The last week or so I haven’t even properly wakened when the imam’s started up his prayers at 4.45am.
The final straw is that spice-phobics Laurie and myself, cannot enjoyably eat a meal without at least one red hot pepe in there (I am SO looking forward to enjoying a proper curry when I get home!).
However I did have one of those ‘this is just great’ moments last week as we were driving into work, and I couldn’t work out why? The night before it had rained and, unlike previous mornings after the rain, the sky remained leaden and heavy with clouds. The wind was still strong. And I realised what it was. The weather is changing.
I’ve always maintained that the reason the Brits talk about the weather the whole time is because is one of the most variable aspects of life back home. And I miss the changing weather. One day has been very much like the rest. Hot and dry with only the density of the airborne dust to really differentiate the view or the intensity of the sun.
The rainy season is coming and with it, I’m sure will be a whole host of exciting new experiences. A chance to wear those very special wellington boots I brought all the way from the UK, which I've heard will be invaluable to help push the car out of the bogs in the already terrible dirt tracks of Kagoro and Bayan Loco that will only get worse when the rains come.
I’m very excited because just when I’m getting used to things, they’re going to change again. Perhaps I need to start carrying my camera around with me again?
For those who I know just look at the pictures - here are some from a visit a couple of weeks ago to Hope for the Village Child in Jacaranda just outside Kaduna.
Hope for the Village Child runs 24 Community Grain Banks where villagers can store their grain safely to see them through the high prices of the wet 'hunger months'. This is the committee that runs the grains bank.
The village also has its traditional storage huts or rumbus. Out here land is not at a premium and the farms are bigger. Around Kafanchan most compounds only have a single rumbu.
The main activity of the small village we visited seems to be smithing. As we walked through we passed almost a dozen small huts with the sound of clanging metal coming from within. Each with one or two black smiths fashioning axes from the motel metal, and accompanied by a small child (or as in this case) older man to pump the bellow continuously.
The elderly Muslim village head was proud of the religious freedom of his village where Christians and Muslims lived happily side by side and where all villagers were welcomed to benefit from the services that an agency like HVC brought to them.