Hello Again...

Happy Holiday Season Everyone! Sorry I’ve been out of touch for a few weeks…the end of training and installation was super hectic and I’ve been working on getting on a schedule for internet time. So much has happened since the last time I wrote so I’ll try not to miss anything really important!

Brother Tailor and the Case of the Elephant Pants

The day before all of us newly sworn in volunteers were leaving for our permanent sites, we were all bused back to our training villages to celebrate Tabaski. For weeks, everywhere we went there were billboards and signs advertising the best places to buy sheep for feasting, and every tailor was working overtime to finish beautiful and ornate complets, bou-bous and pagnes. Anybody who’s anybody in Senegal is sure to save all of their money to be decked out on the night of Tabaski and to buy 1, 2 or even 3 sheep along with sodas and other luxuries to enjoy during the festival. Never having experienced the holiday before coming to country, I had no idea of what to expect, but from all of the talking I assumed that there would be dancing and singing and similar festivities all day long…not the case. For Peace Corps volunteers, it is simply not an option to not have Tabaski clothing made—you cannot fly under the radar in your cargo green pants and holey tank tops on the day of sheep feasting—so we decided to use one of the volunteer’s younger brothers as our tailor. With 14,000 cfa in our pockets to last us for two weeks, we each bought our fabric (which ranged from 3,500 to 8,000 cfa) and then we bartered with the brother tailor who agreed to make me pants and a dress for 3,500-not a bad deal.

Getting a straight answer in Senegal is always difficult as no one ever makes sense. So when brother tailor told us two days later, upon our questioning, that our clothes were ready to be picked up, and after we asked him two more times in varying Wolof to confirm, we obviously assumed that our clothes were indeed ready. Amanda (the other volunteer’s sisters) who also told us that our clothes were ready told us that they would take us into town to pick up our clothes. We all hitch a ride into town and proceed to follow Amanda’s sisters around the entire market, searching for fabric for their own clothes. We finally get to the shop, excited to see our first tailored Senegalese outfit, only to find out that are clothes are not actually ready. When I had first asked Brother Tailor to make pants and a dress for me, he insisted that he didn’t need to take measurements because he “could see me”. After awkwardly asking him three times if he was sure that he didn’t need real measurements, I figured that maybe he knew what he was talking about. So when we arrived at the shop, not only were our clothes not ready but the almost done pants he brought out were the perfect size for a small. Supposedly, Brother Tailor “sees me” as a fat, elephantesque American and thus I made sure to have him take my measurements this time around. After disappointment number 1, he agreed to have our clothes ready two days before we needed them for swearing in Dakar. The two days before mark rolls around and the three of us pile into a car, with little time between classes and little money in our pockets, on our way to finally get our clothes. We walk into the shop only to be told that we had to come back in a couple of hours because once again, our clothes were not ready and that we had to come back in two hours…normally wouldn’t be that big of a deal except for the fact that we had class all day, I was currently grappling with bouts of the Senegalese Shits and I didn’t have the money to taxi back to the center and then back into town again. But, what are you gonna do? So two hours later we make our final visit to the shop and I’m handed my beautiful new clothes. Brother Tailor did a fantastic job (except for the fact that he didn’t accommodate for the fact that I have American, soccer thighs, not tiny Senegalese legs) so although I could get them on, I felt like they could rip with any wrong move. Luckily, my tight pants were hidden by the dress, so overall I was very happy with my outfit!

Me and Amanda at the ambassador’s house in Dakar

Tabaski: A Day to Mourn the Poor Sheep of Senegal:

Armed with my newly made Tabaski clothes, me, Brent and Amanda arrived in our training village the night before the big celebration of Tabaski. We were all excited to find out what the had to be very expensive-day actually meant, after hearing so many people talk it up as the best and most important day of the year. About an hour after I got back to site, my mom calls me into her room and tells me that she has something for me. Outside the open window, my dad is in a wife beater and cap, with a paint brush in his hand, in the middle of painting the entire house for Tabaski. I’m told to sit on the bed and my mom comes in with a beautiful, brand new outfit to wear for the festivities. I was absolutely blown away that they cared enough about me to buy me an outfit and because the clothes they bought me A. had to be very expensive, considering that I was more dressed up then any of the other women in their new clothes B. it was the same, except in a different color, as my sister and C. my mom even picked out the colors based on the new sandals I had shown her. I honestly didn’t even have the words to thank her enough, I was so touched.

