My village is located in the heart of Senegal's peanut basin and currently, it is peanut harvesting time. One by one, the villagers are beginning to unearth all the peanuts from their fields. Peanuts are a ground nut, so they grow in the ground attached to the roots. (Seems obvious, but I hadn't thought about the source of the category's name.) Thus, to retrieve the peanuts, the entire plant is pulled from the ground. The peanuts are then pulled off the roots.
The first time I passed essentially my entire village sitting in a field surrounded by piles of green, I had no idea what was going on. I was riding my bicycle, but I vowed to return to the field after bringing my bike to my room. On my way out the door, my mom handed me a bucket, asking if I was going to look for peanuts. I responded that yes, I am going to search for peanuts, glad to learn what the commotion was all about. I brought my bucket to the field and sat down amidst a circle of women. I then began pulling the nuts off, one-by-one, but the kids all laughed at me and showed me how to do it faster, pulling a few off at a time. I soon learned that it wasn't all about speed; joking, running, and dancing were all important aspects of the task. I filled my bucket and then prepared to leave, though everyone else was still hard at work. I now had an entire bucket of peanuts to share with my family and eat - delicious, fresh, and still wet peanuts (much different than the dried ones for sale in supermarkets).
Peanut harvesting is a social activity in my village. Women, children, and a few men go to the field in the morning and remain there all day. The day begins with the men and children walking through the fields and pulling out the plants. They pile these all up. When the women and more children arrive, they sit down in front of these piles using buckets, old cans, stools, or just the ground as their seat. They then begin to pick the peanuts from the plants and pile them into their buckets. It's a daunting task to harvest peanuts from a whole field especially during the heat of the day, but they have a fun time doing it. Women talk and joke with each other. Children run and jump into the discarded piles of peanut plants (like American children into piles of leaves). Sometimes a small coal stove is brought to the field to make tea. And, of course, a lot of peanuts are eaten in the process.
Generally, the field belongs to one family. The rest of the village comes to help them harvest when the crop is ready. At the end of the day, the amount of peanuts collected by each person is measured, and they are paid based upon the amount collected (and receive a small amount of peanuts to take home with them). This is a great opportunity for the kids who often get to keep the money they earn from working in the field to buy new shoes, an orange, or other treat. And they go out, day after day, to participate in the great harvest.
And then a few sidenotes with some updates/accomplishments:
-My grant for a water pipeline was approved by Appropriate Projects, so we can begin construction on it, and my village will be able to have a community garden. For information about my grant and project, you can go to: http://appropriateprojects.com/node/1332
-I can now carry my own water-just half a bucket of water at a time, but I can balance it on my head!
-I have successfully pulled water from the well. The water table in my village is 45 meters deep (very deep), so this task requires 2 people, but I finally participated in it. (Usually we get water from a water pipeline connected to a water tower in a neighboring town.)
-The 2 toddlers in my compound who used to be petrified of me (crying whenever I came near them) have finally fully given up their fear. This was confirmed 2 days ago when one of them climbed on my lap for the first time ever, refused to let anyone else touch me, and proceeded to follow me around chanting my name for the rest of the afternoon.
-About a month ago, I taught the sage femme (the trained doctor who deals with prenatal visits and baby deliveries) and her 2 assistants how to make neem cream to use as an insecticide; it prevents mosquito bites and thus helps prevent malaria. They were so enthralled by it that they have raved about it to other doctors and family members, and I have received many additional requests for the recipe and suggestions that someone should begin to sell it. Neem cream is catching on in my area.
-Currently, 58 of the 80 individual fencing needed for my fruit trees (to prevent animals from eating them) have arrived. Hopefully the rest will arrive by the end of the month. They are all hand-made by wrapping branches around several upright branches.
-I am receiving lots of compliments on my Wolof and being told that I finally understand Wolof! I still have much more to learn, but I'm making progress.
-And finally, my host mom is ecstatic that her picture is now on my blog and facebook. She tells me "Dem naa Amerik" (I went to America) and is completely impressed that her picture could be sent there. I tell her that she's now famous.
Saturday, October 13, 2012
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Langeen begge ma def?
About 2 1/2 weeks ago, I had meetings in my village to learn what they expect from me. I purposely set up separate meetings with the men and women to learn what each group wants. At first, they were surprised by this separation, which shows how democratic my village is: they don't need the groups to be separated to voice their opinions. But they eventually agreed that each group might come to different conclusions.
The meetings were held on 2 consecutive nights after dinner and each attended by about 25 people (men or women). I was given free reign to lead the meeting. Luckily, I had explained the meeting's intent to my host parents beforehand, so my host mom and my host dad each helped me to communicate my ideas to the group. (I have learned that speaking Wolof in the dark to a group is much harder than speaking it to individuals in the daylight.) I began by explaining that I'd just returned from my final 2 week training and was now prepared to begin my work. Prior, I had been working in the nearby town, but I want to work within the village to address whatever health or environmental concerns they have. I then asked what they expected from me. Langeen begge ma def? (What do you want me to do?)
This introduction was met with silence. They didn't know what they wanted from me because they were still confused about my role in the village. I had brought a woodlot, so maybe I was responsible for planting trees. But I also help at the health post yet claim I am not a doctor, so maybe I know something about health. They were all very perplexed and expressed this to me. So I began to list some of my project ideas. I was happy to learn that they supported all of them. This, then, meant that whenever I have a new project idea, the village will most likely be behind me on it. However, it also puts a lot of pressure on me to determine what the village most needs. At the moment, that task is a bit daunting, but I am sure that will become easier with time.
The village identified 3 main projects that it wants accomplished first. These are the creation of a village garden, bimonthly health talks, and the training of a "community aunt."
I have decided to tackle the task of a community garden first. My host dad immediately offered up the use of one of his fields for the installation of a dry season vegetable garden. However, this field (like all fields) is located outside the village while all the water sources are within the village. Therefore, my village suggested digging another well, and I heartily agreed only to learn later that this costs about $500,000 and is clearly not a feasible idea. My village then suggested extending the pipeline to their tapwater so that it reaches the field. Since the pipes would only need to be extended about 50 meters, this option seemed much more feasible. My host parents kept telling me to take everything slowly, not to rush into the project, so after the pipeline was suggested, I didn't push the topic further. But 2 days later, my host dad suggested we go to the town to talk with the water supply men about the creation of the tap. To my amazement, after meeting with them twice, the project has been approved, and my village keeps asking me when the supplies will be purchased. So much for Senegalese taking their time on projects; now my grant proposal to fund this pipe extension is causing the delays. But this is all very exciting news. After the grant money has been received and the pipe installed, a fence can be purchased and built and the garden begun. It will contain both vegetables and a tree nursery. The entire village is very happy with this idea, and people are constantly listing to me the types of vegetables they want the garden to contain. The vegetables will mostly be sold for profit in the market, and this money will be reinvested into the garden and divided among the villagers. I am so fortunate to have a community that shares so much among themselves without even thinking about the other option.
