Pulling a cart did not figure high on Aslan's list of "Fun Activities for Goats". I doubt it was even in the top 50. But Mallory's love and patience has paid off. Now he pulls the cart all around the neighborhood. He doesn't even have to be bribed with tasty snacks.
Today, he even gave a little neighbor girl a ride all the way around the block. I wanted to get some good pictures, but the battery in the camera ran out before I could. But here are a couple of Aslan and Mal that I managed to get before the camera shut down on us.

The goat castration went pretty well, from my point of view, anyway. Aslan's view of the whole incident may be completely different, but it had to be done. It wasn't just the rancid goat-cheese reek of him,(which we had sort of gotten used to doing without very happily during our holiday) but there was a whole new level olfactory insult going on. It turns out that adult male goats spruce themselves up for the lady goats by urinating on themselves. Instead of a bracing spash of Old Spice, Polo or whathaveyou, they just stand there and let their pee dribble down their legs. Very convienient, but extremely disgusting from the point of view of those of us who are not female goats.
Added to the problem of his unique new "eau de cologne" was his new sound repertoire. In the presence of a female goat, his previously mild goatly bleat became a blood-curdling thing of nightmares. It sounded like an elderly, mutated dwarf being vivisected by trolls. A very LOUD dwarf. (Not that I have ever heard that particular sound, but I have a very lively imagination.) Anyway, he had a tendency to make this sound every morning at about 5am, plus at regular intervals throughout the day.
The noise thing could have probably been solved by NOT having a lady goat present. But Midnight and her extemely adorable tiny baby goatling are now living at our place, so a solution had to be found.
On the practical side, it only costs a dollar to have a goat castrated. Then again, there's no anaesthesia. Ouch. (In fact, the vet thought I was mad to even ask about it). So, I had to sit out on the front terrace of the vet's office, holding Aslan's head, trying to get him through the 15 minute procedure with a minimum of panic. Right beside us there was a huge ram dying from poisoning. I will spare you all the details, but it was pretty grim.
Our Aslan recovered very quickly from the little visit and does not hold a grudge. He now bleats normally and smells like a normal goat instead of a festering furred heap of urine. Which is nice. Think petting zoo goat.
At the top is a pic of Midnight. Baby Dawn kept running around and I couldn't get a good shot of here.
The second is, rather obviously, our pet turtles. We have had them for about 3 years and raised them from tiny turtlettes. They don't smell and are completely silent. I have no idea if they are girls or boys and would not even dream of violating their privacy to find out. Furthermore, I have never heard of anyone having to get her turtle castrated. I find that they are very relaxing pets.

I got a very entertaining free sample at the supermarket recently. It was instant coffee packaged in Singapore. I'm not in advertising, but I just can't think that making your ad look like a sticky old piece of paper that has been used as an impromptu coaster is the way to go.
Worst of all, the manufacturer makes the rather alarming promise that it “leaves you drooling”. Perhaps it contains a mild neurotoxin that makes you salivate excessively and loose facial muscle control? Kind of scary.

So, not surprisingly, on Sunday morning I drank my usual, non drool-inducing coffee and went on to have a great day. The highlight was almost certainly the goat racing. You can have your Kentucky Derby and Ascot - the Ouagadougou Goat Races have them all beat.
Of course, the only way to get the goats to run is to have their owners run in front of them all the way. If horse racing operated on the same principle, I’m guessing it would be way less popular. But for goat racing, it works pretty well.
Of course, this meant that usually the fastest child, rather than the fastest goat, won. But it was still very good fun.
We all got together over at the house of my Friends of African Village Libraries pals: Leslie and Michael, plus their two children who are the keepers of Minnie. Gina (the goat wedding photographer) and her husband were there with their twin girls and Midnight. Our neighbours Tony and Kirsten came by with their two kids as well, so it was a good crowd. None of the other neighbours came out to watch, though. It was 4pm and still very, very hot. Mad dogs, Englishmen and crazy American goat racers, I guess…..
When the kids and pets got tired of running down the road, we all went in for a rest. There were snacks and drinks provided by our gracious hosts. There was no champagne like at Ascot, but we didn’t have to wear silly hats, so I considered it a fair trade. I noticed that Mallory just grabbed a handful of cookies and headed right back out into the heat, though. I peeked out the door and saw her feeding Goaty(aka Aslan) the treats and making much of him. She does love that goat.
After the break, a couple of the kids hopped on behind Leslie’s motor scooter. So then we got more of a high-speed thrill ambiance going. She raced down the dirt road, the goats in hot pursuit. It was one of the more unusual things I have ever seen in Burkina.
The winner? Well, it was kind of like the Special Olympics for goats. We wanted them all to go home with good self-esteem. They each won a few races and then after that, I don’t think we really kept track. As no money was changing hands and there was plenty of beer, the process seemed more important than the results.
Stay tuned for the film!!

