I am again the last to wake judging from the loud commotion outside the hut. I hazily look at my watch, 7:12 am. Good grief. As the room comes into focus, I notice everything around me has been cleaned. The floor is freshly swept, sheets have been removed from the bed for a washing, my bag and other affects are neatly set in the corner of the room. Morning menu: left over mafé and a fresh pot of mooni.
The Thiam compound is filled with excitement. A continual flow of wedding guests stop in to announce their arrival.
The Thiam compound is filled with excitement. A continual flow of wedding guests stop in to announce their arrival.
After having spent time with Albert and his family, I could tell right away that these two fellas were from Peul country.
Around 11 am, Fatou and I pay another visit to her sister’s place. The sun is already out in full force. Unable to follow their conversation, which appears to be an exchange of juicy Kissang gossip, I focus my attention on the toddlers by my side. Poised and composed, they sit in a circle, beating contentedly on their plastic jugs. Drum practice for 1 and 2 year olds, incredible.
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An hour passes, the sun is getting hotter… and from the ladies’ apparent concern, my face redder. Fatou’s sister hands me her fan. Dafa tang! It’s hot! I assure her I’m fine. Futile. Each time I set down the fan, one of the two grabs it to send a breeze my way. And when we get ready to leave, Fatou’s sister refuses to let me out of the shade without covering my head with one of her colored scarves. Unskilled in stylish African head wraps and too embarrassed to even try, I just kind of plop it on my head and make my way across the village, looking a bit ridiculous.
Back at the Thiam home the women and girls are still busy with before lunch chores. My natural reaction is to want to help, but I don’t even know where to begin. Carrying water on my head is out of question. This takes a life-time of practice. Tending to the fire? Not sure how they adjust for temperature control. Cooking in general, appears way out of my league. Fatou, however, is not at all bothered by the scurrying of activity around her. She is a guest, and guests are necessarily exempt from work. Since her arrival in Kissang, she has transformed into Madame Dakar… big city girl regally strolling through the village in her sparkly booboos and extensive set of gold costume jewelry.
The entire morning a herd of young boys, with apparently nothing better to do, obnoxiously try to get my attention, gawking at my every reaction. I can't help but be perturbed that the girls slave while the boys’ utter boredom drive them to being a total nuisance.
After an interesting lunch of rice and a sauce made of dried, crushed baobab leaves and some kind of bean, the girls settle under the covered porch to commence beauty preparations. Several bags of different kinds of weave are scattered about.
-An hour passes, the sun is getting hotter… and from the ladies’ apparent concern, my face redder. Fatou’s sister hands me her fan. Dafa tang! It’s hot! I assure her I’m fine. Futile. Each time I set down the fan, one of the two grabs it to send a breeze my way. And when we get ready to leave, Fatou’s sister refuses to let me out of the shade without covering my head with one of her colored scarves. Unskilled in stylish African head wraps and too embarrassed to even try, I just kind of plop it on my head and make my way across the village, looking a bit ridiculous.
Back at the Thiam home the women and girls are still busy with before lunch chores. My natural reaction is to want to help, but I don’t even know where to begin. Carrying water on my head is out of question. This takes a life-time of practice. Tending to the fire? Not sure how they adjust for temperature control. Cooking in general, appears way out of my league. Fatou, however, is not at all bothered by the scurrying of activity around her. She is a guest, and guests are necessarily exempt from work. Since her arrival in Kissang, she has transformed into Madame Dakar… big city girl regally strolling through the village in her sparkly booboos and extensive set of gold costume jewelry.
The entire morning a herd of young boys, with apparently nothing better to do, obnoxiously try to get my attention, gawking at my every reaction. I can't help but be perturbed that the girls slave while the boys’ utter boredom drive them to being a total nuisance.
After an interesting lunch of rice and a sauce made of dried, crushed baobab leaves and some kind of bean, the girls settle under the covered porch to commence beauty preparations. Several bags of different kinds of weave are scattered about.
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Khadi, Ousmane’s neice of 22 years old, seems to be at the center of activity. A radiant smile and a natural sense of style, she is consulted before any coiffure begins. She surprises me that afternoon, as she begins to insist that I stay glued to her side. Each time she’d leave a room, "Liliane, viens m’accompagner”… "Liliane, come with me," one of the 4 phrases she knows in French.
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-Ousmane at one point, retrieves me from the ‘women’s station’ to show me he and his brother’s work. Kissang still operates on an ancient caste system. The Thiam family are the metal workers. The Camaras are of noble blood, supposed descendants of great warriors. And the Thiatchis, as explained before, are the griots. Hard to believe, but the village is still comprised of these 3 distinct classes. Marriage outside of one’s class (family) is still forbidden. Mady says it is even unheard of.