My host mom standing at the site for the new waterline, which will be in the middle of the community garden.
They are equally excited for the other two projects. I will be leading the health talks on topics such as malaria, AIDS, nutrition, handwashing, health advice for pregnant women, and any other health topic I can think of. They have left the determination of these topics to me because, as they have told me, they don't know anything about health so don't know what they should know. Women in my village keep asking me when these will start (I am waiting until harvest is over so that all the women will be available in the afternoon), men keep asking to be included, and some people keep relaying to me all the health information they know on certain topics. They are eager to learn. The only trick will be instilling behavior change; knowledge is not the same as acting on this knowledge, and I'm hoping to achieve both of these.
And finally, my host grandma has been voted as community aunt, and she is thrilled by this idea. She doesn't fully understand the responsibilities of this position (nor, frankly, do I at this point-it is a position created by the Senegalese government), but I am working to get her included in a national training of community aunts. She would then be able to provide health information to pregnant women and women with young children, would ensure that they are going for their necessary 3 pre-natal visits and taking their medicine, monitor health issues within the village, and essentially be a source of general counseling for women and couples. This program is extremely effective in Senegal, and I am glad that my village wants to be a part of it. I think it's a great way to ensure that the work I do here is sustainable; I essentially want to train her to look out for the welfare of the women and children in my community. And the other women in the community are excited for her to assume this role.
So these are my 3 current target projects for my village. They are subject to change and develop over time, and I am sure I will determine other project focuses as well. Additionally, once schools open at the end of October, I hope to do some work with the students. But I am glad that now I have some direction in my work.
The meetings were held on 2 consecutive nights after dinner and each attended by about 25 people (men or women). I was given free reign to lead the meeting. Luckily, I had explained the meeting's intent to my host parents beforehand, so my host mom and my host dad each helped me to communicate my ideas to the group. (I have learned that speaking Wolof in the dark to a group is much harder than speaking it to individuals in the daylight.) I began by explaining that I'd just returned from my final 2 week training and was now prepared to begin my work. Prior, I had been working in the nearby town, but I want to work within the village to address whatever health or environmental concerns they have. I then asked what they expected from me. Langeen begge ma def? (What do you want me to do?)
This introduction was met with silence. They didn't know what they wanted from me because they were still confused about my role in the village. I had brought a woodlot, so maybe I was responsible for planting trees. But I also help at the health post yet claim I am not a doctor, so maybe I know something about health. They were all very perplexed and expressed this to me. So I began to list some of my project ideas. I was happy to learn that they supported all of them. This, then, meant that whenever I have a new project idea, the village will most likely be behind me on it. However, it also puts a lot of pressure on me to determine what the village most needs. At the moment, that task is a bit daunting, but I am sure that will become easier with time.
The village identified 3 main projects that it wants accomplished first. These are the creation of a village garden, bimonthly health talks, and the training of a "community aunt."
I have decided to tackle the task of a community garden first. My host dad immediately offered up the use of one of his fields for the installation of a dry season vegetable garden. However, this field (like all fields) is located outside the village while all the water sources are within the village. Therefore, my village suggested digging another well, and I heartily agreed only to learn later that this costs about $500,000 and is clearly not a feasible idea. My village then suggested extending the pipeline to their tapwater so that it reaches the field. Since the pipes would only need to be extended about 50 meters, this option seemed much more feasible. My host parents kept telling me to take everything slowly, not to rush into the project, so after the pipeline was suggested, I didn't push the topic further. But 2 days later, my host dad suggested we go to the town to talk with the water supply men about the creation of the tap. To my amazement, after meeting with them twice, the project has been approved, and my village keeps asking me when the supplies will be purchased. So much for Senegalese taking their time on projects; now my grant proposal to fund this pipe extension is causing the delays. But this is all very exciting news. After the grant money has been received and the pipe installed, a fence can be purchased and built and the garden begun. It will contain both vegetables and a tree nursery. The entire village is very happy with this idea, and people are constantly listing to me the types of vegetables they want the garden to contain. The vegetables will mostly be sold for profit in the market, and this money will be reinvested into the garden and divided among the villagers. I am so fortunate to have a community that shares so much among themselves without even thinking about the other option.
They are equally excited for the other two projects. I will be leading the health talks on topics such as malaria, AIDS, nutrition, handwashing, health advice for pregnant women, and any other health topic I can think of. They have left the determination of these topics to me because, as they have told me, they don't know anything about health so don't know what they should know. Women in my village keep asking me when these will start (I am waiting until harvest is over so that all the women will be available in the afternoon), men keep asking to be included, and some people keep relaying to me all the health information they know on certain topics. They are eager to learn. The only trick will be instilling behavior change; knowledge is not the same as acting on this knowledge, and I'm hoping to achieve both of these.
And finally, my host grandma has been voted as community aunt, and she is thrilled by this idea. She doesn't fully understand the responsibilities of this position (nor, frankly, do I at this point-it is a position created by the Senegalese government), but I am working to get her included in a national training of community aunts. She would then be able to provide health information to pregnant women and women with young children, would ensure that they are going for their necessary 3 pre-natal visits and taking their medicine, monitor health issues within the village, and essentially be a source of general counseling for women and couples. This program is extremely effective in Senegal, and I am glad that my village wants to be a part of it. I think it's a great way to ensure that the work I do here is sustainable; I essentially want to train her to look out for the welfare of the women and children in my community. And the other women in the community are excited for her to assume this role.
So these are my 3 current target projects for my village. They are subject to change and develop over time, and I am sure I will determine other project focuses as well. Additionally, once schools open at the end of October, I hope to do some work with the students. But I am glad that now I have some direction in my work.
Saturday, September 29, 2012
Mangiy rot sama bopp
I have now been at site for 4 1/2 months. It's amazing to me how fast that has gone. My Wolof is slowly improving, and I'm beginning to receive some compliments, which is very exciting. So what exactly have I been doing with my time?
