Catholic Cemetary, Baobab Background

Taken in a village outside Joal.

Beri bi

Here's a picture from the wrestling.

Fishing in the Mangroves and Wrestling

Nu mu demee?

The other weekend I visited a friendly fellow volunteer in a small village outside of a town called Joal (on the Petite Cote- a noted tourist area). This is a pretty area and his village is in a quiet, isolated area of the region. He’s on a peninsula in between the Atlantic Ocean and a river. Turning to your left and seeing water is almost as sweet as turning to your right and seeing more water. The combination of palm trees and the ever-present baobab adds further to its natural beauty. To top it off, this is also mangrove territory.

We had the pleasure of fishing in the mangroves one morning. This involved a net about 15 yards by 5 feet with a pole on either end. You stake the net around a section of the mangroves. Then you jab sticks into the mangroves and the water underneath them to scare the fish out into the net. We only caught about 25 small fish in a couple hours (you can catch twice that in half the time, I am told) because the water was too cold. I had a blast anyways- mangroves are cool.

That night there was wrestling in one of the villages. The Senegalese have two major sports: futbol and wrestling. Futbol may be played more on a daily basis throughout the entire country, but wrestling is more culturally significant. Huge dudes jog around throwing sand, water, and other unidentifiable liquids on themselves while they wait to wrestle. The event went on for three hours and the whole time they have people wailing on drums, singing in this feverishly high-pitched and fast-paced tone; it gets you juiced [excited]! The wrestlers wear basically nothing but short shorts and an assortment of gri-gri’s (small trinkets tied around their arms that give them mystical strength and protection), and they dance to the music to get pumped up for their matches. This all sounded kind of lame to me before I saw it, but I have been converted. These guys are hard core, and their dancing is the embodiment of power and strength.

The wrestling as a sport itself is kind of cool, with the occasional long match ending in sudden climax. There are no punches thrown and you win by getting the other guy to touch the ground with anything besides his feet, hands, or knees. After a big or hotly contested match, the winner’s arm is raised in triumph and he stomps out a victory dance to the drumbeat. American football’s end zone dance might find its origins here. Meanwhile, the loser writhes in agony on the ground. He sometimes runs after his opponent or the referee to dispute the contest and must be restrained by 3 or 4 of his entourage. After watching this happen a couple times, I realized that this display was exaggerated on purpose in order to portray of the agony of defeat. Wrestling (beri ci wolof, lutte en francais) is a prototypical Senegalese event that I’m glad I got the chance to see.

Lil Bro

Falu, my lil brother rockin' my backpack and sandals like the goofball he is. I wish you could see him dance wearing that stuff...

Tabaski- Rey that Xar

My host dad in the black and my brothers preparing the slaughter...

Balcony with a View

Yes, this is where I live. On the 2nd floor, crazy! I live on the edge of town, so the right half is what it looks like behind my house for a ways.

Tabaski- Family and Friends

Jed and I- Tabaski

Better Late than Never Reflection on Ramadan

Yeenangiy ci diam?

Thursday was my little brother, Falu’s, 5^th birthday. Wish him a Joyeux Anniversaire! I somehow managed to miss the short-lived lil kiddy dance party in my house (I heard them yelling as I went for a run by my house), but I made some Fattaya with my sisters for the occasion. A man cooking- weird, I know. Fattaya is dough stuffed with ground fish, onions, pepper, and some other spices. Then they are fried up in classic Senegalese oily fashion. They are kind of like Asian potstickers. Pretty good stuff!

Ramadan

I feel the need to backtrack a bit here. I arrived in Senegal September 21. The Muslim month of Ramadan began just a couple days thereafter. The Muslim calendar is a lunar calendar, which I don’t fully understand (any research from you is always appreciated). In short, each month is about 4 weeks long, and is different from the calendar you use. Holidays seem to move up by 11 days or so every year (because of the difference between the calendars). As you see, I don’t really know what I’m talking about, but that gives you a vague idea. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ramadan These guys usually know what’s up with stuff…