My younger brother Sole, me in my new clothes, friend and soccer teammate Eladji, and my other younger brother Eladji

The next morning I woke up excited to enjoy the day with my family, and at the same time incredibly sad that this would be the last day I spent with them before leaving for a village 6 hours away. I threw on my everyday American clothes and walked over to my extended family’s compound where the women were already getting ready to start cooking. Sitting on an empty plastic gasoline container, I sat around witch like cauldrons and bowls upon bowls of soaking onions, potatoes, and spices. I swear, after cooking in Senegal I’m going to be a top chef back home because dicing onions with a dull knife, and without putting the onion down (cutting it while its in your hand), as well as sometimes dicing them in the pitch black, is not easy. So I spent the morning chatting with the women and dicing 100s of onions and peeling even more cloves of garlic. While I was having a good time, this is not how I imagined Tabaski…all the women were so excited about the day and yet it was like any other…the women were still slaving away over hot fumes, under the hot sun, while the men got to enjoy themselves. Granted, the men were the ones to slaughter the goats and cut them up, but that took about a tenth of the time as the rest of the cooking and when they were done slaying lunch, they were able to change into their nice clothes, walk around the village greeting everyone, and sitting and chatting with tea.

The sheep slaughtering happened throughout the village, all at the same time. This is how it went in my compound…although I wasn’t watching too intently: Three carefully chosen sheep were pinned down on their sides with their heads placed strategically over holes in the ground. One man put all of his weight on the middle of the sheep, another held down the legs, and the last man held down the head while sawing at the neck with an unfortunately dull knife. Next thing I know, there’s blood everywhere and it’s on to the next goat. That poor second and third goat had to watch the whole things. After the killing, the men hacked away at the carcass and then hung the body and began skinning and cutting up the meat. The women then got the lovely job of cleaning bowls of sheep meat, trimming the fat, ripping up pieces with their hands, and I even got to help with the skinning and slicing of sheep balls. (and I have to admit-the resultant sheep ball soup was quite delicious).

During cooking, which lasted the entire morning and half of the afternoon, I would sporadically meander over to where my brothers and sisters were grilling pieces of goat over coal pits. They made a marinade of onions, vinegar and spices and after the pieces were down on the grill, they would throw them in the mix and then scoop it up with their hands. It was soooo good! When lunch was finally ready, I realized it was worth the work and wait (although I would have been much happier if the men had helped). There was every kind of vegetable I could want, plenty of sheep meat and an onion sauce, and there was plenty of it. We all huddled around the bowl and ate until we couldn’t fit anymore and then my cousin brought out a bucket of canned soda! Now this was patron…this was the first and last time I will ever see canned soda being consumed in a Senegalese family. I was so excited about drinking something other than water, that I guzzled my drink in about 10 seconds…too late to realize that the kids did not get to share in this treat and I was a complete ass for not sharing mine. Oops.

After lunch there was 2 hours and counting until me and the other two volunteers had to leave for good. I ran over to my room, put on my new Tabaski clothes and even put on a touch of make-up (make-up? What’s that?). I emerged from my room with gasps and applause from my family-I was a real Senegalese today, and everyone I talked to throughout the village kept exclaiming that I looked beautiful…and my brother annoyingly said…”you look like that and you don’t have a husband?” Jeez, what a pagne and complet can do for your image. We spent the rest of the day going around to the compounds, greeting everyone and saying goodbye, all while I was trying not to cry. We ended up leaving in a flurry of commotion-a middle of the village soccer game, women running around-putting on their new clothes, braiding their hair and putting on their make-up, and children wrestling and being typical troublemakers. We rode away in our unfairly air-conditioned van, and I realized that in a short three months, this was the second family I had had to say goodbye to. The first time was hard enough….although I know I’ll see them all again soon J

Don’t worry…I’m in the process right now of writing about Thanksgiving and my new village. Electricity and internet have been awful but I promise it’s coming!