Though I arrived as an environmental education volunteer, Senegal Peace Corps has now merged that with the health program. Therefore, I have been spending much time in the nearby town (3 km away) shadowing at the health post and maternity clinic. The Senegalese health structure has several layers: at the very bottom are health huts were ASCs and matronnes work. These are unpaid workers who have undergone a 3-month training at the health post to learn the basic skills of healing and delivering babies. Their medical supplies and skills are limited. Above this level is the health post were the ICP and sage femme work. They have both gone to college, the former to learn the trade of a physician, the latter of pre-, peri-, and post-natal acre. They can handle most illnesses, but if the problem requires unusual medication or is extreme, patients are sent to regional hospitals located in cities. So I my village is very lucky to be located so close to a health post, and the ICP and sage femme (literally meaning wise woman-it's french) are very extraordinary people, and I have learned a lot about my area's needs by talking with them. Additionally, I have helped local NGOs and the health post as they visit villages to provide vaccines for children under 5, administer AIDS testing, measure the width of children under 5's upper arm (a measure of malnutrition), and conduct health talks with villages. I have even held a health talk of my own to a group of pregnant woman at the maternity clinic on the topic of malaria and will be conducting another talk about proper nutrition for pregnant women this coming Monday.
When I am not shadowing or helping with local health issues, I am usually in my village. I have recently begun to conduct home visits. Every afternoon, when it is no longer peak heat (after 4 pm), I go to a different compound in my village to talk, drink tea, and sometimes play parchesi. (I don't know why parchesi is so popular here, but they all love it, and my village has several boards that are constantly being passed from one family to another.) I have recently learned that the act of drinking tea is vital to a visit; when I arrived around 5:30 to talk at one compound, I was told that it was too late for tea (the necessary 3 pots of tea could not be made before it was time to fetch water around 6:30/7) and that therefore my visit was no good. But, other than my arriving too late, my home visits are a complete success. Everyone loves having me as a guest at their house. I am immediately given the nicest chair (or bench or stool) to sit on, and everyone gathers around me. I feel like a celebrity from this constant attention. I am also constantly asked why I have not yet been to certain people's houses (my response-I can only visit 1 house a day, but I will make it there soon) and when I will be returning to those I've already visited (my response-I need to visit everyone once first). I have already felt the positive benefits of these visits as I feel myself growing closer to people in my village, joking with them more, gaining more of their respect, discussing my role as a volunteer, and even learning about some pregnancies so that I can escort those women to the maternity clinic. I look forward to the remaining home visits that I have. It is fun to talk and get to know other people. The relationships I form as a result will be wonderful both socially and for accomplishing health behavior changes that I hope to instill (ex-handwashing).
Additionally, I have had the opportunity to visit some neighboring villages. One village in particular sticks out in my mind. It is about 7 km away and known for its beautiful mango and cashew tree field right outside the village. The people there are very nice, have an active women's group, and want to work with me on health projects. Additionally, they have a beautiful baobob forest, which I had the pleasure of biking through on my way home. I hope to work with this village and some others on some of my work projects.
Then, besides these activities, I've been visiting the weekly market, bike riding, helping to harvest peanuts, hanging out with my family, and doing lots of thinking. But I have learned that there is never a dull moment here.
And, finally...to write about my successes. Mangiy rot sama bopp! (I carry water myself!) I can now carry a bucket of water on my head, which is a very exciting development. I now no longer have to rely on someone else to bring me water everyday. Also, I have successfully pulled water from the well when the water from the tap was shut off. The well in my village is 45 meters deep, so pulling water is a 2-person job, but I succeeded. Small steps, but important to me.
Though I arrived as an environmental education volunteer, Senegal Peace Corps has now merged that with the health program. Therefore, I have been spending much time in the nearby town (3 km away) shadowing at the health post and maternity clinic. The Senegalese health structure has several layers: at the very bottom are health huts were ASCs and matronnes work. These are unpaid workers who have undergone a 3-month training at the health post to learn the basic skills of healing and delivering babies. Their medical supplies and skills are limited. Above this level is the health post were the ICP and sage femme work. They have both gone to college, the former to learn the trade of a physician, the latter of pre-, peri-, and post-natal acre. They can handle most illnesses, but if the problem requires unusual medication or is extreme, patients are sent to regional hospitals located in cities. So I my village is very lucky to be located so close to a health post, and the ICP and sage femme (literally meaning wise woman-it's french) are very extraordinary people, and I have learned a lot about my area's needs by talking with them. Additionally, I have helped local NGOs and the health post as they visit villages to provide vaccines for children under 5, administer AIDS testing, measure the width of children under 5's upper arm (a measure of malnutrition), and conduct health talks with villages. I have even held a health talk of my own to a group of pregnant woman at the maternity clinic on the topic of malaria and will be conducting another talk about proper nutrition for pregnant women this coming Monday.
When I am not shadowing or helping with local health issues, I am usually in my village. I have recently begun to conduct home visits. Every afternoon, when it is no longer peak heat (after 4 pm), I go to a different compound in my village to talk, drink tea, and sometimes play parchesi. (I don't know why parchesi is so popular here, but they all love it, and my village has several boards that are constantly being passed from one family to another.) I have recently learned that the act of drinking tea is vital to a visit; when I arrived around 5:30 to talk at one compound, I was told that it was too late for tea (the necessary 3 pots of tea could not be made before it was time to fetch water around 6:30/7) and that therefore my visit was no good. But, other than my arriving too late, my home visits are a complete success. Everyone loves having me as a guest at their house. I am immediately given the nicest chair (or bench or stool) to sit on, and everyone gathers around me. I feel like a celebrity from this constant attention. I am also constantly asked why I have not yet been to certain people's houses (my response-I can only visit 1 house a day, but I will make it there soon) and when I will be returning to those I've already visited (my response-I need to visit everyone once first). I have already felt the positive benefits of these visits as I feel myself growing closer to people in my village, joking with them more, gaining more of their respect, discussing my role as a volunteer, and even learning about some pregnancies so that I can escort those women to the maternity clinic. I look forward to the remaining home visits that I have. It is fun to talk and get to know other people. The relationships I form as a result will be wonderful both socially and for accomplishing health behavior changes that I hope to instill (ex-handwashing).
