I hate it when I step in crap...

....I never really thought I would here myself uttering those words, but as of Friday, those words have become part of my vocabulary. How you may ask, well listen to my story....

It all started when I once again headed out to the brown town with Mr. Chard (hopefully you remember my love for the brown town and it's donkey carts!). We go out on Friday's to work at a English center. We try our best to teach about english and the way's of our people. The last couple of weeks i have not been able to go due to excessive amounts of rain and illness, so on this particular day I was excited and ready for the adventure. I met up with Mr. Chard and we flag down an Amjad (think ghetto version of a VW van!). As we head out I am just talking to the Father about the day and thinking a bit about my anxiety. I always get a little anxious before I teach...not fearful that I can't do it, but just ready to get going. I notice the brown coming into view, so I tie my head scarf a bit tighter and finish my conversation with Dad by asking that nothing too embarrassing would happen...man am I glad I have a sense of humor!

We get dropped off at the corner and head out in search of the center. The main street is covered with street venders and people, and the center is deep inside the brown walls. We find a small, semi-stable bridge to cross, and I do my best to not step in anything...unfortunately that doesn't last long! We start heading in the direction...the only thing Mr. Chard remembers is that it's by a soccer field and water tower...which pretty much means it could be anywhere! We start heading in a direction though, in hopes of stumbling upon it. The town has been overrun with water, so everwhere you look there are big, deep GREEN puddles...I will let you figure out why they are green! We move quickly, yet carefully around the puddles and finally find the road we are looking for. I was proud at the fact that nothing too bad had happened yet, but as we all know pride quickly goes before destruction. I step firmly down into what I thought was a dry spot and my little chaco sinks into the ground. I lift my once white foot up to find that it is now somewhat of a gray green color. I try to laugh it off, knowing that I have only brought so many tissues with me. We head on, me with unmatching feet, and Mr. Chard with a smirk!

Getting closer to the center, we come upon some men talking. As they see me and then look down at my feet, a smile comes to their faces. They quickly stop whatever conversation they were in and invite us in. I am handed a blue pitcher full of water and a bar of soap. Not wanting to really touch my foot with my hands and trying to act like a lady, I kinda wet my foot and get it semi-clean. We head off, shukraning and knowing that the baait khawaja (white girl) brought entertainment for the day.

Finally we arrive at the center. I go and sit down and quickly notice all of the men looking at my feet! They are laughing and I am told to go sit at a bench, while one of them brings over a hose. He takes my shoe off and proceeds to clean it and then comes and washes my foot the rest of the way clean. I stand, with two white feet, a humbled heart, and the knowledge that Dad definately does have a sense of humor!