Nariru in the Night

3/31/08... yeah I'm really behind...



-My latest assessment of things that go bump in the night (scratch scurry BAM bump bump bump) (that I was sure was a lion on my roof) is that it's a combination of CAT-RATS (seriously they look like those things in the nutcracker) (sorry for all the parenthesis in this sentence), cats, branches, and mangos falling from the tree in our house/yard/ the dirt outside my door.

Furthermore on cats-- the Senegalese are weird. In an awesome way. Instead of actual fighting between the ethnic groups and languages, they engage in an odd but friendly rivalry. This means constant jokes in which a member of one group calls another a cat or a slave or comments on the amount of beans he/she ingests and the reprecussions thereafter. There is no such thing as a joke getting old in this country, but that4s good with me-- it makes it easier to learn the language! On our first day of Pullo Futa, our trainer told us to call her friend, the language coordinator, a cat or slave. "C'est necessaire," she kept saying. It was our homework. So now we dilligently shout CAT ("narirou" or "mous-mous" in woloff) every time we see her. I personally am pretty positive I will never be able to use the "slave" joke. No matter what they say, it just feels so wrong.

-On to my awesome family. Last week after my bucket bath I started to feel a bit down because I could hear my siblings laughing and singing in another room. With my lack of communication skills, I felt so far from being able to join in... but it sounded like fun! Then I hear, "Diardaye! Diardaye! Blahblahblahblahblah! Ici!" This means they invited me.

Half the siblings were strewn about the bed while two of the younger ones danced. Two of my sisters sang along giddily, to a point where I wondered about their sobriety (out of the question). I was having fun just laughing along and letting the weird syllables wash over me as per usual since they usually speak Woloff and I don't want to confuse myself. Then I hear in sing-song a bunch of words I recognize. Mother, father, sister, brother (different words for older or younger or twin), and... "Homework! I KNOW she understands that one!" They were singing in Pulla Futa for me! I was oddly touched to have influenced their down-time fun without even realizing it.
Khady also partially braided my weird toubab hair. She took out a clump (((the titanic theme song is playing right now)))) in my comb which would make anyone in the US go "ewww"-- and they all started playing with it. Then she put it in her own hair. I thought this was kind of sad becuse there's already enough ridiculous blonde-envy in this world without this beautiful childhaving it too. Then she inspected my comb which was FILTHY. So of course she took out a spoon and meticulously scraped out every bit of dirt onto her dress. They all do uneccessarily nice things like this every day. I feel thankful, undeserving, sad, angry, happy, and touched all at once. At least it furhter motivates me to give back as much as I possibly can.

-My brother and his new wife came to visit last weekend from their home in Dakar. He's a french professor and she an American who studied abroad here. Her dad is Senegalese though, so she's not a full "toubab." But she still meritted the making of FRENCH FRIES (kind of) for dinner. BEAUTIFUL BEAUTIFUL FRENCH FRIES. Anway she was cool and I was jealous of how at-ease she seemed, chatting away-- possibly showing off-- and at only a month older than me. Honestly it started to get a bit depressing.
Then I realized I knew more Pulaar than she did! And what I'd taken for comfortable Woloff was pretty on par with my own. Granted her french is lightyears ahead, but come on-- her hubby is a prof! And I could totally understand her accent.
Things continued to look up as I noticed more. We washed hands in soap water specially brought out for her. I remebered from my Peace Corps training that I should keep my hands low and refrain from splashing at all. It didn't seem that important but she splashed and flung her hands to dry them-- and hubby scolded her, disgusted. Point 1 for Diardaye.
She sat in chairs and ordered drinks from my siblings to buy from local venders. Like guest. I had kids literally on top of me, on the ground, eating the same stuff they did. Like family.
The cherry on top appeared in the form of a roll of toilet paper in her hand as she went to use the toilet-hole. HA! Who's senegalese integrated now?

(OK I know that last point grosses many/all of you out as it would have me before I understood how such things work. I'll just say it's not only the left hand you use but mainly water. It's like a little butt-bath every time you go. It feels cleaner though I know it's hard to imagine.Yes, it's still me writing this.)

Behold the Face of Mamadou

ONE WEEK DOWN 3-25

I feel all the more like family and less like a conspicuous piece of furniture. -Though they do lean on me without thinking- and it is lovely! Aissatou even told me Mamadou loves me!

Great night also because:

-took my bike! MORE ON THIS TERRIFYING EXPERIENCE LATER. This is apparently the first time they've let PCT's use their bikes in training as well as live in villages. That's perhaps why there are no frightening statistics yet. But it's still a good thing!

-talked to neene ang e amerik! So lovely to have a phone call and speak english and tug on the home-string.

-had the best conversation with baaba ang e senegaal that I've ever had. This doesn't say much and I still forgot most words, couldn't understand him, and was frightened as if he were Grandmaster George... But we said a few things, such as he is old and cold and I am young (I told him 22 because I couldn't remember how to say 23) and hot (temp-wise!). We also addressed that I am learning more and some other things at which I just nodded. When I got back to out little sitting alcove, everyone laughed at how shaken I looked. They're all kind of scared of him too. It's pretty sad that he demands such respect but everyone just rolls their eyes behind his back. Not that I want to hang out with him anytime soon.