Additionally, I have had the opportunity to visit some neighboring villages. One village in particular sticks out in my mind. It is about 7 km away and known for its beautiful mango and cashew tree field right outside the village. The people there are very nice, have an active women's group, and want to work with me on health projects. Additionally, they have a beautiful baobob forest, which I had the pleasure of biking through on my way home. I hope to work with this village and some others on some of my work projects.
Then, besides these activities, I've been visiting the weekly market, bike riding, helping to harvest peanuts, hanging out with my family, and doing lots of thinking. But I have learned that there is never a dull moment here.
And, finally...to write about my successes. Mangiy rot sama bopp! (I carry water myself!) I can now carry a bucket of water on my head, which is a very exciting development. I now no longer have to rely on someone else to bring me water everyday. Also, I have successfully pulled water from the well when the water from the tap was shut off. The well in my village is 45 meters deep, so pulling water is a 2-person job, but I succeeded. Small steps, but important to me.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Jembet nanu
August 10 was an amazing day; it was the tree planting day. I opened my door at 8 to be ready whenever we were going to start. At 8:15, my dad came rushing to my door to get me to start. It was very overcast, and he was afraid that it would rain. (It ended up drizzling for five minutes and maintaining a wonderful, cool, perfect work temeperature with a nice breeze the entire day.) We hurried over to the field. At first, only five men were there, and I was a bit nervous. But more came until there were maybe 25 or 30 men. No women were there, and I was a bit disappointed but figured the men would do a good job. Most got to work chopping down all the bushes in the field with machetes; the field was very overgrown with weeds. I had forgotten how many bushes and plants had spread over the field and was daunted by the prospect of cutting everything down, thinking it would take a long time. Two groups of two or three men got to work starting to dig holes. I walked around with a mesauring tape between the two groups, mesuring the size of the holes and the distance between the holes. I felt like a supervisor just going back and forth and not doing any manual labor, but I felt important as men kept calling me over. It was nice to watch the men work too. They all knew what to do without any instructions from me. Of course, this is Senegal, so a lot of times, the men would just stand around watching or talking, but they worked very hard (even chopping down bushes from the tops of two termite mounds). The men digging the holes also understood the necessity of digging deep holes to loosen the soil for the roots, even though the plants weren't that big yet. One group was very meticulous with the measurements of their holes. They dug the holes with a small blade on a stick or with a machete (which made perfectly square holes).
When the men were about halfway through chopping the weeds down, one woman arrived. Soon, a few more trickled in, and I was so happy. I realized that it was now 9:40, and women usually go to their fields around this time; the men had just gotten an earlier start. Meanwhile, the women must've just been carrying out their usually morning chores of getting water, cooking, cleaning, washing clothes, etc. My mom came at this point and told me that we should start getting the plants from my backyard to bring here. I thought she meant for the two of us to bring all the trees over, but as we walked back, we passed about twenty more women on their way to the field and brought them back with us. Women brought their water buckets over, and I worked with some of the kids to fill the buckets with the trees. All the women insisted on taking their shoes off before entering my room, even though I tried to protest. With the buckets all filled, I wondered how we were going to get them to the field because they were really heavy; I couldn't imagine the women being able to carry these buckets on their heads, but they lifted them up without complaint and headed to the field. As I followed behind, I laughed at the sight of 20 or so women walking with buckets of trees on their heads. A man from another village passed us, and I wonder what he thought of this procession.
I showed the women how to plant the trees, and after a few demonstrations to different groups, they set about transplanting all the trees. Jembet nanu! (We transplanted!) I walked around, watching the women eagerly planting them; they were all so excited. A few would ask me how their tree looked in the ground. I would comment on how deep they had planted it or the amount of soil on top, and they would then pass this information along to others. One woman in particular asked me every time I passed; hers were always perfect. As I watched the men chopping or digging and women planting, I thought it was a perfect day, and I couldn't be happier. My village was working so hard. Soon, there were around 50 women there. There wasn't work for everyone, but they were all trying to help or standing around talking, joking, and playing. I realized that I had been really serious up to this point, so I started joking with the women too and even dancing with them. Every time I passed someone that I hadn't seen yet, they would call out to me and greet me.
Some of the men started to argue in two separate groups. I walked over to each group to try to understand the cause of the problem, but I couldn't figure it out. I didn't want to interrupt, but I was hoping that someone would see me and explain; no one did. All the work had stopped by this point, but eventually the problem was solved, and work recommenced. But the men soon tired and went to sit under a tree. The work that had been gender-divided before now all fell to the women and few remaining men. The women then commenced digging all the holes. Tons of holes were being dug at once with all the available tools, while other women stood next to the holes armed with a tree ready to be planted. I was so impressed by them. Digging holes were hard work; I struggled to dig one hole before a boy took the hoe from me and finished it. The woman owning the neighboring field also donated some space for more rows of trees, even though she had peanuts planted there; we needed more room for the trees. I was so proud of my village. Around 2, we stopped for the day, and everyone headed home. About 300 eucalyptus trees had been planted.
The following Monday, we returned to the field. Everyone knew what to do and fell into their roles. In about 3 hours, the remaining 70 eucalyptus trees, 25 mango trees, and 50 cashew trees were planted. I surveyed the field with satisfaction. All that now remains is to buy the fencing for the mango and cashew trees to prevent them from being eaten by animals. But so far, all the trees seem to be growing well.
When the men were about halfway through chopping the weeds down, one woman arrived. Soon, a few more trickled in, and I was so happy. I realized that it was now 9:40, and women usually go to their fields around this time; the men had just gotten an earlier start. Meanwhile, the women must've just been carrying out their usually morning chores of getting water, cooking, cleaning, washing clothes, etc. My mom came at this point and told me that we should start getting the plants from my backyard to bring here. I thought she meant for the two of us to bring all the trees over, but as we walked back, we passed about twenty more women on their way to the field and brought them back with us. Women brought their water buckets over, and I worked with some of the kids to fill the buckets with the trees. All the women insisted on taking their shoes off before entering my room, even though I tried to protest. With the buckets all filled, I wondered how we were going to get them to the field because they were really heavy; I couldn't imagine the women being able to carry these buckets on their heads, but they lifted them up without complaint and headed to the field. As I followed behind, I laughed at the sight of 20 or so women walking with buckets of trees on their heads. A man from another village passed us, and I wonder what he thought of this procession.
