Theory # 56: Dirt is not Dirty.

We all have time to theorize and philosophize and other -izes but maybe more so when you live in an African village. My fellow volunteer and good friend, Melanie, and I have discussed the debate of dirtiness in Cameroon, particulary in the Extreme North where the climate is hot and dry a good eight months of the year. Now that the winter season came and went and the hot months are quickly approaching, the amount of wind and dust has surrmounted that of last year. But we decided that our clothes are not dirty if we wear them and only dust has blown through them. They only become dirty when a liquid is involved, for example, sweat. But this theory is also proven by the men and women who was their clothes in the riverbed by digging holes to find hidden water then laying their freshly-washed clothes out on the sand. Of course this does not make them dirty again because once the scorching sun dries them (which I'm sure the intensity of sun rays kills any remaining bacteria) all you have to do is shake off the remaining sand and voila! clean clothes. So although your skin color becames a bit darker and your clothes seem a bit dusty after a day's work, you're not really dirty. Just shake it off and you're good as new.

R.I.P. Frida

It is a classic love-sick story. One of my lovely chickens, Frida (the red-feathered) died recently. Cause: unrequited love. Poor girl.

So as I previously mentioned, I degorged my male chicken for the Christmas feast, leaving only my female chickens behind. But Zita got lucky and had two eggs hatch, although one baby died. But Zita and her only child were inseparable. I mean, literally every moment (waking and sleeping) was spent basically side-by-side. And it meant chasing Frida away every time she challenged the food supply.

Frida was left all alone. She kept jumping the fence "to search for a man" or at least thats what my neighbors said. Then for a couple days she would sit by herself for an unusual amount of time and wander aimlessly. The next morning I found her laying ouside, heart stopped, eyes still open. Such a loss around the homestead.

Yes, she could have died from one of the chicken diseases that was spreading around village. But if you look at the rest of the evidence, it is more likely that she died of a broken heart. Maybe she will find love in chicken heaven. Rest in peace, Frida.