Do we need Rod Stewart?
I suppose so. As soon as we cranked up the 70’s tunes on the Mac, Allison sprang into action. She slipped on the princess dress, spun, swayed, collapsed dramatically, only to spring up again. It’s been six weeks here without a sound. No TV, no radio, no movies. No car stereo, no walkman. No neighboring boom boxes, no elevator muzak. Hours go by here with only the slap of our bare feet on the tiles echoing in this big house. Constance, our pet Fullbright scholar, arrived here and reminded us what it’s like to be 22. We’ve been limping along, trying to listen to the scratchy short wave and managing to get ourselves in a sweat walking to the corner and back. She has demonstrated that a person can exit our gate in jogging attire, sprint past the Pridoux and keep going. And keep going. Leave Almadies, continue on to Mamelles to the foot of the lighthouse, up the mountain to the lighthouse itself, continue on past the wrought iron guys, the goat herd, the fish ladies,…. to the mosque on the coast, then return here. It was Constance who revealed the wonders of listening to a world of radio stations with our laptop computer. Now, just like the rest of West Africa, we can sit here in the dust and tune in to the traffic report for the beltway or Rod Stewart’s “If you think I’m Sexy…”