As I came around the corner, 15 goats appeared, charging at me. OK, perhaps it was more like 5. Most of the goats were slowly ambling in my direction as they munched on the grass and garbage lining the path. But just as I'd turned the corner a dark brown goat with mottled, curly hair and curved horns came bleating around the opposite corner at full charge. He was surrrounded by a pack of 3 or 4 younger goats following his lead. His rukus was enough to stir up 2 or 3 of the munching goats who left their nibbles to join the small pack of newly arrived and fleeing goats. They were all charging right at me.
I hadn't left home in the best of moods and it was still fairly early. Lost in my thoughts and the residue of morning haze, I was taken completely by surprise. I felt like Alice falling down the rabbit hole. I didn't know how to respond. Our nieghborhood is full of chickens, roosters, goats and stray dogs. I've never seen one of these animals pay the least amount of attention to any of the humans bustling around them and so have become complacent and relaxed enough to lay my fear of dogs aside and completely ignore- or amusedly steal peeks at- the animals around me. Maybe it was the horns on the male goat or maybe it was all the noise and motion the small pack created, disturbing the morning calm but I considered whether or not I should be frightened, or if I should run, or at the very least, step off the path and make room for them. I also had some time to wonder what it was that inspired such panic and half expected it to come barreling around the corner in chase, some grisly half-being from the pages of a Stephen King novel.
In the end, my thoughts were too slow to inspire movement, the goats too fast to wait for a reaction. They ran around me or became distracted by some tasty looking road debris and we each continued on our way, calmer, returned to original agendas.
I can't tell who owns the goats and have witnessed all number of children and adults chasing them off, but they are an amusing sight on our dirt streets, along with the roosters I saw peeking out of someone's garbage can, and add to the charm of the neighborhood. I remember being worried about moving to the big city of Abidjan. Looks liike I found a farm instead.
I suppose eventually I should get around to the story of Abidjan {keeping in mind not every country has a Congo like secret locked up in it's past or present.} I see the people crowd around the newspaper boards each morning catching the headlines. The boards are tall wooden rectangles tacked from top to bottom with the day's newspapers. You can't turn the pages, but you can join the crowds to read the front page headlines and get an inkling of what's happening, maybe decide to buy a copy.
I'm not ready to join the political know yet. I am still busy observing my neighborhood, enchanted with all the games children play. There are so many children around with so much energy and laughter. Maybe I just never found myself in the right spot in Kinshasa but it's something I don't remember. Kids skipping down the road, arms pinwheeling along side as if they can go faster and fly higher with sheer determination. Buying ice cream treats from the vendor squaking his bike horn as he pushes his cart of frozen goodies down the road. There are certain times in the afternoon and just before dusk when the streets are filled with summertime fun.
There is no shortage of hopscotch games. The squares are easily drawn in the dirt, even better if it is slightly wet and firmly packed after a rain. The version I see most often is the one that ends with a big circle after the two final squares.I remember this from my youth but I can't remember for what or how the circle is used. There are plenty of bikes, though most are reserved for grown ups- a true form of transportation. I do see some kids tearing around on two wheelers, including thelittle guy who has a wire seat on the back of his bike and totes his little brother or cousin along with him. He makes it look effortless, but I know he must be strong to fly so fast over the sand.
There are giggling girls walking arm in arm, doing the teenage gossip thing, lingering just a bit longer at strategic corners where certain streets meet. Little kids with containers sit in full concetration filling, dumping, refilling. They are completely absorbed in their task and I can see their play is a serious affair.
My favorite? A group of kids who are often found in the front of what I assume to be their parents' shops. They are usually sitting in a line on the front stoop having some discussion or other. The day I saw them they each had a colorful container in front of them filled with an elaborate mud sculpture. And they were haggling fiercely. I remember playing store, buying up all the canned goods from the kitchen cupboard, but it never occured to me to dispute the price. I happily handed over my imaginary money, whatever amount was requested of me. But these kids? They argue. They discuss true value and worth, quantity and craftsmanship. They haggle with energy and mirth. No wonder I never stand a real chance in an African marketplace. They've been practicing since they were 6. Child's play is never really just play. But then, us educators have known that all along.
