it's Tuesday night in Molepolole, and I've got three more minutes on dial-up to tell you all about this beautiful place and its amazing people. Can we start with the name Molepolole? It's pronounced MO-lay-poe-LO-lay, and I challenge you to say it without sounding like Speedy Gonzoles. I'm sitting in an unheated room with hair wet from a cold shower, after a day spent mixing concrete by hand in the African sunshine. It's winter here, so we're working in 70-degree weather and it couldn't be more perfect. But then the sun goes down and it's 40 and I'm the wuss wearing everything she packed. There's a kitten crying outside my door. I promise not to go investigate. Yet.