Un seau
For want of a bucket, our salles du bains remain sale. Day after day, I keep looking for a bucket. Astou is despondent. She can’t wait to mop our acres and acres of tile floors. The supermarket in Fenetre Mermoz doesn’t have a bucket. The hardware store in N’gor doesn’t. Le Virage market- no. The Shell station, which carries everything- no. No one seems to sell a bucket around here, or know where to acheter one. I begin to covet every bucket that passes by on a woman’s head. Every construction site has a small recycled bucket or two for ferrying the sand and cement up by hand to a top floor. Why not me? On taxi rides I begin to see a vision of a man walking, carrying a dozen new mops and several nice plastic buckets with handles. I am always too late to yell “Arretez!” to the driver before the bucket seller slips away down a side street. Still I wait. Where on Earth can I find a bucket? Finally, a second visit to Le Virage and much conversation yields a bucket. Squinting and frowning, Astou examines le seau thoroughly. I hold my breath, “Don’t you dare say it costs too much” I think. The bucket sale is a success. I sigh.