So while I thought my Giardia had subsided, I was terribly wrong. Sometime last week I came down with a fever. I also experienced some other not so pleasant symptoms that I'll leave to the imagination.

Like most sequels, this one was far worse than the original. It was the same story as the first, only moreso. It's the classic Hollywood formula: "They liked the killer robot in the first movie, so in the sequel, we'll give them TWO killer robots!" However, this sequel made up for it's lack of originality with more explosions and profanity. After several nights of sprinting to my latrine at some horrible hour I finally gave in and had a kid run to the pharmacy and buy me some anti-biotics. It is incredible how quick my recovery was. For an entire week I was sluggish, feverish, and just plain grumpy; and now I feel like a new person.

I also received several care packages, four to be exact. One of which contained an Italian Salami and a wheel of Fontina Cheese. Does life get any better? I submit that it does not. Big thanks to Mrs. Marocco for that. Also among the care packages were bags of M&Ms, mixed nuts, and Mary Jane candy, which I am now healthy enough to enjoy!

On to Thanksgiving...

I made the 50k trip to Bani in a white windowless van that seemed to exist outside of the time-space continuum. As soon as the back door closed the driver hit the gas, gunned it to 88mph, and had me to Bani in what seemed like an instant. I swear the guy had a flux-capacitor hidden somewhere in there.

Upon arriving in Bani, I found Reneé, a former volunteer, sitting in front of a perfectly delicious looking Turkey (then uncooked), nursing a cut hand. He explained to me that his colleague, James, had bought a Turkey in a village west of Ouagadougou. They put the thing, alive, in Reneés bathroom for the night. Sensing it's imminent demise, the turkey freaked out and trashed the bathroom. Apparently the thing wasn't toilet trained. The next morning, James arrived and strapped the Turkey to his motorcycle for the 4 hour ride to Bani. By the time they arrived, they were more than happy to show it the chopping block.
Reneé, having little (zero) experience in killing turkeys, managed to botch the job. He slightly injured the already cranky turkey, and in the process sliced his thumb open. The turkey wrestled itself free from his bloody grasp and ran to the other edge of the courtyard where it paced, and stared back grimly. Reneé sat down and returned the glare. This looks like a job for...SOMEONE ELSE! Namely some Burkinabé kids. They killed, defeatherd, and gutted they turkey in no time.

We built a sort of oven out of a giant iron pot surrounded by mud brick. We lit charcoal around the base and let it heat up. A bit of salt, vinegar, water, and spices in the bottom of the pot and we were cooking. After several hours the bird was ready. It turned out incredibly well.
I contributed some mashed potatos, and we even had pumpkin pie for dessert. It wasn't easy, but then again, nothing here is. All in all a very satisfying Thanksgiving.