Sylvia's Journal

Every morning it’s the same ritual. Breakfast is at 7, but the bread arrives usually at 7:30, so I learn and go to the refectory at 7:30. But this morning the bread was late because of a big rainstorm that hung over us for most of the night. Rain is badly wanted here but it also disrupts things, especially where roads are not paved and/or the drainage system can’t manage the abundance of water.

And so we sit with the handful of people who are not fasting waiting for bread. It sounds nearly biblical. They are not fasting because they are too old to fast or they are Christians or have some other reason. One of our staff has just returned from maternity leave. She is breastfeeding. I was surprised to see her fast. Apparently she has tested whether she can fast, and she decided she can. It’s hard to imagine in this hot weather to deprive oneself not just of food but of water. I wonder whether the baby is getting condensed milk.

This morning the contents for the bread were eggs, pre-fried. It’s better than spam. But now there is also every morning butter and jam for me, because I asked for it on spam day.

One of the ladies (it’s mostly women who are not fasting) starts to speak in English and the topic turn to language, one of my favorite topics. English is now taught as early as Kindergarten. Still, French remains problematic because most parents speak the local language with their children and it is only in school that they speak French. I proudly brag of my Chinese speaking grandson. Soon the intention to speak English disappears, it is too difficult and one cannot have the conversation I would like to have over breakfast. We return to French and many return to Bambara.

One of the women has a bag full of the menthol throat lozenges that I remember from my childhood; they are grey candies in red celophane wrappers, disguised as medicine. The bag is handed around and the women drop a couple of the lozenges in their tea – sugar and mint, all in one, while we contiue waiting for our daily bread.