May 2013... you're kidding me....

I have 18 days left in village. So I find myself in an entirely different mind-set than I was in for most of two years. Dealing with everything before was all about “how do I make this do-able, because I’m going to be here awhile.” Now it’s all about using the right skill I developed and reflecting back on that process of change. Hot season is back, the bugs are back, the onion farmers are back in village, and people are nos-ing left and right. It’s easier now to adjust to seasonal changes in social patterns that it was when I first got here, but it still always leaves me temporarily unsure what to do with myself. Meanwhile, I may or may not be leaving Senegal for the foreseeable future in under a month… Home for a month then back for a year? Or home until… ?? Not an issue I can let myself dwell on, and hopefully I’ll know soon.

 So, today I have a story. Like my normal stories, it’s fairly introspective and really doesn’t have a plot. But I think it’s worth talking about the fact that today was the last big party I’ll be here for in my village. The people of the Fall and Wade neighborhoods had a siarr. You’ve seen this word before in my post about Tivaone. The word practically indicates several things: going to the mosque to pray to Serigns (like big Imams); a party thrown for someone who has just returned from a pilgrimage to Mecca; a word used in the greeting “I siarr you,” which as I can understand implies honoring and celebrating, like Fat Boy Slims “I have to celebrate you, baby”; and finally, it’s a day-long event given by a neighborhood or village for their neighbors, extended family, friends, etc. In the morning each house makes thiakry (SOOOO GOOD!) which is the sour milk or sow poured over ceere which is millet flour processed into little balls, and if you’re lucky it’s mixed with little chunks of fruit like apples, pineapple, banana, etc. There is always a griot group present to sing and wax religiously, but depending on the siarr they spend different parts of the day doing this. Today there was no fruit in the thiakry, but the griots have been going since this morning and it’s now 9:15 PM. I would gladly make a trade there… Anyway, then we all eat rice and meat for lunch cooked in spices, onions and garlic. Yummy, but no veggies. Then there’s attaya and boissons (soda), and more griot action.

 This morning, I left my house looking fancy, right after all my family and friends had already left. So, when I got there I didn’t know where they were. And there were a LOT of people milling about that I didn’t know. But, where as in the past I would have immediately bee-lined for the comfort of the women’s cooking section, I felt a new level of comfort today realizing that I actually knew how this day was going to go, and where I could go, and what I could do. Even better, I was immediately rushed by my favorite little girl Maman, who, sweet little angel that she is, held my hand and walked around with me as I greeted people and made my way across the neighborhood. Then I was in the cooking area with all the women I’ve come to know and love these last two years. My hand still smells like onions ten hours later, but we take the good with the bad, right? The best thing about knowing how this day was going to go down was that I knew when I needed to be there to be fed and when I could back to my room or to get ice.

 Other random recent observations: language learning. I realized today why my French faded while my Wolof grew. When I first got here, no one could understand anything I said. Slowly but surely I could articulate some thoughts in Wolof. Had I spent those very first months putting that level of effort into French, I would be at least as good at French as I am now at Wolof. But rather than even letting the two co-evolve, I was so excited by the fact that people could understand my Wolof, and so keen to improve my ability and feel more at home in my village, that I focused exclusively on it. And now, as I’m trying to improve my French, I feel taken back to those early days of Wolof learning. I’m back to seeing the hidden irritation in people’s faces as I struggle to put together a sentence.  Fortunately people are largely patient here, and want to help you understand. Still, just tonight I was struggling to express myself in French, and just gave up. That’s what led me to this understanding. Because as soon as I said “I speak Wolof, but I need to improve my Wolof” the seller’s entire countenance changed. “Oh, if you speak Wolof that’s great. Just tell me what you want.” Well… pát.

 Meanwhile, my friends in village all want to talk about the fact that I’m about to leave. They tell me how the volunteer I replaced cried sooo much when she was about to leave, and I want to explain to them, I don’t know if I’m leaving yet! I mean, it’ll be different, yeah, but if I thought I was really leaving never to ever see them again ever…. I would be crying every time someone brought it up. I promise. As it is I waxed maudlin in a taxi today with two other passengers about how amazing Senegal is and how nice the people are and how much I wanted them (these three random people) to know how much I appreciate their country and the chance to have spent two years here. … Well, pát.

While I’m just writing about things because the point of this blog is to share my thoughts and experiences, I want to talk about the Muslim tradition of saying “Inshallah” and “Mashallah” like, 100 times a day. I love this. Inshallah mean’s God willing. Which we say in America, too, obviously, but not like this. Not this much. Sometimes Inshallah can grate, because it seems occasionally like a cop-out. Like, “no that’s not gonna happen, but I can’t say that outright because it’s impolite, so I’ll say it will Inshallah knowing that it will not, in fact, be God’s will.” That’s legitimately irritating. But Truly truly it’s based on a cultural standard that saying “no I won’t” or “no it can’t happen” to someone who is older than you or of higher social standing is waaaaay ruder. ::shrug::. Meanwhile, in its best manifestation, Inshallah recognizes what I believe to be a fact, that all things are God and therefore nothing happens that isn’t God’s will. So, it may be that my every intention is bent on a certain thing happening, and it seems 99% possible, but I’m still going to say Inshallah, thereby recognizing my small-ness. And don’t confuse humility with impotence. We are powerful creatures, but in the end… our ego-ic desires don’t necessarily drive the movement of the universe. I knocked on wood in America. Not because I believe in tree-sprites that would help my will along if I recognized them, but to remember that God, in all things—trees being one of my favorite manifestations thereof—is the real power and not my little desires based on an incomplete understanding of what will really be good for me much less the rest of the world. Okay, so Inshallah serves the same purpose. Nowadays, when I say something I really really want to be true, I have a double duty. I say “Inshallah” and knock on wood. … Point is, I like the pervasiveness of this word. If I forget even for one moment, someone will remind me. And having that kind of standardized recognition and sharing of recognition of the BIG UNIVERSAL OMNIPOTENCE of God is… something I like. Now, Mashallah means “behold the wondrous works of God(!),” approximately. And similarly, it is a reminder of humility. And again, it is something I felt missing in America. In fact, sometimes I struggled when people complimented me or something I had done. I wanted to have a quick, concise and understandable way to say “woooooah there! Don’t give me the credit. Behold the grace of God!” Well, Mashallah! Again, it has a little bit of a superstitions anti-jinxy aspect. Like, if you don’t want that gift or skill to be taken away as punishment for your vanity, you better remember to recognize the giver of the gift. Well… just like I’ve always been a wood-knocker, I just don’t really have a problem with that. Though, I have to admit I find it a slightly fearful and simplistic view of the will of God. But… pretty sure I can’t know what that will is anyway, so why continue in that vein. Point is, for me at least, that it is a constant and culturally enforced way of remembering that all good things come from God. It’s a way of reminding the ego that it is not that awesome power. But that when I live in surrender to God, I get to have cool stuff sometimes flow out of me. That’s a pretty awesome gift, mashallah.

Oh, and P.S. "pát" is like, I'm done. I'm not saying any more. New word for me, so I might be misusing it.