Tuesday, January 16, 2007

Strange things that now seem normal

  • Running water only being available for a few selected hours in the evenings. Also, having to carry said water on my head fifty yards from the outdoor tap to store in my room for the next day.
  • Sweeping my bedroom multiple times a day. Yes, there's that much sand.
  • Four year olds playing with sheep poop and knives and no one telling them to stop.
  • Traveling by horse and cart.
  • My WASPy self being a one in ten thousand minority.
  • Getting a flat tire pretty much every single time I go out on my bike due to thorns.
  • The back of my neck being sweaty for six months and counting.
  • Gorgeous men telling me that I'm beautiful and that they love me. Also not so gorgeous men. Both within five minutes of meeting me.
  • Me finding men more and more attractive the longer they go without asking me to marry them. Basically, a twisted kind of truth to the adage about playing hard to get.
  • Being woken up at four in the morning every day for the call to prayer, and again at six. Still no idea why they do this twice. Four am is by no means sunrise.
  • The village chief asking me if I have diarrhea.
  • My sisters cooking for me and helping me wash my clothes (and by helping, I mean doing 95 percent of the work.
  • Washing clothes by hand.
  • Eating rice and fish for lunch every single day of the week.
  • Being followed down the street by as many as thirty children any given time I step out of my house.
  • Finding the theme music to the soap opera 'Passions' oddly comforting because it reminds me of America. ( i.e., it's in English).
  • The fact that young men's primary social activity revolves around drinking tea in the afternoon. Also, that people drink tea out of shot glasses. It's pretty strong stuff.
  • Women of various ages whom I may or may not know patting my ass and commenting on my jayfonde (see previous post re: ghetto booty).
  • Knowing that when I hear people speak some unintelligible dialect that doesn't resemble any language I've ever heard, they are probably trying to speak English.
  • My feet always, always being dirty.
  • Being woken up in the middle of the night and told I have to move my bed and mosquito net inside because a sandstorm is coming.
  • Women sweeping the yard every single day. Note the yard is entirely composed of sand.
  • My bedroom being frequented by sheep, chickens, frogs, and locusts, though generally not all at the same time.
  • Waking up in the middle of the night hearing ominous footsteps only to find that is an escaped donkey wandering around the yard. Also waking up in the middle of the night to see a sheep two feet from my head. I should probably mention that I sleep outside three quarters of the year.
  • People being more scandalized by knees than breasts. To the extent that if I see a girl in a knee length skirt, I catch myself thinking, 'I can't believe her mother lets her out of the house like that.'
  • Me thinking a plant whose primary gesture to foliage is two inch long thorns is a nice shade tree.
  • People using rocks for hammers and a rusty nails for can openers.
  • The omnipresence of sand.
  • Sleeping six inches away from ten of my ten of my closest family members. Specifically, my bed being placed between my sister and one of my moms, both of whom often sleep without a shirt, so it is not unusual for me to wake up with an eyeful of breast first thing in the morning.
  • Living in a place where the language has four different words for thorn.
  • Polygamy in general, and specifically me beginning a sentence with, 'Well, one of my three moms said...,' not referring to my real mom. Also people asking me if I want to be their co-spouse.
  • Tye dyed fabric being fashionable among distinguished citizens.
  • Sitting on mats more often than chairs.
  • Sweeping frog poop out of my bathroom.
  • Being able to identify frog poop in the first place.
  • The epitome of hospitality being being given a plastic chair to sit in and served orange soda.
  • Falling asleep surrounded by as many as 60 people who have come to watch TV in the front yard.
  • Being asked if I'm afraid of odd things. For example, am I afraid to have my hair braided? Except the way people ask if you're afraid of something is to ask if you have courage to do something. Yes, I have courage to have my hair braided. I just don't think white girl dreds would be a good look for me.
  • Being heckled by passers-by every time I wash my clothes. Just because I don't make that special squishing noise doesn't mean the clothes are any less clean, people.
  • Normally placid babies screaming in terror at the sight of me. Also, the parents of said babies telling them if they don't stop crying, the toubab is going to beat them.
  • Knowing that if I ask a question, I'll have to figure out when I hear the response whether the person is a) laying to me to get something from me, b) lying to me to mess with me, c) lying to me in a joking way that just goes over my head, d) lying to test me, e) lying to me for some inscrutable reason of their own, f) lying to me to be polite (no, I'm not hungry. Never mind that I've been working in the fields all day, you just go ahead and eat that whole bowl of food by yourself), g) lying to me because they are embarrassed to tell the truth, or h) telling the truth.
  • Me telling my friend Jenni when we were lost in the desert with no water, 'Don't worry, we'll just go greet the people in the first house we see; if we wait five minutes they'll order some little kid to go get us water.' Sure enough, that's exactly what happened. They even asked us to stay for lunch.
  • Knowing I can walk into the home of complete strangers and hang out there the entire day if I'm so inclined.
  • Everyone I see from the moment I step out the door demanding to know where I'm going.
  • People I could swear I've never seen before calling me by name when we pass in the street like we're old friends.
  • Being so accustomed to being called Aissata Lo that if a Senegalese person calls me by my real name it honestly freaks me out a little bit.
  • People loudly protesting any time I try to leave to go anywhere. 'Don't go, stay for lunch.' This at 9 in the morning. If I stayed for lunch, it would be 'Stay for tea.' If I stayed for tea, it would be, 'Stay for dinner.' If I stayed for dinner it would be, 'You can't go now, it's dark. Spend the night.'
  • The high proportion of sheperds in the composition of the work force.
  • Being asked within the first two minutes of meeting someone if I know how to till fields.
  • The most universal joke in Senegal revolving around someone saying, 'You know this guy? He eats beans!' and then laughing hysterically. I've figured out by this point that saying someone eats beans means they're poor, but I still don't understand why that's so funny.
  • Machetes being a common household item. Also scythes.
  • People chopping wood in flip flops with a dull axe. And when I say people I mean six year olds and grandmothers.
  • Everyday use of a mortar and pestle.
  • People reacting as though I'm withering on the vine when they learn I'm not married at the old age of twenty four. When I told one lady I was too young to get married she looked at me, puzzled, and said, 'You have breasts, don't you?'
  • The complete non-existence of garbage cans and consequent littering of trash, well, pretty much everywhere.
  • Children not knowing their birthdays or knowing how old they are.
  • People offering to give me their babies. Also, sometimes their husbands.
*Normal things that now seem strange- carpet, grass, bathroom sinks, and socks.

2 comments:

gteamhj said...

Hi Christine,
Greetings from Davis from Lyra Halprin, Julia Halprin Jackson's mom. Your mom and I see each other on campus and were talking about our daughters' wonderful adventures. Julia has it a bit easier than you, though; she's working at a primary school in Southern Spain. Your adventure in the Peace Corps sounds so wonderful! I told your mom about a great book I read when I traveled to see Julia two weeks ago--"To Africa with Spatula" by Jane Lotter. Jane and her husband Will are now 80, but still live in Davis. They have 4 sons, and the whole family was in Malawi for 2 years, 1965-67, when Will was the Peace Corps director there. What a great book! Made me want to sign up. And my neighbor Karen Woodbury was a PCV in Mali, Central African Republic, Camaroon and the first PC director in Russia.

You sound absolutely WONDERFUL!
Best wishes,
Lyra

Anonymous said...

Good words.