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Of the metal workers, Ousmane and his brother are Kissang’s jewelers. Their work hut is set up for two and full of interesting gadgets in order to melt, shape and bond metal. With the village in a frenzy to get ready for the big wedding celebration, the Thiam brothers have several jewelry orders to finish up. Ousmane exudes pride as he shows me the family heritage, explaining the different steps of his carefully tended craft.
Back on the porch, the girls are still busy with their braiding session. But, uh oh, supplies are getting low. I couldn’t help to laugh when it literally came down to a weave tug of war amongst the girls with half finished heads.
Back on the porch, the girls are still busy with their braiding session. But, uh oh, supplies are getting low. I couldn’t help to laugh when it literally came down to a weave tug of war amongst the girls with half finished heads.
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Kiné, Ousmane's first wife, braids her daughter's hair.
The women elders have now joined in to help with the wedding activities, shelling a mountain of peanuts for what will become an army sized portion of mafé. Surrounded by at least 3 generations, they gaily share stories which intermittently produce load fits of laughter. I so wished I could understand.
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-Shelling peanuts is an area where I could contribute but by this time, everyone had gotten used to Lili and her camera and wanted their photos taken. It must have been the first digital camera in Kissang. My, how the ladies were tickled to see themselves on the little screen.
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Thiam Family Portrait
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As dusk settled on the village, I snuck out for a moment’s peace near the school yard. I am not used to being smothered with attention nor being inundated by foreign sounds. It was all a little too overwhelming, especially with the older women thinking that if they spoke louder, I’d be able to understand. I had a lovely day with them but I couldn’t help but to feel so, well, out of place. Psychologically, it was hard to live the stark division amongst women and men. And, I could not help but to focus my attention on Kiné, Ousmane’s first wife.
The great mystery for me was, ‘what is going through her head?’ Is polygamy a social practice that has come to be accepted by women or is it something always unwanted and only tolerated. To this toubab it just seems so implausible, even when taking into account deeply embedded cultural norms, that any woman could be o.k. with sharing her husband with another, and consequently the family resources (and in this case, extremely meager resources). I felt her heavy-hearted. However this did not impede her from diligently working to make sure the family and many compound guests were well taken care of.
After a moment of sitting alone in blessed silence, I was spotted by one of the village teachers. Kissang’s first school (primary level) was built 6 years ago, containing 2 class rooms for 80 odd children. The two school teachers, both young and handsome, live next door. They invited me to have dinner with them, explaining they wanted their turn at welcoming the village guest. I accepted, but only after notifying maman Fatou.
Conversation was rich and helped me hash out some of the cultural clashes I was experiencing. But, first I had to surmount the incredibly frustrating conversation where the men go on about how if only they could make it to glorious toubab land where money grows on trees and the women are low maintenance. I doubt I managed to convince them otherwise but maybe I at least, for a moment, tipped the balance towards reality.
-The great mystery for me was, ‘what is going through her head?’ Is polygamy a social practice that has come to be accepted by women or is it something always unwanted and only tolerated. To this toubab it just seems so implausible, even when taking into account deeply embedded cultural norms, that any woman could be o.k. with sharing her husband with another, and consequently the family resources (and in this case, extremely meager resources). I felt her heavy-hearted. However this did not impede her from diligently working to make sure the family and many compound guests were well taken care of.
After a moment of sitting alone in blessed silence, I was spotted by one of the village teachers. Kissang’s first school (primary level) was built 6 years ago, containing 2 class rooms for 80 odd children. The two school teachers, both young and handsome, live next door. They invited me to have dinner with them, explaining they wanted their turn at welcoming the village guest. I accepted, but only after notifying maman Fatou.
Conversation was rich and helped me hash out some of the cultural clashes I was experiencing. But, first I had to surmount the incredibly frustrating conversation where the men go on about how if only they could make it to glorious toubab land where money grows on trees and the women are low maintenance. I doubt I managed to convince them otherwise but maybe I at least, for a moment, tipped the balance towards reality.
This is Saibo Bâ's first teaching position. Given the scarcity of teachers in rural areas, local school officials went ahead and gave him the title of 'Director', of which he is very pround.
One thing I was interested to know was how they viewed their role as educators in Kissang and where they felt the potential lied. For example, I expressed my disgust of watching the boys spend their day doing absolutely nothing when part of that time could be used to reinforce learning. There has got to be extracurricular activities that could be developed; a book club, a garden project, etc. Did they ever try working with the parents to discuss the possibility of such activities? I was surprised to hear, that yes, they had put in an enormous effort to involve the parents but it hadn't gotten them very far.
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One of the village ladies who volunteers to cook the children's meals. Yep, tchep (rice) everyday.
Why so difficult? School in itself is a foreign concept and therefore few are even convinced of its value. They reminded me that the school was only 6 years old and still a controversial subject. Education is not something viewed as necessarily good… it could disrupt the village’s traditions and values with all the ideas it puts in the kids’ heads.
