With all of the tours we’ve been doing, it’s been about a week since we’ve had a truck dinner. Somehow, with the system designed while we were in Senegal, cook groups who were lucky enough to get a pass didn’t have to cook until their day came up again. As such our group (just Tia and I since Amy left), who cooked right before we went on the tours, would get to cook again on Christmas day after we got back. Luckily, some of the superstars on the trip who always end up doing the lion’s share of work kindly volunteered to help out, while we spent the afternoon celebrating our anniversary in a nice-ish hotel (we bought them beers as thanks). The dinner included a motley assortment of mashed potatoes, boiled cabbage, canned apples, corn, roasted lamb, and bread and Christmas puddings for dessert. Not too shabby, bush cooks.
Commandeering the sound system, we replaced the French reggae with a 15-song playlist of Christmas carols (gets old quick) and then some classic Dean Martin tunes. The night further devolved when we had our Secret Santa and half of the gifts turned out to be gags. One guy got an animal jawbone and an empty can of beans with a piece of poop inside. I got, well...the pictures say it all.