I’m in Toubacouta, a village in the south of Senegal. We were placed into individual families late morning to spend the day with host-families doing what they do and pretending like we knew how to speak Wolof. I exhausted all the Wolof I knew in the first 30 seconds of meeting Awa, my host-mom for the day, and spent the rest of the day learning how to communicate without language, which proved to be interesting and an incredibly good time.
The first thing I did after saying nanga def? as many times as I could was to walk to Awa’s hut and sit awkwardly on the straw mattress while she moved around moving things, unsure of what to do with me, when Binetou walked in and told me to come with her (or so I interpreted from the noises and gestures). We proceeded to walk to another hut that was for cooking, and I was sweating within minutes once I sat down. I helped her sort the rice- basically take out anything that shouldn’t be in it, such as little rocks- and then sat there a bit while she tried out some more Wolof on me, finally giving me up for a lost cause after a few more questions.
Turns out though, that being silly and smiling a lot can make up for a lack of Wolof. I spent the rest of the day making up my own sign language and being silly to ease the tension- going so far as to dance for everyone, which really breaks the ice here- and after a couple of hours, I already felt more comfortable than I do with my host-family in Dakar, with whom I’ve been living with for four months. They didn’t judge me whatsoever, and were interested in everything I had to say, even though I couldn’t actually say it.
After “helping” prepare lunch, I noticed Awa doing laundry and sort of just started helping without asking- mostly because I didn’t know how- and she laughed when I was already sore after the first few minutes.
So after I finished a bucket I wandered around what you might call the courtyard area, the space in the middle of their family’s huts, where a dozen or so children were milling about. After the first time I asked to take a picture, I didn’t have to again; they couldn’t get enough of it. Even if everyone was looking at the same tree and I took a picture of it, they’d all rush to gather around my camera to see it, and then laugh. I didn’t really understand why, but it was incredibly fun.
After wandering about, it was lunchtime. It was a wonderful change to have chicken, but I was never really at ease with the dozens of chickens we had to literally keep batting and pushing away from the communal plate, and not even because I was weird about animals being around my food- I just felt rather strange when a chicken would poke its head over and sneak a bite of it’s brother or whatever family member we just cooked. And no matter how many times I said suur naa, I’m full, (which usually works when they keep telling you to eat and putting food in front of you) Awa was adamant about me eating about twice as much as I wanted to, which made me feel incredibly overfull and way too hot. She then “made” me take a nap. So I pretended to sleep while chickens squawked under the bed, making me jump every two seconds, and when I eventually got up and pretended to be well-rested, it was already time to go sit and do nothing!
Since the middle of the day is so hot, they really do just plop down altogether on some mats in the shade of a tree for a couple of hours having boiling hot ataaya and sweet milk. Both are very tasty, but I would have killed the chicken were going to have for dinner for an ice-cold glass of lemonade. All the while, someone is knocking down mangos from the tree with a huge stick for everyone to eat.
Along with my host-mom and dad and their 4 kids, there were around a dozen other people/children hanging around their gathering of huts. I sat down on the mat and spent the next few hours “talking” with everyone having an incredibly good time. The tea takes forever to make, so during this time I went with Awa to the well and got water. Even though I got the smaller bucket, that didn’t mean I didn’t slosh a good deal of it down my front and back, and even though it was only a couple hundred feet, I couldn’t believe how badly my neck and arms hurt. And then I got to do it again.
Even though it was rest time, a couple of the girls were pounding millet, so I went over to help. It greatly amused them #1 that I even wanted to help, #2 that I seemed so tired so fast, and #3 that I continued to work even though I seemed tired.
They have this way of letting go of the huge stick they pound with when it comes up, in order to not hurt your hands, but I couldn’t do it, and it wasn’t too long before the skin on my right hand was peeling off. I'm pretty sure they thought I was crazy for laughing about it. Awa took my hand and clucked in a motherly fashion, even though she looks as young as I do, and I tried to convince her I’d live. All this said while her son is climbing the mango tree, her daughter is dragging her bare butt around in the sand and her other son isn’t even in sight.
When we sat down and had ataaya, I was introduced to the most beautiful baby I’ve ever met, Fatou. She has the brightest brown eyes I’ve ever seen, and wasn’t the least bit afraid of me, unlike another toddler that lived in a nearby hut and screamed bloody murder every time she saw me.
It didn’t take long before someone suggested I put her on my back- as is the way everyone carries their young children around- and I soon found myself with a cloth tied around my waist and Fatou giggling away behind me. It wasn’t as fun as playing, but it was fun to watch everyone’s amusing reactions to the white girl with a baby on her back.
The day ended with walking around to nearby huts saying hello, endless picture taking, and hanging out in the courtyard playing with the kids. I couldn't believe that in less than a day I actually felt like part of the family. They were some of the nicest people I've ever met, accepting me into their homes and lives for the day and letting me be part of it, doing what they did and trying to communicate with me the whole day even though I'm lousy in Wolof.
I can't wait to come back one day.
