Tsalla Girl

wrote this, but didn't get it posted. i'm post dating it for the day it was written. enjoy.

I’ve never asked her name. Often, she is the first person I see in the morning. If I forget to lock my concession door at night, she may be the first thing I open my eyes to. Here she is every morning, shortly after the sun. And, I’ve never asked her name.

It didn’t matter that I was gone for two weeks. She said that she came by every day to see if I had come back early. I must admit, it was a sight I missed. A breakfast ritual missed.

A young girl, no more than 10 and probably closer to 8, she is balancing a tub large enough for laundry on her head and carrying a smaller bucket in her right hand. The bowl contains a mountain of tsalla and the bucket contains red sauce. Every morning she shows up at my door.

Besides being down-right tasty, tsalla—fried millet balls that must be kin to hushpuppies—and the sauce—tomato based with a kick of onions, peppers, garlic and ginger—have become an early morning tradition of mine. If nothing else, it provides another excuse to get out of bed in the morning.

While I was away I craved the village food, despite being surrounded by the food distractions and conveniences the city provides. Maybe I should be getting tired of the same thing every morning, but I guess I’ve always been a creature of habit.

This morning I purchase 100 CFA worth, my usual. She asks about my trip and listens wide-eyed as I groggily recount the details—about the big city, the rain, and how tall the millet already is in some places along Route Nationale 1.

She excuses herself to go sell the rest of this morning’s batch, hurrying so she doesn’t miss the first few minutes of school. I asked her to come back tomorrow as I put water on for tea that will round out my breakfast.

Well, it is almost 7:00 am now and I’ve been away for a while. Lots of chores to take care of and there’s no better time to get started than before the heat sets in.

Tomorrow, I’ll ask her name.