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Regardless, the teachers assured me that they have Parent-teacher meetings at least once or twice a month and even ask the imams and village leaders to intervene. They believe change can come, but only with a lot of perseverance and time.
While we were in discussion, huddled around the communal platter, at least 3 women stopped by… dressed to impress. They came in, sat for awhile and then left. I finally inquired “so you boys must get a lot of attention from the Kissang ladies, aye?”. Response: “huh? uhhhh? what? why do you say that?” “C’mon guys, just in 2 hours time you get 3 visits! And, let’s think about this… Kissang, like so many other smalll villages, suffers from a severe shortage of young men. With no money prospects, it’s the great exodus towards the big city. You fall under the rare category of men in marrying age, the only two people in Kissang that make real wages, both educated and not so bad looking, in a village swarming with young, beautiful women!” They both laugh realizing the accuracy of my observation. I could tell they had never been called out on it before. Funny.
Not long after, we all went back towards the Thiam compound. The moon was raising and the teachers had been in charge of pre-wedding, night entertainment. The plan was to crank up the music for a village ‘ball’. But how, without electricity? The setup: A table with a mega speaker that had been carted over from the next village and being charged by two old car batteries. Music selection? 3 tapes of mbalax, a style of music unique to Senegal. Music, almost painful to try to dance to if you aren’t super familiar with it. Dancing mbalax is kind of like trying to learn Chinese.
Regardless, the teachers assured me that they have Parent-teacher meetings at least once or twice a month and even ask the imams and village leaders to intervene. They believe change can come, but only with a lot of perseverance and time.
While we were in discussion, huddled around the communal platter, at least 3 women stopped by… dressed to impress. They came in, sat for awhile and then left. I finally inquired “so you boys must get a lot of attention from the Kissang ladies, aye?”. Response: “huh? uhhhh? what? why do you say that?” “C’mon guys, just in 2 hours time you get 3 visits! And, let’s think about this… Kissang, like so many other smalll villages, suffers from a severe shortage of young men. With no money prospects, it’s the great exodus towards the big city. You fall under the rare category of men in marrying age, the only two people in Kissang that make real wages, both educated and not so bad looking, in a village swarming with young, beautiful women!” They both laugh realizing the accuracy of my observation. I could tell they had never been called out on it before. Funny.
Not long after, we all went back towards the Thiam compound. The moon was raising and the teachers had been in charge of pre-wedding, night entertainment. The plan was to crank up the music for a village ‘ball’. But how, without electricity? The setup: A table with a mega speaker that had been carted over from the next village and being charged by two old car batteries. Music selection? 3 tapes of mbalax, a style of music unique to Senegal. Music, almost painful to try to dance to if you aren’t super familiar with it. Dancing mbalax is kind of like trying to learn Chinese.
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-As soon as the music came on, crackly, muffled and super loud, the courtyard was instantly filled with dancing bodies. Khadi, came out looking magnificent. But more than her stylish attire, her beauty shone from the inside. Even earlier in the day, while I watched her toil in her tattered sarong, she glowed. And boy did she have presence on the dance floor. It was kind of inconvenient that she, one of the best dancers in the village, wanted me by her side. I would sheepishly try to get in the groove, realize the impossibility of it and find a way to sneak off. Usually, I don’t really care if I’m a good dancer or not, but in Kissang, every time I approached the dance area, all eyes were fixed on me. When I did dance, everyone would literally just stop to watch.
The loud music and dancing went on for hours. By 1 am, stomping feet had kicked up so much dust that you couldn’t see across the courtyard. I was tired. Not just from the long day but also from what seemed to be a line up of men, taking their turn in broken French and English, at flirting with the toubab. In Dakar, I’d gotten used to dealing with it by being cold and refusing conversation. But, as a guest in a small village, I had to put in maximal effort at being polite without giving a hint of interest.
So finally, needing peace and a place to rest, I wandered over to the area where a few women would take turns watching over the dozen or so sleeping babies… I carved out a spot on the plastic mat amongst the little ones, closed my eyes and instantly fell asleep. Fatou woke me up around 4 am and led me to the bed in Kiné’s case. We were 5 sharing a small mattress. It was hot and lots of elbows and knees came my way. Needless to say, not a very restful night’s sleep.
So finally, needing peace and a place to rest, I wandered over to the area where a few women would take turns watching over the dozen or so sleeping babies… I carved out a spot on the plastic mat amongst the little ones, closed my eyes and instantly fell asleep. Fatou woke me up around 4 am and led me to the bed in Kiné’s case. We were 5 sharing a small mattress. It was hot and lots of elbows and knees came my way. Needless to say, not a very restful night’s sleep.
