Stickbread, the Sequel.

On New Year’s day, we thought it would be a lot of fun to share our new stickbread treat with the neighbor kids.

So, that afternoon, I and a handful of my favorite kids—following me much as a string of ducklings follow the mother duck—dodged and poked around in the bush, searching for good skewer sticks. I should say: I searched for the skewer sticks; they would sort of pick up any scraggly little thing, hold it up and ask if it was good.

That night I warned Laudina we were coming to make her some bread. She laughed at me when I told her. And she laughed at me even more when we showed up in her hut with our sticks, strange dough and goofy smiles on our faces. She has this way of saying our names and shaking her head with a funny grin. I get the idea she thinks we’re crazy.

So there we were, with Thomaso and Jessica, perched right on the edge of their cooking fire, trying to maneuver these long sticks we brought around the big clay pots, piles of sorghum and other random things crammed in the hut, and doing our best not to make fools of ourselves.

I doubt we succeeded in that end, but we did get some bread made, though Laudina just held the queer thing in her hand and laughed at us. Whatever the case, we eventually were outside, sitting in absolute darkness under a starless sky, cooled by the dry season wind on our faces, and laughing with our dear friend as her children drifted off next to us.