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My streak of everything working out has somehow dwindled these past few weeks, and flickered away just like the continuously failing electricity here in CV. Of course, thatºs just how it is. The meeting that I had set up to work with a ceramic artist in Fontalema (a vertical village in the rural town of Assomada), was either forgotten by the artist, or perhaps just negated because of the rain. It is the rainy season here, and so working in the fields is priority for all the rural residents. Pottery, musical group performances, and other artistic happenings are not as prevalent, as men and women are busy reworking the newly moistened soil, weeding, and replanting things. The rain is fascinating... never a downpour (except for one mysterious night in praia)... but rather many sessions of a misting rain. It is actualyl quite refreshing, as if caught in between two distant sprinklers.

I then trecked off to Tarrafal, where later that day I had a metting with the leader of a chidlrenºs batuku group. When i arrived, i discovered that all the power in the town had been turned off, and i feared that this might affect our meeting. Arriving at the bar where we were to meet (the batuku director also owns the bar with her German husband) there were candles lit outside. Seeing me approach, she apologized completely forgetting about our meeting. No problem, letºs just talk! i said, whipping out my little voice recorder. Somehow the dark coverage and candlelight added atmosphere to our talk about batuku. She spoke about her passion for working with children, and how unlike most groups who will now only pay for money, she plays wherever she can, and for little or no money, because it is about keeping the spirit and tradition alive.

The next day was quite an adventure. I was supposed to go to Hortelao, an even more rural village where there is a womenºs collective. This group of women have two projects: to make pano de terra, a woven fabric used to wear around the waist for the batuku dance, and to make a particular kind of jelly preserves, made from local fruits and herbs. The person who was supposed to go with me backed out at the last minute, and quickly told me the various buses and cars i had to take in order to go. I ventured to the first town of Calietta, after taking a 1.5 hour bus ride through the northern coast. Arriving in Calietta, i called upon two new friends in the peace corps who i had met earlier that week, to see if they were around. i caught them just as they were about to go to lunch. to make a long story short, i was given directions that began from the wrong direction, and i ended up getting lost in the rain. upon asking a local fisherwoman where i should go, describing my american friends, she flagged down a passing truck (almost got hit in the process!) and asked the drivers to take me to the peace corps house. What a hilarious escapade. These guys were so old, and had no clue as to where the library was (the landmark that was next to my friendºs house)... every time i would explain to them, "um, i think we just passed it... or um, i think we are going the wrong way, " they would answer with, "you can never be lost in cape verde. someone will help you. what is your name"... ignoring my requests to stop. But they were trying to help. Eventually, i made a few more phone calls, and found my friends.

it just so happened that one of these girls saw a man who works in the agricultural center that runs the womanºs collective. "hey stop the car! are you going up to hortelao?" she asked, with me running along behind her. " yes, i am going up there at 3pm, you can come if you like". "perfect" i said. Giving me a few hours to relax and have lunch in this quaint yet animated coastal town.

Of course, after having a lovely lunch with rice, french fries, beans, and a local fish, i waited at 3pm for this guy to give me a ride to hortelao. I waited until 3:15. then 3:30. Then almost 4pm. Frustrated, i decided i would have to return to tarrafal, because the batuku director promised that i could meet the girls and play batuku with them at 6pm. The friend who had helped me find the driver, felt guilty about it not working out, and so tracked down a hiase van that was going that way. "can she get to hortelao, then back to tarrafal by 5;30?" she asked? "yes, no problem" the driver replied.

of course, there was no problem. but there was no way i was going to get to hortelao in this van. The vans leave each down only after recruiting a car filled with passengers, and we circled around as he would shout various names of the cities he would pass.... it wasnºt until about 4:30 that we were well on our way. I then said to the driver, "ya know, i dont think iºm going to make it to hortelao and then to tarrafal on time. So i am just going to go to tarrafal. where should i switch cars?" "yes you wont. this car is going to tarrafal"... which means that i was well on my way to tarrafal afterall. he clearly was just bullshitting when he said, "yes, i can get you to hortelao then tarrafal".. .just to get my business. crazy drivers.

While my excursion to Calietta and hortelao was a whirlwind of missed plans, and unreliable drivers, i made it back to Tarrafal in perfect timing to meet up with the Batuk group again. All these fallen plans didnt matter after meeting this small group of adorable, passionate girls. From 7 to 15, they drummed on their laps and sang songs of call and response, encouraging me to join in. Some of them were so excited about the camera i was holding, and would do their best to dance in front of it. Ida, the 4 year old beauty, whose lighter skin and hair would make you stop in your tracks, was the most comfortable in front of the camera, jumping at any increase in dynamic to dance harder while looking into the lens. Marisa the director, married a German man, and they have the most beautiful kids with the combination of their contrasting features and skin tones.