Currently, we are fully into the month of Ramadan. As I live in a Muslim village, everyone except the children fast. I decided to try fasting with my village. Though according to calendars, Ramadan has an official start day, that is not followed here. Instead, they look for the first sight of the moon (following the new moon). On the day this occurred, it was extremely cloudy out, and I couldn't even see the stars. But one man in my village spotted the moon, and the message was passed along; Ramadan had officially begun. The first day of Ramadan was easy. For the first (and only time) since I've been here, there was a light drizzle all day and the temperature was cool. It almost felt like September or October in the US, and I felt like I was fasting for Yom Kippur. (I even wanted to go to shul-I was so convinced.) Since then, fasting has gotten a bit harder, since it's hot and humid every day. I am so impressed by the people in my village who go out to the village to farm for hours every day. This is the hardest time of year for Ramadan to occur because it is planting season and hot season. Yet they continue to fast.
Fast is broken every night around 7:40. At this time, a man in my village sings out prayers, and everyone rushes indoors. Bread with butter and coffee are drank to break the fast. (The first day of Ramadan, when I felt like it was Yom Kippur, I actually felt like I was eating a bagel to break the fast, just like at home.) Traditionally, dates are also eaten, but my village can't afford to buy them. Then, about an hour later, dinner is eaten. This is the same meal as we usually eat for lunch. (There's not much protein in the meal though, making fasting even harder.) Afterward, tea is prepared, and everyone sits up late talking. At 5 am, people wake up to eat left-over dinner or a dish similar to oatmeal with lots of sugar. Then, fasting for the day begins again.
I fasted for the first week. Since then, I have been cheating a bit, so that I have energy to interact with people all day and to think in Wolof. (Essentially, I eat breakfast consisting of a mango at 7 am, drink about half a liter of water throughout the day, and sometimes have some dates as a snack in between.) A common question of greeting is: Yangiy ci coor gi? (You are in the fast?) When I say that I am, I receive a variety of answers. Some people are very impressed that I, as a white person, can fast. Others are surprised that I would fast if I'm not a Muslim. Still others tell me that I'm doing what I'm supposed to do, but want to know why I'm not praying (although a lot of my village does not pray). And others tell me that I shouldn't fast since it's not my religion. But I'm glad to be supporting my village by fasting (well, mostly fasting), I am gaining more respect from them as a result, and I enjoy everyone coming together to hungrily devour the break-fast meal.
And now, there are just 10 days left of Ramadan. It will continue until the moon is first sighted after the new moon. Again, this is slightly later than the official end date because they wait until they can see the moon (rather than just the predicted date of the new moon). When Ramadan ends, Korite begins. Everyone celebrates, goats are slaughtered and eaten, and there is a lot of dancing. I can't wait for this!
On a side-note, I went to Dakar for 10 days. When I returned to my village, it was 7 at night. I walked down the dirt path leading from the street to my village. The millet and corn had gotten much taller in my absence, some almost as tall as me. (Not that that is too hard to accomplish.) I smiled to myself, noting the beauty of all these fields and delighting in the fact that I was almost home. Birds sang in the trees, sunset was beginning, and it was nice to be back. A lot of people were busy in their houses, finishing chores, pulling water from the well, getting ready to break the fast. When people saw me coming, they all called out happily to me. Every adult I passed, stopped to talk to me, to see how I was doing, and to ask how Dakar was. The children all chanted my name and some followed me on the path home. As I rounded the corner near my compound, I saw my mom flying down the path. She had heard people calling out to me and ran towards me. She didn't stop until she was directly next to me. My face was one huge smile. If Senegalese hugged, I would've received a huge bear hug for her. Unfortunately, they do not. But I received a warm, long handshake and incessant chatter on her part. It's the biggest sign of affection I've ever seen from her. We entered my room, and I was followed in by at least 10 children and 5 adults. More kept piling in as they found out I had returned. The room was literally packed with people. My backyard had become overgrown with weeds, and the children immediately set to work weeding the whole backyard and sweeping my room and backyard for me. Letters that had fallen from the walls were carefully retrieved by others. As the adults and children in my compound returned from the fields, they all came running into my room to greet me too. All of them had huge smiles on their faces, so glad that I was back. My brother Moussa and sister Kani, both about 10 and both of whom adore me, both ran into my room when they returned from the fields and did not leave my side until after dinner. (According to my mom, Moussa doesn't do any work when I'm around and is always talking about me or hurriedly doing what he has to do so that he can join me. He also called me on the phone once while I was in Dakar to see how I was.) Even family members who usually don't show much emotion around me showed how ecstatic they were to have me back. And apparently Bom, my favorite toddler, had gone to my door every day chanting my name and wanting to know where I was. She tottered over to sit on my lap now that I was back. Oh, how I love my village.
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