The Queen of Sweden visited a travel agency recently with her dog.
Well, it was actually Mallory, dressed up in a long white robe. Did you know that Swedish aristocrats dress remarkably like Galadriel in Lord of the Rings? I didn’t either.
As for the dog, that was Alexa on all fours, panting daintily and looking vaguely like an afghan hound, if you squinted.
Valentine was the travel agent, seated at the coffee table in the middle of our living room. She helped Her Majesty plan an exciting trip to Switzerland.

Today’s dress-up involved some friends, as Valentine is away at “nun-boot camp”. (More on that later. ). Here’s a picture of the girls dressed up for a game. You can see that Goaty is not left out of the fun.
The forces of good are clearly represented on the left by a fairy and an elf. The two on the right are evil witches. Apparently some witches are far more fashion-savvy than others.

Now for the bad news. My jaunty comment yesterday that the chickens are all well must have jinxed the bunnies. The first thing I heard this morning was Mallory shouting “Mom! Alexa’s bunny is GONE!” I ran outside and found that indeed, one was missing. The driver was nearby, waiting to take Valentine to the convent (Nun boot camp, right?) so I asked him if he knew anything about the matter. Mahama told me that the guardian had found that the little guy had managed to get out of the cage and had gotten caught by the cat. Yes, the same cat that was the cause of so much misery not too long ago. At that point, Old Moussa came walking up “I’ve got it, boss!” he said, dangling the little fluffy head by the ears. The body was hanging quite a bit lower, swinging on a long, red thread. I put my hands over Mallory’s eyes and explained to Moussa that we REALLY didn’t need to examine the poor little guy.
There have been a few tears and nobody is talking to the cat today.

As for Valentine, no, she is not taking the veil. Her catechism class is having a retreat at a convent down at Koubri, one hour to the south of Ouaga. She wasn't really keen to go (hence the "nun boot camp" comment) as it is very hot right now. Also, she would have liked to be home to see her dad. JP was scheduled to come home today after ten days out doing research. But she packed her Bible, mosquito repellant, etc and took off this morning at about 7:30. The kids were supposed to all go on a chartered bus. But when the bus showed up at the rendezvous point, a problem became evident. It was a nine seat bus, not a 19 seater, as the organizers had understood. I guess somebody messed up. Anyway, I was asked to volunteer the use of our Land Cruiser, as it has nine places. I was very nervous that it wouldn’t make the trip, but the driver said that it went fine. And hopefully it will do as well on the trip tomorrow night to fetch them back.

Daytime temperatures here are consistantly 104°F or above, but the early mornings are still somewhat cool. It would seem to be a nice time to go out on the terrace and enjoy a coffee before the day starts. Unfortunately, it's hard to find a good place to sit. Goaty seems to have decided that the table is a cosy spot to spend his mornings. Great minds think alike, I guess.
As I don't relish having my breakfast in such close proximity to Mallory's pet, I move further down the terrace to another seat, only to find:
Nowhere is safe.

