graves, clean them up, and decorate. Along with this custom, people also pour beer on the graves. Some people have aiming problems and instead of pouring on the ground, the beer goes into their mouth. This is a simple mistake and I feel the dead understand the difficulty of the pouring task but still appreciate the effort.

With a day off, I found myself driving out of town to relax. This is when I saw naked man. He was completely without clothes, shoes, and did not care. Walking down the side of the road, naked man took up several feet of the car lane causing traffic to veer around him.

I had to say "Naked man", when I saw him. My companion, who has been here longer, completely missed it. After so many years, random naked men can be easily overlooked. While he was not walking fast, the car was heading at a comfortable speed the opposite direction, making the moment brief but notable.

This is not my first naked, or near naked, man to see walking down the street. Once, I had to drive around a naked man laying in the middle of the street downtown. Several times I've seen scarcely clothed men walking around with only a cloth wrapped around them or pants with failing zippers. I was warned of this habit upon my first arrival in the country. Naked men regularly appear when soccer teams score a goal and on holidays with drinking involved. People rarely take much notice of them.

Decoration Day creates a higher probability of a sighting. Besides this, the day is normally very traditional. People travel from cemetery to cemetery to see visit the dead. Like all family holidays, a debate exists as to which graves to visit in the time limits and with traffic issues. A few arguments occur about normal family conflicts. People wear nice clothes and usually everyone's visions of the day do not turn out as expected, running into distant relations, arguments about where to go and how to clean, or simple disappointment from the day not being "perfect".

But for humor, there is always a naked man walking down the street.

Roasted Pig

It's not often that I am in the room with a whole pig. This one was unique because it was thoroughly dead and cooked with a knife in his back. While I do eat pork and various other animals, I don't like to see them cooked whole. The first time I tried to cook chicken, the feeling of the meat reminded me too much of my cats leg and I stopped. Things change and I ate pig skin that night dipped in sauce.

Staring at Flowers

Of the many tasks I should have been doing, staring at flowers was not one of them. The flower connected to a vine with thorns and leaves that move when touched. Even at my age, I still found myself touching the leave, watching them close, waiting for them to open, and then touching again. The flower looked more beautiful the closer I zoomed.

My eyes should have been looking everywhere but at the ground, but that's where they focused.