I AM COLD! I never thought I'd say those words while here in Guinea, but this morning, I saw my breath. It is Sunday and I'm bundled up in my sweats, wool socks, and hat. All week, on my way to school, people have been going through the usual salutations: Good morning, how did you sleep, how are you, but this week there was an additional, "and the cold?" My response has been that this isn't cold. Cold is my home in the United States. There is snow; that is cold. This is not cold. But then this morning came, and to tell you the truth, I was cold.
It was that type of day in Boston when it is snowing, you have no where to be so you just curl up with a good book and a bowl of soup. There is no movement by anyone, not even the kids. Everyone is huddled up in the cooking huts, hanging around by the fire. Even the family that I often eat with wouldn't leave to knock on my door and let me know the rice and sauce was ready. They just kept yelling until I peeled myself off my couch. I went in and Hija Bobo, the youngest girl, went on and on about how her mother warmed up the bathing water, how she couldn't believe I took a bath too, did I warm up the water, how its too cold to leave the hut. I suppose everyone likes to be a little dramatic about drastic weather changes.
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