But, the point I want to make is that Ramadan is hardcore. Everyone fasts for the entire month. They do not eat or drink during daylight hours…at all (they are not supposed to smoke, spit, or have sexual relations either). Look back at my first blog entry- go, look. I was watching my health everyday to make sure that I didn’t faint from the heat. Now imagine not eating in that heat all day. Pretty hard! Now imagine not eating or drinking all day in high 90s degree heat. Impossible! Except that I saw people do it every day for an entire month. This blew my mind. Women and men, young and old. Every good Muslim fasts (and almost everyone I knew at the time was a good Muslim). Kids start fasting as teenagers, and only the pregnant, sick, or very old abstain. My knowledge about the religious significance of this month is lacking, but the basic idea is to experience the suffering of those less fortunate than you. A very cool and worthy concept, but a bit extreme in my humble and reverent opinion. Most people don’t really work during this month, and at a certain point the economist in me overtakes the poet (and Muslim for that matter) in me. I myself did not fast during Ramadan, as I had enough fun adjusting to the heat. Maybe next year…

Another week down, and In-Service Training (IST) is steadily approaching. I will be returning to Thies for three weeks beginning the 1^st of February for a dose of reverse culture shock when I am once again surrounded by people who I can actually communicate with.

One more sidenote- I think I have aged to about a ten-year old. I can walk around by myself! I don’t need my friends to lead me around by my hand all the time (which is common for males to do). I don’t care when people call me names, it’s great mom! That being said, I still have trouble communicating with people, and am wondering how the heck I’m going to help anyone make more money in this place. But these things will come.

Tabaski

Naka Tabaski bi? Dangeen lekk ba fur?

December 31st was Tabaski, the biggest Muslim holiday, and therefore the biggest Senegalese holiday. Although compared with Christmas because of its proximity and religious significance, Tabaski is culturally closer to Thanksgiving. The name of the game is gluttony. Every Muslim family is required to kill a sheep. The week before the fête, a decent sheep was running 35,000 CFA or around $70. I don’t know how to get you to understand how much money that is to the average person here…My friend, who has one of the best jobs in the town, told me he earns about $200/month (and I believe him). It’s a lot of money, trust me. I’m pretty sure everyone spends everything they can get their hands on for this holiday.
My family, being patron, killed two sheep. I helped a little with the butchering process, but mostly just watched my host father and brothers. This is kind of intense if you have never seen it before, but now I know that I have no moral qualms with eating meat.
The butchering process was interrupted by a call to eat some ribs (yes mom, everything I ate was cooked well)! I instantly understood that this day was going to be more about convincing others I was full than it was about actually enjoying the food. I ate 5 meals that first day (and I think I missed one other one that my family ate without me). Each meal consisted of nearly all meat with just a couple potatoes and some bread. The last meal of the day I was foolish enough to think I was eating macaroni with my meat...it wasn’t macaroni. The human body is not meant to eat this much meat without vegetables, fruit, carbohydrates, or some other food. It’s excessive. Throughout most of the day, everyone is in a food coma from all the meat, too tired to do much but sit around. The Senegalese love to get dressed to the 0’sies (the 9’s have passed, for those following at home). All the girls got their hair did and everyone wore new traditional Wolof clothes for the evening. You will see some pictures of my fly new bubu and the beautiful women of my family soon. Everyone walks around to their friends’ houses to ask each other for pardon and (so to speak) all accounts go back to zero. Pretty cool.
I am ever uncertain of the line between culture and religion, as they are essentially one in the same in my town of 98% Muslims (my host father may have underestimated on this figure), so I end up playing the passive observer in large part, reciting the ‘Baal ma aq’ and ‘Baal naa la aq’ only when spoken to. Plus my Wolof dess na (is insufficient).
The fete supposedly continues for three days, but the 2nd and 3rd days slowly return back to normal life. Although we ate a plate of meat, potatotes, and onions the 2nd morning, I had ceb (rice) again for lunch and was so happy to return to a more normal diet. I escaped Tabaski with no stomach problems!

As for the holidays I historically celebrated in America-
I had an uneventful New Years- I fought to stay awake until midnight, taught a couple people how to say ‘Happy New Year’, and that’s about it.

I had a solid Christmas full of Santa hats, stockings, and Christmas music. Inquire within for further details.

I hope that you all had some great holidays! Tell me some stories and send me some pictures of snow.

It has been windy here this week, and I have had fun confusing the heck out of people trying to explain that Chicago is known as the ‘Windy City’. Loxoy kajoor dafay weesaloo (the English equivalent being: it’s a two-way street)!