Ataya for Three?

All I think about in this country is food. Maybe it's because I'm constantly stuffing my face with meaningless carbs (the O so tasty baguette with jam for breakfast or the spoonfulls upon spoonfulls of rice at lunch) that keep my stomach sated for about 7 minutes, or maybe it's because my body sweats out everything I can eat before anything is actually absorbed, but whatever the reason may be, the other day after lunch my friend Christie and I decided to take a little stroll through Thies for some cookies. We crossed the train tracks and walked down the dirt road to town, casually and gracefully fending off marriage proposals and cries of "TUBAB!", ready to fill our bellies with some delicious, unhealthy junk. On our way we saw a small boutique advertising Orange credit (the phone credit Peace Corps uses) and we decided to fill our phones with enough money to send late night texts such as: "I can't believe my family is blasting Justin Beiber right outside my window at 1am" or the frustrated text that "My neighbor tried for the 17th time to express the fact that he loves me, wants to marry me and have three kids and maybe some goats". We steped inside and we were greeted by a jolly middle aged woman who couldn't be happier to see us. Like old friends she invited us to sit and we started talking in Wolof about how we're in the Peace Corps, we'll be here for two years and that I'm American, Italian, Irish (and Senegalese) all in one. As soon as she found out that I'm Italian, a huge grin spread across her face and she insisted that I meet her brother who worked in Italy for 10 years. So in walks her brother and he starts speaking to me in Italian, talking all about Rome and his work, and while I can understand-my two months in Rome and one semester in college completely disapear and I can only remember my responses in Wolof. Buono. We must have impressed these people somehow because next thing we know, we're being escorted into their house for ataya and conversation. The family pulls out the propane tank, tea kettle and sugar and sGod knows what possesses me to say that I know how to make Ataya! Really Erin-one failed attempt at making ataya now makes you a tea coinousseur? Well there was no going back. They pull the chair out for me, place the gas tank in front of me and they ammusedly watch as the Tubab pulls out all the stops. I don't know how we did it, but Chrisi and I managed to make some pretty damn good ataya f0r the entire family.

I hope this gives you a better sense of Senegalese culture because this would almost never happen in America. Can you imagine walking through Boston and being offered a cup of tea by a random stranger who is completely and utterly intrigued by the state of your health, your family back home and how your work went that day? You probably can't because if that happened in America, I'm sure you would think that the person was crazy and you would walk swiftly in the other direction. But here it is completely normal and almost expected. I love that about Senegal and I loved that about Italy too...I think we can learn a lot from the Senegalese in that respect. As Christi and I left the family's house, after being invited back for Tabaski (a huge, very important festival here), I realized that I will most likely be the old lady with long gray hair and lots of dogs who makes cookies and tea for all the neighbors (or strangers) just so they'll come and sit and tell me all about their health, their day and their work. Haha I'm excited.