I showed the women how to plant the trees, and after a few demonstrations to different groups, they set about transplanting all the trees. Jembet nanu! (We transplanted!) I walked around, watching the women eagerly planting them; they were all so excited. A few would ask me how their tree looked in the ground. I would comment on how deep they had planted it or the amount of soil on top, and they would then pass this information along to others. One woman in particular asked me every time I passed; hers were always perfect. As I watched the men chopping or digging and women planting, I thought it was a perfect day, and I couldn't be happier. My village was working so hard. Soon, there were around 50 women there. There wasn't work for everyone, but they were all trying to help or standing around talking, joking, and playing. I realized that I had been really serious up to this point, so I started joking with the women too and even dancing with them. Every time I passed someone that I hadn't seen yet, they would call out to me and greet me.
Some of the men started to argue in two separate groups. I walked over to each group to try to understand the cause of the problem, but I couldn't figure it out. I didn't want to interrupt, but I was hoping that someone would see me and explain; no one did. All the work had stopped by this point, but eventually the problem was solved, and work recommenced. But the men soon tired and went to sit under a tree. The work that had been gender-divided before now all fell to the women and few remaining men. The women then commenced digging all the holes. Tons of holes were being dug at once with all the available tools, while other women stood next to the holes armed with a tree ready to be planted. I was so impressed by them. Digging holes were hard work; I struggled to dig one hole before a boy took the hoe from me and finished it. The woman owning the neighboring field also donated some space for more rows of trees, even though she had peanuts planted there; we needed more room for the trees. I was so proud of my village. Around 2, we stopped for the day, and everyone headed home. About 300 eucalyptus trees had been planted.
The following Monday, we returned to the field. Everyone knew what to do and fell into their roles. In about 3 hours, the remaining 70 eucalyptus trees, 25 mango trees, and 50 cashew trees were planted. I surveyed the field with satisfaction. All that now remains is to buy the fencing for the mango and cashew trees to prevent them from being eaten by animals. But so far, all the trees seem to be growing well.
Friday, August 24, 2012
Dafa naw.
The other day, I went to my first baptism here. It was for the namesake of one of my neighbors. (Here, a namesake acts like a godmother - supporting the child and also sharing a name with the child.) I didn't know when it would start but sat around with some of the women and kids in the morning, per usual. One woman was so excited for the day. She told me all about the food, singing, and dancing of the day, showing off her dance moves (as well as her knowledge of American dance moves). She couldn't wait to go. Around noon, my grandmother and the namesake came over to bring me to the house. We all walked together to a house, greeted everyone, and waited as more women piled into the bedroom; it became so packed that no one else could enter, but still women called greetings through the doorway. Then, all the vegetables (an entire large bucket of them), rice (an entire sack), and oil (a huge container) were carried over to the mother's house. We then piled into another room. I was immediately given the baby to hold for a bit before other people took her to have a chance to hold her. As usual, I received the usual comment of "Dafa naw" (She is ugly), and as usual I responded that the baby was not ugly but was pretty. I had no idea who the mother of the baby was until later; she is not given any speical attention, but it is seen as a shared event for the community. In fact, I received more attention than her as people commented on my presence and the braids in my hair that my neighbor had done the day before (after the namesake had her hair braided for the event).
Then we all piled outside. We greeted the men sitting in a room next door. One man decided that he was my "cheri" and told me that he loved me (a usual comment in Senegal - I've gotten quite good and putting off marriage proposals and love affirmations). My neighbor soon told me that we were leaving, but everyone asked why I was going, and my grandma and the namesake implored me to stay. So I took a seat beside them on the cement block under the tree. A little later, I watched as the men slaughtered a sheep for the meal; two men held the legs, while a third cut the head off. It was then taken outside to be cleaned and cut. Soon after, a man wth dreadlocks and a sack entered the compound. I'd seen him before, and he called out to me, asking my name and commenting that I should get dreadlocks like him instead of the braids I had. A group of kids gathered around him, and all the women stared at him. I creened my neck to see him too. Then he began to sing. Everyone answered "Amin" a lot. I just sat there until my grandma nudged me to hold both my hands out in front of me with my palms up. He was apparently praying and chanted for awhile. At first, everyone was really intent, but as it continued, they shifted a bit in their seats and their eyes became a bit glossy as they stared into space A few more kids came, and they immediately sat down with their hands out.
When this was over, I walked home with my grandma and the namesake. The namesake had to gather everything she bought for the baby; she is responsible for providing all the baby essentials. A large group of women headed back over, led by a hired singing woman from a nearby village. Two girls banged on metal bowls, and everyone sang and clapped their hands. We entered the compound. It was drizzling, so we all poured into a small area with a shade structure. To women crazily beat the metal bowls, sweat pouring down their foreheads. I was at the back, and I peered over to the singing woman and some women dancing in front of her (after paying her a small fee to dance). My grandma pushed her way to the center to dance, moving her feet quickly, one hand holding her skirt and the other in the air with a huge smile on her face. Then she called me over to dance with her. I did the one Senegalese dance move that I know and tried to copy my grandma. Another woman paid the woman a bit more so that I could continue to dance. I smiled widely, laughing at myself and my horrible dance moves (though later most of the women came up to me to tell me that I could dance - a courtesy they extend to me, but mock each other's dancing abilites). Then I drifted back into the crowd to clap my hands and watch other women dancing.
Soon, the dancing and singing stoped. The singing women called for all the gifts to be grought over. She went through them all, counting them as she picked them up and handed them to another woman. It was interesting because I wanted to see what the gifts (especially the clothes) looked like, but they were only interested in the amount - to see how well the namesake would care for the baby. There were a lot of bars of soap, baby oil, perfume, poop bowls (toddlers poop into a small bowl which is then emptied out, and they just pee on the ground), hat, shirts, pants, underwear, coat, shoes, buckets, baby carrier (for when the mom goes to the field and needs to leave the baby somewhere), bracelets, and probably a few other things I can't remember. The woman made funny comments about a few things as she held them up and named them off, and everyone laughed. All the women had been eagerly watching to see. It seemed as though they were all impressed, and the namesake was treating the baby well.
Then there was more singing and dancing. I went to go sit down with some of the women. A bench was brought over for me. I joked that I would be lonely sitting on a bench all by myself. My mom went to sit on it with me, but when we leaned back, it seemed to be breaking and tilting. Everyone joked that my mom was too fat and her butt too big. (Women had been joking around all day.) We moved the bench to a new spot and tried it again because it looked ok, but the same thing happened. My mom jumped off it at this point, but then we realized that it was just sinking into the wet ground. A boy brought rocks over to put under the legs, and it was fine then.