-am totally pals with the neighbor woloff kids next door. We played catch with me on the ground and two of them on their roof. It was a little odd, but no one got hurt!

-After I left a cyber, a guy wanted to give me his bracelet "to remember" him. I turned it down but accepted my 2-hours-for-one discount. I also appreciated that he danced to Bob Marley for me.

some not-so-happy things:

-One girl left today and she was a cool one!

-People are dropping like flies to the sick bay

-On my way home from the cyber, it was dark because I got that exta hour.. Very scary-potential with figures in the shadows and all. One guy followed me so closely I moved my things to my left hand because I've got a better hook with the right. But nothing happened-- he just started talking and I said I couldn't understand him after a bit. We got to the main street and his face looked crest-fallen in the street-light. "Tu ne comprends pas?" he said, "Mais moi, je t'aime. Tu comprends? Moi, je t'aime!" And then he stopped and just stared after me as if we were in that cheesy brazilian soap opera. Hahaha well I think it's the sweetest stalker-creep I've ever had!

The pictures are of my sister Dienabu-- who did the henna-- and me and Mamadou and Amadou. AREN'T THEY SO CUTE!?

Bam bam squish squish

3-23, Day 6 of Homestay (I'm really behind...)

-Finally Sunday, so NO CLASS, ALHAMDULILAH.

-Class is still worse than chores. Especially when one is too incompetant at everything to do anything. However, I attempted: first I "rinsed" dishes after my 9-year old sister and her friend washed them. This wasn't as you might imagine since the water we both used became increasingly brown. And they keep using it over and over for longer than people should... But the dishes are clean enough for me!

After this, my ineptitude at chopping/ peeling carrots like an infomercial in mid-air got to show. (I must interrupt this to say that the guys who work at this cyber are playing either an nsync or bsb album and keep looking at me to see how I approve. Even though I don't.) Luckily they eventually gave me a plate to use as a cutting board so I regained some sense of competance. "Plus rapide!" they said, relieved that I could do something semi-useful. So went the onions, green beans, and something I can't name, into a smoky pot for which I ground pepper with a large mortar. It was so much cooler this way than turning the hand-held thing at home. I also got to use this method to pummel garlic, hot peppers (don't ask me why in this heat!), chilli, onions, and approximately 50 other things. All pound pound squish squish. I was relieved to make such sounds because I'd heard them through my walls before and automatically thought of certain Hamilton neighbors who shall remain unnamed...

We also squished tomatoes with out hands and it was inoordinate amounts of fun. I wanted a picture of our hands, white and black and red with tomato seeds and juice, squish-squishing a bowl of mush. Also it reminded me of Heather and squishing eggplant! Come squish fruits with me here!

-Now we are watching really bad African TV. There is possibly a writers' strike in Senegal? I alternate between wanting to buy my family a big flat screen and wanting to throw there's in the middle of the round-about so they'll talk to each other more.

-Senegalese tea is amazing. It's SUCH a process to make in the stewing 3 rounds and pouring back and forth and back and forth. My tea-bag mind thinks it could be done 45 minutes quicker. But the pouring is hypnotizing and lovely and the tea is delicious.

-Baby Ami squeaked in request for coffee this morning (in our scrumptious parisian-senegalejo breakfast of buttered baguettes and coffee). They gave her a sip after showing her how to use a cup. I thought she'd cry and spit it out, because maybe seeing me is a little less bitter than coffee... but instead she repeatedly asked for more. Mamadou too-- he even pinched up the individual nescafe grains that fell on the ground and ate them straight. They start them young here! And they don't even have starbucks or MOLTEN JAVA'S!

-Some boys keep taking my picture with a camera phone that screams like a monkey every time they press the button. I don't know if they're brothers or not. But it's ok because the pictures are unfailingly bad.

-Things like this and being stared at all the time make me paranoid. The following mulling is inappropriate for this blog. There are substantial holes and gaps in the "stall" area where I have my blessed bucket bath. So sometimes the thought crosses my mind that people could see me. Or even stick in a secret camera. Then I remember how incredibly unattractive bucket-bathing is. I imagine a porn-site attempt featuring shady footage of hairy smelly sweaty greasy peace corps volunteers attempting to be clean and failing utterly. I don't think any fetish could go so far. We are the grossest people on this continent. Please send us soap.

-AMI JUST SMILED AT ME. Notify authorities.

-I speak all languages like a 2-year old now. But if I go any faster, so will the people with whom I attempt to converse. Not the goal.

-I went to my language-tutor's mom's house which is also where another volunteer is homestaying. She wasn't there though so I sat dumbly while everyone talked and once in a while asked me something 10 times in a row. I watched the baby crawl around and play with everything... including a knife that was in a basket on the ground. She held on with a death-grip (poor choice of words?) as her sister tried to take it away. She looked just like the evil dead killer-baby in the Pet Semetary! I hope to never make that statement again.