I woke up early knowing that they probably let me do any work on this party day and tried to quietly move my newly aquired soil under my shade structure before breakfast. After I was successful with that task I had breakfast as usual, the went out to sit with my host father, Niama. Since the night before he had shaved his head for the big day, in doing so I had some trouble recognizing him at first since he looked significantly younger. While sitting there with him trying to get an idea of what was in store for me today I became very self conscious about my personal “challenge” of not shaving for the month of Ramadan. So after some Nescafe I excused myself to take a shower. Not only did I scrub extra hard with my loofa as instructed by my host sister but I also treated myself to the free shampoo sample that came with my bar of soap a few months ago (I was saving it for a special occasion). But this all started with the shave. Using good ol’ Dr. Bronner as my shaving cream and my hands being the closest thing I had to a mirror I managed to get rid of all my facial hair with no major issues.
After the shower I fumbled around in my hut for a while because I didn’t want to get all fancied up too early. In the process of getting ready slowly the neighbor boy burst into my room catching me in my boxers; he reacted as though I was naked and basically ran away. I thought it was hilarious because he has seen me in my pajama shorts which were basically the same and he never had a problem there, I will admit, these particular boxers are in the flesh color tone range. After that excitement I decided to put on my fancy pants but procrastinated more on getting my shirt on to complete the outfit. It didn’t take too long for one of my host mothers to stop by and tell me that everyone is going to Mosque RIGHT NOW. So I threw on the top, got out the door, did a little modeling for the family, and was led to the mosque by my oldest brother.
I wasn’t fasting for Ramadan (my family just keeps giving me food, I can’t let it go to waste!) and I never pretended to be Muslim so I was expecting a place in the back of the mosque. Nope, once we go there I was given a spot just a few rows from the front next to the youngest son of the Village Chief. Not only that but one of the old men around me gave me his prayer mat to use for the service and there was another man who gave me his prayer beads at one point and tried to teach me how to use them. It was pretty nice of them, and that prayer mat is one of the softest things I have touched in country. The service - like most religious services it’s fairly easy to follow along and eventually you’ll find the rhythm. In this case there was a definite of words that would make everyone change positions (stand, bow, kneel, touch forehead to ground, etc). Every once and a while we got to do my favorite one (I wish I could take credit for this explanation, but I heard it from someone, I just don’t remember who) which consists of cupping your hands in front of your face, saying your prayers into the cup you just made, and finally washing your face with your prayers. The mosque itself was not the grand mosque that you picture, it was more comparable to a large garage and was ridiculously hot. One man too it upon himself to stand next to the man leading the service and fan him the entire time, another man took it upon himself to photograph the entire service in the most intrusive ways possible. I’m sure he got some great shots, but boy did he know how to get in the way and be distracting.
After Mosque I was taken to my community counterpart’s family compound by the neighbor who had caught me in my underwear earlier. I met some more people there who had a lot to say about Famara and not as much to say about Shekho. It was a pretty food time, not to mention the tastiest meat sandwich I’ve ever had in Senegal, I dodn’t know this was even possible. The meat was cooked well, seasoned right, and actually actually meat - not organs. Where did these spices even come from? Amazing.
Thus begins the day of food. Well cooked, good cuts of beef were all over the place (when I say good cuts I’m not necessarily talking about anything you’d find in a grocery store, it’s probably still pretty close to the scraps by American standards). Three lunches and a bunch of snack times later I needed to take a break and have a little gemalschgaming - even laying down was painful for me I was so full. A gemalschgaming, by the way, in this case means a walk to aid digestion and it is another inside joke, sorry (Thank you Ali and the Engle family for this word that has filled a void I didn’t realize existed). This walk aligned nicely with a tradition of going around and greeting everyone else in the village. What I was not warned about though is that children expect gifts/money when they greet you. I didn’t plan out my month at site very well and was down to 475cfa of cash in my possesion… 400 of those cfa were reserved for the purchase of bread in the morning so I would survive my bike back into Kedougou. The remaining 75cfa just wasn’t worth giving to only one kid, and besides I also wanted to keep it in case I needed to buy a sac of water on the way. There were a lot of disappointed children who greeted me on that walk. I’m sure they assumed I had money but was just withholding it, but it is considered better to lie in a situation like that and say ‘I have nothing’ than to say ‘I’m not going to give you anything’.
The gemalschgaming was a pretty great time - more people know who I am (and that I’m not Shekho), I got another (less sincere) offer of Malinké lessons for English ones, and another visit to Lengkhoxoto. That was the highlight for me, there were only 2 men sitting under the tree at the time, but after a short talk and an explanation of why I was walking around they wound up thanking me for stopping by. It felt really good. From Lengkhoxhoto I headed to the blacksmith’s place. His name is Bakary Kamara and has been one of the most understanding people in Khossanto when it comes to my language acquisition and the what I’m going through in general.