I went over to help the women cook. There were two enormous cast-iron pots; I probably could've fit inside. They each blanaced on three legs with wood burning underneath. They were stirred by spoons almost as tall as me. It literally looked like they were brewing a potion in a witch's cauldron when they stirred with two hands, peering inside from a distance and addingm ore things to the pots. Cooking was a long process; it took a few hours. The meat was already in water and oil in the pots when I arrived, and it was being stirred. Onions were bing cut, cabbages and bitter tomatoes were being washed, and potatoes were being peeled. Then peppercorns were pounded, the onions, bouillon cubes, salt, garlic, and green peppers added, and more pounding occurred. The vegetables were then all added to the meat. Then the rice was steamed on top. Eventually, the meat and vegetables were removed, and the onion mixture and rice were added to the water until all the water had been absorbed. The two huge pots were now full of rice, an incredible amount. There were about 15-20 women cooking, and it was a social event. People joked, got up to dance, talked, and had fun with the work. I ttried to help; I stirred the meat about five times, cut half an onion, and pounded maybe five times before being told to just sit and watch. In other words, they were letting me try, but eitehr didn't like how I did it or else were joking about needing my help (because they had all told me that I should be working instead of sitting - they always tell me to help with things, but usually don't actually mean it). So I sat and watched the process and was also pulled in to go dance in front of the singing lady one more time. This time, another woman came with me (a baby on her back), and she told me to follow her moves, so my dancing was a bit more sophisticated (though I'm sure not much). Meanwhile, all the men were sitting under a tree talking. Baptisms are apparently mainly a women's event. Mostly women were there and only a few men, and all the singing, dancing, gifts, cooking, etc. involved only the women. I never saw the men move from their seats all day and most men either showed up for five minutes or not at all, compared to most women who spent the majority of the day there.
At 7:30, we broke fast as usual. (The baptism occurred during Ramadan.) As the man in the center of my village began to call out the call to prayer and break fast, bread with butter and coffee was provided to everyone present (about 50 people). Then juice was served among the men (and I got some too) and soon the bowls of food were brought out. I sat around a bowl with a group of men and ate with my hands for the second time since arriving in village. I think I did a really good job eating with my hands, but it probably helped that it was dark so no one could see me. But I did make fairly good rice balls and didn't make a mess. After eating, tea was served. Then I went back home. My family had waited for me to eat, even though it was now 9:30 and very late for them to eat dinner during Ramadan. I ate with them and then ate more food from the baptism that had been brought over for my family. I was also given the bread my family had bought me for the break fast. I was beyond stuffed but content; it had been a very interesting day.
Then we all piled outside. We greeted the men sitting in a room next door. One man decided that he was my "cheri" and told me that he loved me (a usual comment in Senegal - I've gotten quite good and putting off marriage proposals and love affirmations). My neighbor soon told me that we were leaving, but everyone asked why I was going, and my grandma and the namesake implored me to stay. So I took a seat beside them on the cement block under the tree. A little later, I watched as the men slaughtered a sheep for the meal; two men held the legs, while a third cut the head off. It was then taken outside to be cleaned and cut. Soon after, a man wth dreadlocks and a sack entered the compound. I'd seen him before, and he called out to me, asking my name and commenting that I should get dreadlocks like him instead of the braids I had. A group of kids gathered around him, and all the women stared at him. I creened my neck to see him too. Then he began to sing. Everyone answered "Amin" a lot. I just sat there until my grandma nudged me to hold both my hands out in front of me with my palms up. He was apparently praying and chanted for awhile. At first, everyone was really intent, but as it continued, they shifted a bit in their seats and their eyes became a bit glossy as they stared into space A few more kids came, and they immediately sat down with their hands out.
When this was over, I walked home with my grandma and the namesake. The namesake had to gather everything she bought for the baby; she is responsible for providing all the baby essentials. A large group of women headed back over, led by a hired singing woman from a nearby village. Two girls banged on metal bowls, and everyone sang and clapped their hands. We entered the compound. It was drizzling, so we all poured into a small area with a shade structure. To women crazily beat the metal bowls, sweat pouring down their foreheads. I was at the back, and I peered over to the singing woman and some women dancing in front of her (after paying her a small fee to dance). My grandma pushed her way to the center to dance, moving her feet quickly, one hand holding her skirt and the other in the air with a huge smile on her face. Then she called me over to dance with her. I did the one Senegalese dance move that I know and tried to copy my grandma. Another woman paid the woman a bit more so that I could continue to dance. I smiled widely, laughing at myself and my horrible dance moves (though later most of the women came up to me to tell me that I could dance - a courtesy they extend to me, but mock each other's dancing abilites). Then I drifted back into the crowd to clap my hands and watch other women dancing.
Soon, the dancing and singing stoped. The singing women called for all the gifts to be grought over. She went through them all, counting them as she picked them up and handed them to another woman. It was interesting because I wanted to see what the gifts (especially the clothes) looked like, but they were only interested in the amount - to see how well the namesake would care for the baby. There were a lot of bars of soap, baby oil, perfume, poop bowls (toddlers poop into a small bowl which is then emptied out, and they just pee on the ground), hat, shirts, pants, underwear, coat, shoes, buckets, baby carrier (for when the mom goes to the field and needs to leave the baby somewhere), bracelets, and probably a few other things I can't remember. The woman made funny comments about a few things as she held them up and named them off, and everyone laughed. All the women had been eagerly watching to see. It seemed as though they were all impressed, and the namesake was treating the baby well.
Then there was more singing and dancing. I went to go sit down with some of the women. A bench was brought over for me. I joked that I would be lonely sitting on a bench all by myself. My mom went to sit on it with me, but when we leaned back, it seemed to be breaking and tilting. Everyone joked that my mom was too fat and her butt too big. (Women had been joking around all day.) We moved the bench to a new spot and tried it again because it looked ok, but the same thing happened. My mom jumped off it at this point, but then we realized that it was just sinking into the wet ground. A boy brought rocks over to put under the legs, and it was fine then.
