I'm sitting here wrapped in an afghan and holding my computer on my lap, which means that all of me is warm and snuggly and comfortable... except my feet, which seem to have morphed into the usual and banal blocks of ice. I could go put on other pair of socks, but I'm either too lazy or too stubborn-- I'm not sure which right now.

I've been sick of hearing about the war since the second or third day of it, so all I'm going to say about that is that life here is proceeding pretty much as normal. I'm not allowed to go into certain neighborhoods, and unfortunately all of my local friends live in those areas, but other than that things have already settled back into the former schedule of classes and lessons and meetings.

The other day I was looking back over some of my posts from the last few months, and I realised that for quite some time now I have no longer felt I can write about anything beyond the most superficial levels of my life. I don't like that. I'll have to think what I can do about it.

Someone called during my lesson this morning to let me know it was okay to go out and buy food. That's what I was told. My rather liberal interpretation of that permission allowed me to make the few minutes' walk up to look at the sea-- which I hadn't seen at all since last Monday. Everything seemed very normal, and the people with whom I spoke were as friendly as ever. No problems.

For at least two months now it has been a part of my morning ritual to check the news to see if war has begun while I slept. After so much time, this morning's news that the attacks had finally started seemed almost surreal. And those moments of trying to assimilate the news seem several days away now. Per instructions and warnings, I haven't been outside much over the past two days, but today was the first day of actually being unable to leave my building. From my balcony I could see the sun shining and the girls in the school across the street going to and from their classes, and I could hear the shouts of the vegetable hawkers and imbuba suppliers rise from the street below. Everything seemed perfectly normal. I did hear on the news tonight that there were some protests and demonstrations today in a few cities here. One in the capital ended in violence when the riot police came to break it up. The real test is tomorrow, when everyone gathers at the mosques for the holy day.

Still, everything seems very calm, and I expect to be able to go out again in a couple of days.

It's difficult to believe that it's been nearly two weeks since I last posted. It doesn't seem that long at all. But I look back over those days and realise that I really have been rather busy... which has been a good thing. Besides the continuing language study (and these days I actually have homework too), I've been out visiting, and in this country a short visit is a mere five hours long. A couple of weeks ago I met two girls (who are actually women, since they're married, and that's the dividing line in this culture) while I was out searching for yarn, and since then I've gotten to meet their family... lots of family.

An interesting difference I've found here: in the US, the more "country" people are, the slower they speak. Here, the more "country" people are, the faster they speak. This family speaks Arabic with the speed of an experienced auctioneer with a well-oiled jaw. And, as I told someone else, "they don't speak a lick of English."
Speaking of country.

Which law of physics is it which states that, given that I have a desire to catch a taxi, as I approach the street but before I am within hailing distance I will see at least three empty taxis fly by, but as soon as I arrive at the corner there might as well be a tumbleweed blowing across the road while a steel guitar moans from somewhere off stage left? Or, alternatively, there are still taxis rushing by-- but all are occupied. Tonight I stood on the seaside road for nearly five minutes, clutching my several bags of groceries et al. and squinting to see through the sandstorm that had arisen while I was inside, only to watch dismally as taxi after taxi flashed by, transporting those luckier than I to their desired destinations.

And then, of course, there's the lesser known but equally frustrating natural law which states that all taxi drivers except mine will disregard one-way street signs. Apparently each one gains some sort of instant law-abiding conscience as soon as I climb into the taxi. My building is hidden within a warren of supposedly one-way streets and confusing switch-backs and dead-end roads. Tonight I discovered that yet another street that I had formerly assumed ran in both directions (since traffic flow on it had always seemed to indicate such) is in fact officially one-way-- in the opposite direction from which we needed to go, of course. That's another inevitability. One-way streets always run in whatever direction is most inconvenient at that particular moment.