Joey Update Vol. 24

The way was full of sand and thorns. The hour trip up to a village was
complete. Now, was the time for reason of our trip: to bring a horse back to
town. I took a special delight in this trip, as riding horses turns out to
be very fun. After the requisite holiday cookies that seem to make whole
meals now that Fasting is over, we went out behind my guard's hut. And there
was Braga.

Braga means Lightning, so named because he has a patch that really looks
nothing like a lightning bolt on his side. We launched right into lessons of
how to put the saddle on and tie it, how to tie his feet so he won't wander
away and all the noises to make him stop and go. The lessons were compact
but they were clear and not a half hour later, I was up and riding. The way
to make Braga move forward to make loud kissing noises, like you're kissing
a child's boo-boo. So it was, I kissed my way back home.

But first, I needed to know the way. One of our guards, who lives in this
village and took me up on his motorcycle, lead me a little way in order to
show me the road. He said if I followed the tire tracks, I would find my way
back home. No problem I thought. So, he went off on the motorcycle path
which is faster and soon I was out in the qadadi with Braga and God. I
remembered my first ride in vivid detail, the ride with Mizan, as I'm sure
you all remember too. I had the leading rope in my left hand to turn and
slow Braga and the whipping rope in my right hand to spur him on to great
speeds. The rope for the bit, also called the horse's brain, lay tangled in
his mane but within reach should I need to stop suddenly. I knew the great
temptation to the dizzying speeds of full gallop but thought it better to
opt for a more moderate approach this time. Still, we started out
ploddingly. Both I and the horse were frustrated with the pace, him snorting
in impatience and me trying in vain to tap the strength I knew was in him. I
knew this because some village guys were showing off with him by leaping up
without stirrups into the saddle and taking off by a mere flick of the rope.
It's all in the touch.

It was brought to me how desperately important it is to learn the language
if you really want to move anywhere. I could sense that both Braga and I
were of the same mind to go faster, but I was not properly speaking his
language. It IS all in the touch and the touch is not ruthlessly laying the
lash to him.

I followed the path, minding the way of thorns and turning him easily
enough. I then looked ahead and there the road turned into a lake, as a
broad puddle from a heavy rain some three weeks ago remained. No problem I
thought, I'll just go around it. So, off I went, to be met with another
puddle. I was considering going around this one too, but there was a lady
with a donkey fetching water from the puddle. She said something to me about
a direction but nothing I fully understood. So, she crossed the puddle and
lead Braga into the water. Then, she did the unthinkable- she removed the
bit from Braga's mouth. "Maybe he's thirsty," she said. Braga drank just
before we left and my guard said he wouldn't need another drink until we got
home. He also said not to remove the bit, because it could be tough
sometimes to put it in. So, she removed Braga's bit and I was thinking, "I
sure hope you know how to put the bit back in." Turns out she didn't. So, I
got kind of frustrated and dismounted and copied what I saw my guard do to
put the bit back in Braga's mouth. She laughed at me in my efforts but soon,
al hamdu l'llah, the bit was back in and we were on our way. I asked if she
knew the way back to the road, she said she did and that she would show me.
We first went to her village and I soon met some men who greeted me and
invited me for food and water, both gratefully accepted. They afterward
showed me the road and soon I was on my way again, plodding along. One of
the reasons the lady laughed at me was that she thought I was lost. Silly
nasara on a horse. I also was fingering the possibility but I knew where I
was generally (in Africa on planet Earth). It so turned out her village was
right on the road and that I was not lost at all!

Lost or not, I still had a long ways to go and I'd already been plodding for
an hour and a half. I saw some wonderful stretches of wilderness plains,
looking and smelling almost like Texas only with delicate (and thorny)
flyaway African scrub. I was only a third of the way home and I knew we
needed to move. I tried different combinations of the various noises and use
of the spurring rope. The kissing alone was not doing it. I also said, "Hur!
Hur!" in a strong low voice and whipped Braga's flank steadily. That was
just the thing and the new pace of the up and down trot was set. We made
fair time but the African sun was doing its job of being very bright and
very hot. My left hand still has the border of white meets red from sunburn,
even though I applied sunscreen that morning. I started scanning for another
village where I might get some water. I found it and was welcomed after some
kids of the village stared at me blankly when I greeted them. Perhaps they
could just not believe what they were seeing- a white guy trying to ride and
pass himself off as Arab, complete with beard and kaptani and turban. They
then ran off when I moved forward a little ways and repeated my loud
greeting. I'm used to blank stares and kids who don't know me running away,
so it was nothing new. My loud greeting was hailed by another and I was
invited inside, again to my delight, for water and this time, tea. Ahh, tea.
This village was a N. village, but the man who invited me only spoke a
little N. he said, but said this in Ar.

After replacing all the water I'd sweated away and being charged with tea I
and Braga set off again. I did not consider in my thirst that the sloshing
village water now in my belly might not be conducive to the jostling ride
back to town. So, I said the quick pr'yer I learned before I came here
("I'll put it down, You keep it down") and set off. I quickly found the road
and set a good pace. Braga and I were finally understanding each other. I
called him a radjil zen, a good man, frequently and meant it. I saw the cell
towers in the distance that marked home and headed toward it them. We passed
some horses, who Braga would neigh at (I wonder if horses can do cat calls)
and some donkeys, who Braga treated with utter disdain, but when he would
see them, he would want to trot a little faster to live up to the reputation
I clapped him with. Just as well, every step was a step in the right
direction and it is best he not be distracted with other horses.

We got to town and the many new noises of motorcycles and giggling children
and adults at the pair of us, unsettled both horse and rider. After the long
stretches of the quiet qadadi, the noise of the town takes some preparation.
We did get home though and it was a great second ride. Mission accomplished!

Then just yesterday, we (Col. and I) took Braga to the village we visited
last week. This was the third and last day of the holiday after the Fast and
we were invited. We were welcomed again and sat down to lessons in N.
vocabulary and even played a story for them to hear. Immediately after, the
person who heard the story, retold it. He did say though that he didn't
understand it all due perhaps to a difference in dialect. And Col. recorded
it and the start of testing which was interrupted by the screech of the
loudspeaker at the call to prayer. So, we checked what we recorded and to
our surprise, none of what we heard would play back!

After prayer, the men we were sitting with returned, but none seemed keen to
start up the conversation again. The man who heard and retold the story had
to leave for his field but we invited ourselves back and were welcomed for
another day. I walked back while Col. rode Braga. So, now the horse stays
this week in our courtyard so we can learn how to ride a horse well. Then
Col. will take Braga back next week. The plan at this point is at some point
in the near future, to rent other horses so we can both travel farther out
to villages.

Hamdu's:
-The 20K horse trip was successful and fun to boot!
-We did get a story retold and began with testing it
-Further exposure to people in outside villages (we tend to make quite a
stir wherever we go anyway, but news travels even faster to outside villages
when you throw a horse into the mix!)
-Horse lips are funny looking

Du'as:
-For further lessons in horse riding and for the return, as well as wisdom
for the future in renting other horses for travel.
-For the recorder that there we would find out the reason it did not (and
does not) play new recordings back.
-For our return to the villages we travel to and for the welcome in new
villages.

Thank you for bearing with me as I plodded along again through my first trip
by myself but not alone across country by horse. And thank you also for your
continued support of this plodding project. We are slowly learning the
language (and the touch) necessary to step up the project work from plodding
to trot to full gallop. And at that point, we can let go. Horses know how to
run by themselves.

-Youssef