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.)
-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.)
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