I went over to help the women cook. There were two enormous cast-iron pots; I probably could've fit inside. They each blanaced on three legs with wood burning underneath. They were stirred by spoons almost as tall as me. It literally looked like they were brewing a potion in a witch's cauldron when they stirred with two hands, peering inside from a distance and addingm ore things to the pots. Cooking was a long process; it took a few hours. The meat was already in water and oil in the pots when I arrived, and it was being stirred. Onions were bing cut, cabbages and bitter tomatoes were being washed, and potatoes were being peeled. Then peppercorns were pounded, the onions, bouillon cubes, salt, garlic, and green peppers added, and more pounding occurred. The vegetables were then all added to the meat. Then the rice was steamed on top. Eventually, the meat and vegetables were removed, and the onion mixture and rice were added to the water until all the water had been absorbed. The two huge pots were now full of rice, an incredible amount. There were about 15-20 women cooking, and it was a social event. People joked, got up to dance, talked, and had fun with the work. I ttried to help; I stirred the meat about five times, cut half an onion, and pounded maybe five times before being told to just sit and watch. In other words, they were letting me try, but eitehr didn't like how I did it or else were joking about needing my help (because they had all told me that I should be working instead of sitting - they always tell me to help with things, but usually don't actually mean it). So I sat and watched the process and was also pulled in to go dance in front of the singing lady one more time. This time, another woman came with me (a baby on her back), and she told me to follow her moves, so my dancing was a bit more sophisticated (though I'm sure not much). Meanwhile, all the men were sitting under a tree talking. Baptisms are apparently mainly a women's event. Mostly women were there and only a few men, and all the singing, dancing, gifts, cooking, etc. involved only the women. I never saw the men move from their seats all day and most men either showed up for five minutes or not at all, compared to most women who spent the majority of the day there.
At 7:30, we broke fast as usual. (The baptism occurred during Ramadan.) As the man in the center of my village began to call out the call to prayer and break fast, bread with butter and coffee was provided to everyone present (about 50 people). Then juice was served among the men (and I got some too) and soon the bowls of food were brought out. I sat around a bowl with a group of men and ate with my hands for the second time since arriving in village. I think I did a really good job eating with my hands, but it probably helped that it was dark so no one could see me. But I did make fairly good rice balls and didn't make a mess. After eating, tea was served. Then I went back home. My family had waited for me to eat, even though it was now 9:30 and very late for them to eat dinner during Ramadan. I ate with them and then ate more food from the baptism that had been brought over for my family. I was also given the bread my family had bought me for the break fast. I was beyond stuffed but content; it had been a very interesting day.
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Tey, nungiy noos.
The 21st was Korite - or praying day as they call it. There was some debate as to whether it'd be on Sunday or Monday, but no one saw the moon on Saturday night. On Sunday night, I was sitting outside with my brother who was searching the sky for the moon. Suddenly, he screamed out with delight because he'd seen the thin sliver of it. My sister immediately began to dance, her legs moving wuickly as she hummed the rhythm and waved her head scarf all around her. My grandma and aunt came over. They recited a few lines in Arabic with their hands in their air and then recited it slowly so that i could repeat it after them. Then they, too, started to dance. Everyone was in a good mood that night. We ate rice with vegetables as usual, but it tasted even better for some reason.
The following day, Monday, was Korite, and I wasn't sure what to expect. I happily drank lots of water when I woke up and joined my family for a breakfast of couscous, fish, and sauce. I then sat and talked with my family for awhile. Everything seemed to be like normal, but I could feel excitement and anticipation in the air. Groups of kids walked past as usual, but I had trouble recognizing them because everyone had their hair braided for the occasion. The braiding process had begun on Friday, and suddenly all the children had long hair (from extensions they put in) and beautiful braids. The toddlers had even dyed their hair black (they usually have reddish hair) and black dye was also all over their scalp and foreheads. The braiding process was still occuring, with last minute touch-ups, the final people being braided, and gold paint used to decorate heads.
I moved to sit outside and was joined by some family members and women from my village. Everyone was in a great mood; it was a celebration day. I watched as children and men over 30 walked back from praying in a nearby open area used as the mosque. They were all dressed in fancy clothes, heavily starched, clean, and making the wearer seem very dignified. They were all completely unrecognizable to me in these nice clothes. I didn't feel like I was in my village anymore.
My mom called me inside to help cook lunch - an onion/macaroni sauce with chicken. (Meat is so rare in my village as is a vegetable-based dish, and everyone was so excited for this meal. I had been hearing about how good the food is on Korite for days.) I helped peel and chop potatoes and onions. Usually, the women laugh at the way I cut and cook, since I can't do it the same way they do. But this time, I requested something to use as a cutting board and received wide-spread praise for my onion-cutting abilities. To make the sauce, we added vinegar, mustard, salt, Dimbal (a Senegalese bouillon cube-essentially powdered MSG), garlic, and pepper to the onions. Then we fried the potatoes, fried the chicken, and cooked the pasta in the chikcen oil/water mixture with more Dimbal and pepper. All of this was then mixed together in a bowl. As I cooked, the radio was on, and my siblings kept coming over to dance to the music. No one could stop smiling; there are only 3 holidays that they celebrate here, and everyone gets so excited for them. The anitipation and happiness reminded me of holidays at home in the US: the cooking, hanging out, laughing, and waiting for the celebration to begin. After cooking, I went and sat outside some more while my sister finished cooking. Around 2, all the women and girls went into my grandmother's hut to eat, while the men went to my parents' hut; some neighbors also came to eat. We were given bread to use to scoop up the onion sauce. More and more chunks of bread kept being handed to me, and they ignored my refusal. I ate at least a loaf-and-a-half before I was finally successful in declining more. Still, more sauce and bread were offered to me later as was a rice dish. It was so much food, but it was so good.
Then I went back outside to drink juice (a real treat) and tea. Everyone said: Tey, nungiy noos. (Today, we enjoyed ourselves. In Wolof, enjoying oneself is synonymous with spending money. Usually, people deny having fun because they aren't spending money, but on this day, they all splurged.) By this point, a lot of kids had put on their fancy new clothes that had been bought especially for this occasion. They wandered around the village in groups by gender and age-group. They weren't playing (careful to keep their clothes clean), but were just talking and meandering (mostly walking, not even running). The girls all wore new complets of fancy shirts and wrap-skirts. The boys wore new clothes too - matching shirts and shorts/pants that were very western (in contrast to the Senegalese clothes worn by the girls). My brother had a striped collared tee and jean shorts. The boys all looked very American, which I thought was funny. All the kids were very proud of their new clothes and strutted around, smiling, and laughing even more than usual.
