Taking photos at the roadside market.
We stopped to get roadside fruit and yams. The yams here are the size of your forearm. The vendors swarmed the car with their food products on trays. After it became apparent that I wouldn’t buy (I have absolutely no naira because I haven’t changed over anything yet) I got out my camera and snapped some photos. It was a crowd pleaser as I could show them the end picture. Two little girls were so shy they disappeared when I took one out the car window, in their direction. It sent us both into a fit of giggles. I checked out all the head coverings the girls were wearing and had the one who’s wrap looked most like mine—I had her retie mine. There is no blending in here. I am white. I am pinkish white by comparison. I no longer sport olive toned skin, tweaking it this way or that. I am white, so very white.
The only complaint I have here is that they treat me too well. I don’t want to eat at these restaurants where they have the secured front gate and you see other white people there. I want to eat at Mamma Putt. Oh, well, so I fill up on cooked vegetables at the fancy places. Mamma Putt seems to do a lot of rice and meat and that is about all. I also told them I want to stay in the village. That would be the place where there is no electricity and running water. Mary thought I would go to visit for a short time but not to stay there. I told her this is the place I wish to spend most of my time.
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