Rewind to two weeks earlier. (cue flashback music) K. visits and mentions the giant flock of ducks she inherited from the previous volunteer. She’d like to sell a few since her family won’t eat them.
Shoot, I could have ducks. I’ve never eaten ducks, but you can. (Visions of a Thanksgiving tur-duc-en flash through my mind) My family might like them. They could raise them and sell the babies or the eggs. Get some Dalasis in the bank…
But I have to get them first. They are not homing pigeons; they will not fly to my compound. I cannot send them on mail run (though I considered trying). The best way to get ducks is in person. That way, I can visit my dear friend and work to end the troubles of H.K. by introducing ducks, the wonder bird, into their lives.
(cue flashforward to present)
The route to K.A. (K.’s village) is simple but long. Bike 20k to Basse, cross the river, follow the north bank road 40 to K.A. (60k total) It’s mostly flat-ish, there are no road signs to follow, just landmarks (turn left where the crazy man acting like a crossing guard stands), and the road is dirt. I started the ride early to beat the heat. But starting at 80° F, I think I’ve already lost that race at 6:45 am. Nevertheless, I arrived in K.A. at 10:30
K.’s village is great and her host family was very welcoming. I had a great cultural experience visiting the stone circles.
We checked out her nursery school project and hiked along the river to a cliff band overlooking the river and eastern Gambia. K. let me help her with the nursery school and we painted a tree mural and chalkboards. Her APCD (boss) visited on trek and we rounded out the day meeting with the kaffo president. 
And the ducks…
K.’s host brother picked two females and one male for me to take, and with help from the kids and dogs we caught them. Sounds easy, but it really took about 15 minutes, and the ducks lost a few feathers, and the kids and dogs weren’t so much a help, but it was pretty funny. We marked them for catching the next morning.
I had decided to try returning to H.K. by another, hopefully shorter route through the bush. Our villages are only about 15k and the river apart. 15k vs. 60k!? I’ll give it a try.
But first I had to get the ducks on the bike.
But first I had to get the ducks.
Early in the morning K. shut me in the duck house and with angry quacks, yelping (from me), feathers and dust flying I emerged with the three marked ducks. We dumped them in a rice bag and tied it on the bike.
“Um, will that fit?”
“Well it’s too heavy for the basket.”
“How about if you tie it to the top of your bag?”
“Maybe you can sling it over your shoulder.”
“We need some rope.”
So the duck sack was resting on my bag on the bike rack, not really tied on, more like suggested not to fall off.
We made it to a bitik to buy rope and tied the ducks more securely. Then with clear directions from K.’s counterpart (“Follow the highway along the river, stay right the whole time.”) I set off.
So this “highway” is no I-25. It’s not even US-36, or Main Street. Nope. One-ish lane; Dirt/sand/ruts deeper than the Grand Canyon. But I know it’s the road because nothing else looks more like the road. The river peeks through the trees to my right; a bird to green it looks like a flying lead flew off in front of me. A pack of monkeys crossed the road, which never ceases to amaze and surprise me.
I reached the river crossing where I wanted to! Amazing! Crossed and checked the ducks to make sure they were alive. The ducks were holding up well. I tried to inspire them by singing Duck Tales.
After the river it’s another 6k to home. During the crossing the rope contraption I tied loosened, and after losing the ducks on the road I gave up and finished the journey carrying them on my handlebars.
At home I dumped them out of the bag with Omar (2½), who started crying once he saw them. They quacked and rearranged their feathers and waddled around inspecting the new digs. I think the ducks will like it here.
Now all I need for the tur-duc-en are the turkeys…
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