Around 5:30, I was told to shower and put on my nice clothes - the outfit I wore for my swearing-in ceremony. When I emerged in the outfit, I received compliments from everyone who admired my complet and told me that I was now Senegalese. I then walked from compound to compound with two of the women from my compound. The concept is to show off your nice clothes and get money for looking nice. All the younger women and girls do it, and all looked stunning in their outfits. We would walk into a compound, greet everyone, stop in some bedrooms to talk for a few minutes, and then move on. Everyone was so excited to see me in Senegalese clothes and told me that I looked very nice. I got most of the attention, and I felt bad because the two women that I were with both looked absolutely stunning and deserved attention too. I kept smiling and laughing. Three people gave me money, which I felt bad about. I gave this money to my mom, and she bought juice and milk (to make hot milk with sugar served in the shot-glass sized tea glasses) to share with everyone. We then ate dinner, still dressed in fancy clothes. I commented on my sister's pretty barette. Without even thinking, she took it out of her hair and put it in mine, ready to share with me; it was so kind and self-less of her. At night, we sat outside talking as usual and enjoying each other's company.
I was impressed by Korite - how nice everyone looked, the fancy clothes (some women even looked like they were going to a ball) and hair, and the excitement. And also by the simplicity of it all - good food, dressing up, walking around, hanging out. Nothing big or spectacular, but just good for being a break and a chance to splurge. When I think about it, we celebrate holidays so similarly at home - nice clothes, good food, hanging out, and spending time with friends and family. I went to bed, completely satisfied and with suggestions that I should look forward to Tabaski, which is even better.
The following day, Monday, was Korite, and I wasn't sure what to expect. I happily drank lots of water when I woke up and joined my family for a breakfast of couscous, fish, and sauce. I then sat and talked with my family for awhile. Everything seemed to be like normal, but I could feel excitement and anticipation in the air. Groups of kids walked past as usual, but I had trouble recognizing them because everyone had their hair braided for the occasion. The braiding process had begun on Friday, and suddenly all the children had long hair (from extensions they put in) and beautiful braids. The toddlers had even dyed their hair black (they usually have reddish hair) and black dye was also all over their scalp and foreheads. The braiding process was still occuring, with last minute touch-ups, the final people being braided, and gold paint used to decorate heads.
I moved to sit outside and was joined by some family members and women from my village. Everyone was in a great mood; it was a celebration day. I watched as children and men over 30 walked back from praying in a nearby open area used as the mosque. They were all dressed in fancy clothes, heavily starched, clean, and making the wearer seem very dignified. They were all completely unrecognizable to me in these nice clothes. I didn't feel like I was in my village anymore.
My mom called me inside to help cook lunch - an onion/macaroni sauce with chicken. (Meat is so rare in my village as is a vegetable-based dish, and everyone was so excited for this meal. I had been hearing about how good the food is on Korite for days.) I helped peel and chop potatoes and onions. Usually, the women laugh at the way I cut and cook, since I can't do it the same way they do. But this time, I requested something to use as a cutting board and received wide-spread praise for my onion-cutting abilities. To make the sauce, we added vinegar, mustard, salt, Dimbal (a Senegalese bouillon cube-essentially powdered MSG), garlic, and pepper to the onions. Then we fried the potatoes, fried the chicken, and cooked the pasta in the chikcen oil/water mixture with more Dimbal and pepper. All of this was then mixed together in a bowl. As I cooked, the radio was on, and my siblings kept coming over to dance to the music. No one could stop smiling; there are only 3 holidays that they celebrate here, and everyone gets so excited for them. The anitipation and happiness reminded me of holidays at home in the US: the cooking, hanging out, laughing, and waiting for the celebration to begin. After cooking, I went and sat outside some more while my sister finished cooking. Around 2, all the women and girls went into my grandmother's hut to eat, while the men went to my parents' hut; some neighbors also came to eat. We were given bread to use to scoop up the onion sauce. More and more chunks of bread kept being handed to me, and they ignored my refusal. I ate at least a loaf-and-a-half before I was finally successful in declining more. Still, more sauce and bread were offered to me later as was a rice dish. It was so much food, but it was so good.
Then I went back outside to drink juice (a real treat) and tea. Everyone said: Tey, nungiy noos. (Today, we enjoyed ourselves. In Wolof, enjoying oneself is synonymous with spending money. Usually, people deny having fun because they aren't spending money, but on this day, they all splurged.) By this point, a lot of kids had put on their fancy new clothes that had been bought especially for this occasion. They wandered around the village in groups by gender and age-group. They weren't playing (careful to keep their clothes clean), but were just talking and meandering (mostly walking, not even running). The girls all wore new complets of fancy shirts and wrap-skirts. The boys wore new clothes too - matching shirts and shorts/pants that were very western (in contrast to the Senegalese clothes worn by the girls). My brother had a striped collared tee and jean shorts. The boys all looked very American, which I thought was funny. All the kids were very proud of their new clothes and strutted around, smiling, and laughing even more than usual.
Around 5:30, I was told to shower and put on my nice clothes - the outfit I wore for my swearing-in ceremony. When I emerged in the outfit, I received compliments from everyone who admired my complet and told me that I was now Senegalese. I then walked from compound to compound with two of the women from my compound. The concept is to show off your nice clothes and get money for looking nice. All the younger women and girls do it, and all looked stunning in their outfits. We would walk into a compound, greet everyone, stop in some bedrooms to talk for a few minutes, and then move on. Everyone was so excited to see me in Senegalese clothes and told me that I looked very nice. I got most of the attention, and I felt bad because the two women that I were with both looked absolutely stunning and deserved attention too. I kept smiling and laughing. Three people gave me money, which I felt bad about. I gave this money to my mom, and she bought juice and milk (to make hot milk with sugar served in the shot-glass sized tea glasses) to share with everyone. We then ate dinner, still dressed in fancy clothes. I commented on my sister's pretty barette. Without even thinking, she took it out of her hair and put it in mine, ready to share with me; it was so kind and self-less of her. At night, we sat outside talking as usual and enjoying each other's company.
I was impressed by Korite - how nice everyone looked, the fancy clothes (some women even looked like they were going to a ball) and hair, and the excitement. And also by the simplicity of it all - good food, dressing up, walking around, hanging out. Nothing big or spectacular, but just good for being a break and a chance to splurge. When I think about it, we celebrate holidays so similarly at home - nice clothes, good food, hanging out, and spending time with friends and family. I went to bed, completely satisfied and with suggestions that I should look forward to Tabaski, which is even better.
Friday, August 10, 2012
Yangiy ci coor gi?
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.
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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