I wound up greeting every person notable to me during that gemalschgaming and I wasn’t even trying. I accidentally did what I was supposed to do because I ate far too much. I left my village the next morning very happy with the status of everything, looking forward to meeting the new volunteers who were coming to visit, and just about bouncing off the walls for summer camp to happen.
After the shower I fumbled around in my hut for a while because I didn’t want to get all fancied up too early. In the process of getting ready slowly the neighbor boy burst into my room catching me in my boxers; he reacted as though I was naked and basically ran away. I thought it was hilarious because he has seen me in my pajama shorts which were basically the same and he never had a problem there, I will admit, these particular boxers are in the flesh color tone range. After that excitement I decided to put on my fancy pants but procrastinated more on getting my shirt on to complete the outfit. It didn’t take too long for one of my host mothers to stop by and tell me that everyone is going to Mosque RIGHT NOW. So I threw on the top, got out the door, did a little modeling for the family, and was led to the mosque by my oldest brother.
I wasn’t fasting for Ramadan (my family just keeps giving me food, I can’t let it go to waste!) and I never pretended to be Muslim so I was expecting a place in the back of the mosque. Nope, once we go there I was given a spot just a few rows from the front next to the youngest son of the Village Chief. Not only that but one of the old men around me gave me his prayer mat to use for the service and there was another man who gave me his prayer beads at one point and tried to teach me how to use them. It was pretty nice of them, and that prayer mat is one of the softest things I have touched in country. The service - like most religious services it’s fairly easy to follow along and eventually you’ll find the rhythm. In this case there was a definite of words that would make everyone change positions (stand, bow, kneel, touch forehead to ground, etc). Every once and a while we got to do my favorite one (I wish I could take credit for this explanation, but I heard it from someone, I just don’t remember who) which consists of cupping your hands in front of your face, saying your prayers into the cup you just made, and finally washing your face with your prayers. The mosque itself was not the grand mosque that you picture, it was more comparable to a large garage and was ridiculously hot. One man too it upon himself to stand next to the man leading the service and fan him the entire time, another man took it upon himself to photograph the entire service in the most intrusive ways possible. I’m sure he got some great shots, but boy did he know how to get in the way and be distracting.
After Mosque I was taken to my community counterpart’s family compound by the neighbor who had caught me in my underwear earlier. I met some more people there who had a lot to say about Famara and not as much to say about Shekho. It was a pretty food time, not to mention the tastiest meat sandwich I’ve ever had in Senegal, I dodn’t know this was even possible. The meat was cooked well, seasoned right, and actually actually meat - not organs. Where did these spices even come from? Amazing.
Thus begins the day of food. Well cooked, good cuts of beef were all over the place (when I say good cuts I’m not necessarily talking about anything you’d find in a grocery store, it’s probably still pretty close to the scraps by American standards). Three lunches and a bunch of snack times later I needed to take a break and have a little gemalschgaming - even laying down was painful for me I was so full. A gemalschgaming, by the way, in this case means a walk to aid digestion and it is another inside joke, sorry (Thank you Ali and the Engle family for this word that has filled a void I didn’t realize existed). This walk aligned nicely with a tradition of going around and greeting everyone else in the village. What I was not warned about though is that children expect gifts/money when they greet you. I didn’t plan out my month at site very well and was down to 475cfa of cash in my possesion… 400 of those cfa were reserved for the purchase of bread in the morning so I would survive my bike back into Kedougou. The remaining 75cfa just wasn’t worth giving to only one kid, and besides I also wanted to keep it in case I needed to buy a sac of water on the way. There were a lot of disappointed children who greeted me on that walk. I’m sure they assumed I had money but was just withholding it, but it is considered better to lie in a situation like that and say ‘I have nothing’ than to say ‘I’m not going to give you anything’.
The gemalschgaming was a pretty great time - more people know who I am (and that I’m not Shekho), I got another (less sincere) offer of Malinké lessons for English ones, and another visit to Lengkhoxoto. That was the highlight for me, there were only 2 men sitting under the tree at the time, but after a short talk and an explanation of why I was walking around they wound up thanking me for stopping by. It felt really good. From Lengkhoxhoto I headed to the blacksmith’s place. His name is Bakary Kamara and has been one of the most understanding people in Khossanto when it comes to my language acquisition and the what I’m going through in general.
I wound up greeting every person notable to me during that gemalschgaming and I wasn’t even trying. I accidentally did what I was supposed to do because I ate far too much. I left my village the next morning very happy with the status of everything, looking forward to meeting the new volunteers who were coming to visit, and just about bouncing off the walls for summer camp to happen.
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| The Neighbors (some of them - the boy on the left is my buddy that saw me in my undies) |
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