And then there's these guys:
They are often napping in the middle of the living room, so you have to be alert and nimble to avoid a tragic accident. There's actually seven of them total: Crystal, Lucky, Bronwen, Darwin, and three others that have not yet displayed enough personality to earn a name.
Lucky got his name by being found drowned in his mum's water dish. Mallory rescued and, amazingly, recussitated him. Thankfully, it did not involve mouth to mouth. She rubbed him with a towel and he began to breathe again. It took him a while to recover, but he seems quite well now.

And now for something completely different: I have some friends here that have an amazing non-profit org devoted to opening libraries in villages. These libraries mean the world to the people in these villages, who often have no access to books at all. This is a great project!
Read the blog here!

At last! The picture of the historic meeting between Goaty and my long-suffering kitty.
And here is a portrait of the little stinker. He does have a cute little face.....

Anyway, as you can see, I finally got JP's camera figured out. Mine is, sadly, officially dead. But at least I can use his until I can get to the US this summer and get another one.
BTW- pics of the goat wedding should be available soon - whenever my pal G. gets a chance to burn a disk for me.

At 7am this Easter morning, I woke to the sound of Mallory’s urgent whisper : « Severin ! Severin! What’s a ….’Peep’???”
I heard his sleepy, patient reply: “It’s a small marshmallow candy, typically in the shape of a chick or bunny. Can I sleep now?”
The Easter Bunny passed by this morning, with help from my parents in the US, so there were a few exotic candies unknown to my younger kids. Mallory wasn't sure if Peeps were a food or brightly colored plastic toys. The candies were just left out on the dining room table, as we did all of our egg hunting yesterday at a US Embassy sponsored event. I had thought about opting out, as last year’s egg hunt had been decidedly miserable. The candies melted in the scorching heat, there was no coffee and the drinking water ran out early on. Imagine 40 young kids that have been eating jelly beans in 44°C heat with no water and tremble, my friends. I finally decided to risk going again this year, but wisely brought my own water supply, plus I had a coffee before I left home. And I was completely justified in my distrust. The only thing that saved them running out of water again this time was the cooler temperature. And there was no coffee. Because of the US Congress. It goes like this: The Congress slashes the State Department budget. The State Department takes it out of the Embassy operating budgets. The Embassy then gets a budget cut of 30% and has to figure out where to cut corners. The first things to get hit are the salaries of the local Burkinabé employees and the amenities of the little community events the Embassy hosts. Hence, no coffee and little water. Thanks Congress.

The good news? The mango rain came on Thursday, none too soon. For the week leading up to it, Ouaga had been suffering the most terrible dust storms ever. A yellow fog of grit covered the city, reducing visibility to just a couple of blocks, sometimes even less. It was very unpleasant. Even Goaty got sick. He was coughing. Have you ever heard a goat cough? Very disturbing. Also, he had a runny nose, which the twins lovingly kept clean with the better part of a box of Kleenex. That was also pretty strange. He’s better now, though. Which is good, as Goaty is getting married today. Yes, the twins found him a bride: Miss Midnight. She is dainty, with a glossy coat and she smells like a veritable rose. My girls were having such a good time with Goaty, that their friends’ mom was inspired to get her girls a goat as well, but she had the wisdom to opt for a female. So, as soon as Alexa has finished her homework, I have to drive over to pick up the stench-free Midnight and her lucky, lucky owners. The girls have been planning the wedding for a week. Once again, I am very, very sorry that my camera doesn’t work.

Last night, I drove to church with the car packed full. Ten people, plus hotdish casseroles for the supper afterwards. Severin’s two best friends were with us. I heard Daniel ask Valentine how old she is. “13, going on 14” she said.
Severin burst into song:
“You are thirteen going on fourteen
Baby, it's time to think
Better beware, be canny and careful
Baby, you're on the brink”, he sang in a very nice tenor.
He even knew the second verse!
”You are thirteen going on fourteen
Fellows will fall in line
Eager young lads and rogues and cads
Will offer you food and wine”
His friends just looked at him tolerantly. I was just grateful that they are both sweet MK’s (missionary kids, for those of you who don’t know the expat lingo). More typical 11 year old boys would no doubt be harsh on a pal that bursts into show tunes at the slightest provocation.

