When I think of a typical beach party, the consumption of fish heads is not typically part of that mental image. It felt and tasted very real the other day, however. I had been invited by a Chadian friend of mine to go to a beach party with people he works with and students from Gabon. I really enjoyed being away from "toubabs" (foreigners) for the day, catching the flavor of a real young adult party in Senegal. Only the guys played beach volleyball, and I nearly joined but for the crowd of people sitting around watching. I decided it would be a double spectacle-- a woman and a toubab. I settled with watching, swimming, and eating grilled fish and bread with my friend. He noticed that I wasn't touching the head of the fish, however, and asked me why I wasn't eating it. My response: I've never eaten it before! I didn't really know how to say that eating fish head is a nasty business that I wouldn't even know how to commence. So he walked me through it anyways. Since I ate a fish eyeball within my first two weeks in country, I told him I didn't need to eat the eyes again. An experience, for sure. I cannot say that I would choose fish head as an everyday sort of snack. The party ended with my friend's group dancing on stage. They insisted that I join them up there-- so I did. The dance was definitely choreographed. Good thing they didn't tell me that ahead of time!
I've discovered a food item that I am pretty passionate about, however: thiakry (pronounced, "chalk-rie"). Rolled and steamed millet flour in a yogurt-like substance. SO good. You can buy it at stands-- just tell them how much you want to pay, and they scoop the "soow" (yogurt) out of huge buckets and into plastic bags that have millet in them. This quickly became a favorite after class snack for me. You can buy it in little sealed cups and bags in stores, but I prefer to buy it off the street. I like my food better that way. Tastes more real for half the price.
18 avril:
Today I was called "une esprite de l'eau" (water spirit) by one of my friends from Chad. Apparently if I went to his village, they would all be afraid of me because of my blonde hair and blue eyes, characteristic of water spirits. They are jealous, and once they choose a man, that man has no choice but to only be with the water spirit. I guess if my plans of getting a doctorate fail, I could always go to Chad as a water spirit! Quelle chance!
As I was walking through the market in my neighborhood on my way home from the study center, I met a fabric vendor who wanted to sell me some that caught my eye---15,000 CFA (approximately $30) for 5 meters. My response: "Déedeet" (no). We then chatted in French and Wolof for a good 10 minutes, beginning with how many years of education I have left (leaving me with no money to spare for fabric), progressing to talk of husbands (when he asked me if I have a husband-- I told him: "Am naa juroomi jekker," meaning I have 5), and drawing to an end when he told me of his undying love for me. My response: if you love me, you will give me the fabric for 4,000 CFA (all that I "technically" had) instead of the 5,000 CFA he was finally asking. I walked away telling him "ba beneen Insh'Alla" (next time, God willing) and feeling like I should look for fabric elsewhere next time. I've gotten a good number of laughs when I tell these guys here in Wolof that I have 5 husbands. They never understand when I tell them I don't want one yet, so this is almost easier. You have got to just embrace it with a sense of humor sometimes or you go a little crazy. A typical conversation with a Senegalese man:
First question: How are you?
Second question: Are you having a good time?
Third question: Do you have a husband?
Next statements: I love you. Be my wife. (I only have 2 already.)
20 avril:
We walked into the church close to midnight and I was immediately struck by how many people were present. I have never been good at estimating numbers of crowds, but this had to have been about 70 people of various ages and African nationalities, sitting bowed over on wooden benches praying to the Lord. This was a night of prayer at the French church I have been attending-- it started at 10pm Friday night and was supposed to go until 6am the following morning. The two coffee breaks filled with fellowship and friend-making broke up the hours of prayer and worship that followed. It was incredible to add my voice to the many others belting out songs in French to the God of the Universe and whispered prayers to the Almighty. I didn't know the songs, but could pick up most of the choruses (there was no powerpoint for lyrics). Rich words. We prayed for our nation, for the government, for the future generation in Senegal and in the church, for church ministries, for the persecuted Church. For other countries that are war-stricken, and for believers who are in chains. What a blessing that we could gather like that without fear of singing a note too loud and being arrested for our faith. It made me think of the call we have as believers to live lives worthy of the calling we have received. To have a faith as precious as the faith of those who have gone before us, who have given all they had to pursue the Kingdom of God.
I wasn't sure if I would be able to stay the whole night, and going into it, I was kind of thinking I would leave about halfway through so I could get sleep before our tree-planting project (cooperating with a neighborhood environment group) the next day at 10am. Within the first hour, however, I knew I was staying the whole night. And God gave such joy in His presence! I never fell asleep, though a couple times I was praying and realized I didn't know what it was that I was whispering to the Lord. They had breakfast bread for us at 6am, yet another joyous occasion before my friend and I walked the 20ish minutes to our study center to crash in the stairwell for an hour and a half (before the tree-planting). God provides strength. Alxamdulilaa.
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