Under A Million Miles Of Sky: Return to Makili in pictures...

Yɛ drives his misiw wɔtɔrɔ (cattle cart) through the dry fields of the Sahel outside Makili.

Remudding the walls of the offering site for Dumbashu (Mawlid), the Islamic holiday commemorating the birth of the Prophet Muhammad.

Dumbashu fell on January 14th, which with the local calendar meant festivities would begin on the night of January 13th. In preparation for Dumbashu, each kin (neighborhood) slaughtered a cow, selling meat by the sara (pile) to villagers. Above, Daoudani and Famoussa work to ensure equal piles of meat.

That night, we all headed out to the Dumbashu offering site around 9PM, where we stayed until daybreak listening to the sermons delivered by the Islamic elders. We sat in circles around camp fires, drinking tea, with our wɔtɔrɔw (carts), donkeys, and bulls nearby. It was really a picturesque scene under a full moon. I wish I could have gotten a better picture.

To us, it was absolutely freezing out there, even though it doesn't get below 60 degrees. I clearly still have not adjusted to life in the states. God help me this winter.

Chatting with men from the Diarrakela kin (neighborhood) of my village.

Makili's New Year's Rockin' Eve. To celebrate the New Year, each kin played loud music over a radio as the denmisɛniw (young children) danced. We sat around fires, chatting into the New Year. After midnight, we enjoyed the traditional New Year's meal of chicken and maccoroni, and a huge vat of instant milk and coffee to share. (Note: this is how dry the place is. Even when you don't perceive the dust, take a picture at night and you'll see, its there.)

Chatting with women over tea after they finished cooking lunch.

Sunday is Market Day in nearby Yolo.

My friend Abdoullaye, a fabric vendor in our local Sunday market in Yolo.

Each Sunday, I always hit up my friend Bamu's dumuniyɔrɔ (eating place) for rice and sauce, and stay to chat.

My friend Senata baking gateau in a sufuria (kettle) as we caught up.

Babilɛ sharing siraden, the fruit of a Baobob tree, with local children. The white, chalky pulp of the fruit, which naturally dehydrates in the shell, is eaten.

One day while most of the village was in the fields, my friends Daoudani, Famoussa, and Sekusidi stayed behind. Instead, we went on a kungo yala, a walkabout through the bush.

Prepared to hunt any wild game, Daoudani was armed with a shotgun. But with most of the trees and bushes cleared for agricultural use, most animals have been gone for years. We did encounter a large, rat-looking animal from the distance, which is generally the animal they hunt, alongside large birds. But it was too fast for Daoudani.

But the trek was not altogether in vein. Along the way, we found several different varieties of wild fruit and a rare bush who's leaves, when added to bath water, is said to cure all ills.

Some of my favorite kids: Yakou, Fa, Badaou, and Bwa. When I was living there, they were young and more so stayed at home. Now they are scampering around all over the village.

Buba (Bwa for short) and Badaou, two of my favorite kids, playing a game of so (horse). Badaou's got a rope in his mouth as a bit, as he scampers around with Bwa in the saddle.

Bayani, Famoussa, Omaru, and I enjoy a game of 151, the local card game, as Tayluru brews tea.

My late-night gere of Badaou, his wife Bahumu, and Bokari. Some of my closest friends in village, we spent many nights chatting over tea with whoever else would come by.