Shaka's family

The other day, Shaka and I took the 10mile round trip out to Dio. Though he can get possessive and annoying when he is with the younger boys, our one-on-one runs is one of my favorite pastimes. He teaches me Bambara, I teach him English, we joke about blowing snot rockets or trying to pass a bicyclist. We stopped at the Dio boutique to pick up some break and fish for the family back in Dombila. After a confusing conversation, I finally realized, Shaka is actually not my host brother, but my neighbor. He just has the same last name as me and always hangs out and eats my house. His mother, a slim, often crazy woman who comes to dance every night and almost never wears a shirt, was to be the recipient of half the fish and half of the bread.
Her name is Dalphin, a Christian who blesses me with the sign of the cross before I go to bed. To meet her, you would think she was the happiest person alive- smiling and grinning. But it wasn’t until I took my notebook, and my household questionnaire, to sit down and talk to her, that I started to realize- corn season is almost over, soon they will have no food until garden season. What do you do? Well we lay. It gets very hot for a few weeks, there is no food, so we lay down all day, and then wander the village searching for food at night. Her clothes are so ripped and worn that she worries that they will rip and her baby will fall off of her back. She has no negen to go to the bathroom, no education, and she drinks her the dirty water right out of the well. But she strives to add some vegetables and beans to her To to give her children some nutritious meals. And though skinny, they are healthy. Shaka, my God, is a little machiene! For some reason, I can understand her, linguistically. Everything she says is crystal clear. There are some people I just can NOT talk to- with lisps, stutters, mumbles, or other reasons- I just don’t understand a word that comes out of their mouth. But Dalphin, she makes perfect sense.
After I left her house, she came to my kitchen, and handed me a fresh soso- a sour fruit from her small garden. This woman with nothing to call her own, has offered me a gift. I feel like crying, but I open the door to my kitchen, grab a small bag of almonds, and offer it to her in return. Catching a glimpse of her eyes as they gazed at my stuffed kitchen shelves, my gas stove, and my collection of pots and pans, I heard her exclaim under her breath “Eeh, Allah” (Oh My God.)