Brutally Honest

It will never get old for me or anyone else to comment 101 times about how hot Senegal is. Uncomfortably hot. Even the wind is a problem when its blowing the sand, which is all that is around.
Its not all bad by far. I had a rather entertaining evening making attaya, which is hot, over-sugared tea that is poured into shot size glasses from 16 inches above to form a foam topping (it looks like childrens work when they make it). I spilled a lot of tea, but it was all taken with good humor. The best part may have been translating random words and having small conversations between English, French, and my local Pulaar. They love to ask if I'm married or if I will give them American wives. Again, all taken in good humor.
I stayed up past my bedtime, but to make it worse, I stayed up drinking tiny cups of cafine. My stuffy cement room was less welcoming than usual. I've almost grown accustom to sleeping in my own sweat, one of my many accomplishments (like typing on this Frençh kèyboàrd). Once I fell asleep, I woke up because of the rain that I'm often praying for. It literally sounded like cats and dogs were hitting my TIN roof. But I cant complain about rain, right?
... A couple of hours later I couldn't put on my "appropriate to be seen in" clothes fast enough. I had to make a dash to the bathroom/hole-in-the-floor-room. I'm happy to say that I'm not yet an official volunteer. I do expect that less glamorous part of the experience, just later rather than sooner.
---the power just went out---