On the bright side, maybe we can get him to sing "One Hand, One Heart" from 'West Side Story' for the upcoming goat wedding.

I just got home from my second trip over to the school already today. I had dropped off the kids just before 7:30, but then had to rush home and grab Severin’s school bag, which languished, forgotten, under the coffee table.
When I got out of the car after my frantic to-ing and fro-ing,, there was Goaty to greet me. Now, he and I haven’t really spent any quality time together. The reasons are as follows: A). He reeks like a giant, terrifying, slightly rancid goat cheese, and B) I don’t want anybody getting the mistaken impression that this goat is my responsibility. Feeding him peanut plant leaves, washing him with lemon-scented soap and telling him he’s adorable are all strictly Mallory’s burden to bear. So, as he followed me up on to the terrace, I didn’t really pay him too much attention…..until he came over and started rubbing his little head against my knee and raising up a tiny, supplicating hoof. He was really just like a dog wanting to be petted. So, I sat down, patted him and, ahem, told him how adorable he is. He gets lonely, poor thing, without Mallory around. The chickens he shares his cage with are pretty good company, it seems, but not soul-mates.
Now , all this was observed by my cat, tail switching and little kitty brow furrowed. She wasn’t pleased. And she was even less pleased when Goaty came over to see her. “I’m cute! Pet me!” he seemed to be saying, sticking his face right down into hers. She hissed and snarled something that sounded remarkably like “ The hell I will, goat-boy.” Goaty retreated to the back of the house and I went inside to get JP’s camera. I thought he had taken it on his trip, but I discovered yesterday that he’d left it here at home. So, I figured I’d try to use it to get a picture of our newest pet. I went to the back yard and sweet-talked the goat, trying to coax him to look at me for a photo. The cat came to investigate, looking very pissed off that I was speaking to the reeking, ill-mannered pest in the same tone of voice I use to talk to her. Poor Goaty, clueless as he is, caught none of the nuances and ambled over, sure that the cat had changed her mind about petting him. She hadn’t.
The thing is, I got a picture of their second encounter. Which is amazing, as I invariably miss “the moment” when I am trying to take pics. But, sadly, I cannot find any cables that can hook up my computer to his camera, or any other way of downloading the pics. I’ll be able to get them eventually…in about two more weeks.

My daughter Mal wants a horse of her own. Passionately. With all her heart.
I said "no" to a horse. But I did not deny her a goat.
Now, the goat thing really was all her idea. When Mallory saw that no horse was forthcoming, not even an elderly shetland pony, she started thinking outside the box. (a little pun for all the horse-lovers out there) I had already said "no" to a dog, so what was left? Well, how about a goat? Teach it to go on a leash and you've got a pretty good pet, she reasoned. I heard her out, and as I felt bad that neither a horse or dog would be do-able, I consented. But she wanted to get started training it immediately. So, she went off in the truck with Fanta and Arouna to go to the animal market. I had a meeting I had to get to, but when I got home, there was Mallory, garden hose and soap bottle in hand. The little goat was bleating for all it was worth. I don't imagine the poor thing had ever been bathed before. It certainly didn't smell like it, anyway. Somehow, Mal had ended up choosing a male goat and his aroma, even at his tender age, already leaves to be desired. And I know very well how bad he smells, because I found him in the middle of the kitchen at 6:30 am this morning. He reeks, despite Mal's best efforts. She'd brought him in beacuse "he gets lonely out there with just the chickens".
He lives in a pen in back of the house with our two chickens: Snowflake and Jaguar. Mal has said that she is going to call her new pet Aslan, but keeps forgetting and just calls him Goaty. I think the latter certainly fits him better.
Lots of people in our neighborhood keep goats. They're not at all an uncommon sight in the street. But as you may have guessed, they are destined for the dinner pot, not a life of luxury.

Alexa is much better, thank you. She went to school this morning and stayed until we picked her up at lunch.