The Little Things in Life

In many ways my experience in Africa can be described by a compilation of culturally specific idiosyncrasies—small things that are so integral to the make-up of Senegalese life that they could be easily overlooked.  But to an outsider these seemingly minute details are plainly apparent.

The daily occurrence of the most unexceptional task, the washing of rice, is the stimulant for my blog entry.  Taken from the large sacks, reminiscent of the China Town rice my Uncle Chuck used to bring for my mom, at its origin, the pure white rice is pockmarked with the blacks and browns of rocks, dirt and malformed kernels.  So each day the women can be seen sitting outside their compounds or in their hut kitchens, hand picking all the unwanted debris from that day’s lunch or dinner.  When finished, the rice is then ready to be washed—my favorite part.  Submerged in a pan of water, the water appears to be a milky substance, tantalizing when the only milk you get here is powdered and even that-once every couple of months if you’re lucky.  The women then repeatedly take handfuls of the rice and slowly let it pour back into the bucket, creating a white waterfall of thousands of rice grains.

While unfortunately bissap cannot be found in the States, here it thrives like a weed and it is often the only plant that can be found in gardens during the hot months of April-July.  These months are particularly trying food-wise and more often than in the wetter, colder months, meals consist of solely rice, a handful of beans and a chopped onion for seasoning.  But thankfully, bissap saves the day and while not adding much nutrition, certainly adds some flavor.  Placed in the center of the bowl, the Senegalese have perfected the careful mixing of the sauce with the rice and have made eating rice, something of an art form.  The thumb, index and middle finger swoop down from above like a bird catching its prey which then slows to a gentle scoop of the beuget sauce.  The fingers then move in a slow, contained upward arc until finally reaching the rice at the edge of the bowl.  With a flick of the wrist the sauce falls neatly on the rice in a perfect blend of greens and browns.

Coffee.  O coffee.  How I miss my strong, no sugar, no milk, no nothing coffee.  At home, if I drove by Dunkin Donuts and stupidly forgot to specify that I wanted nothing and then got a coffee with heaping spoonfuls of sugar, I wouldn’t even be able to drink it.  Here if I want coffee it’s sugar or nothing, and so I’ve actually come to like the sugar loaded Nescafe that I drink with my family every morning.  (fun fact-I don’t know where this began but my family at least believes that coffee can cure anything.  When I have a cold or a headache, they make me drink coffee.  Yesterday when I had a 103 fever they made me drink coffee and they attributed my two day fever to the fact that I hadn’t had my morning coffee on the fateful day of the onset of my virus).  Everyday I wake to the sounds of already roasted coffee beans being dubbed between mortar and pestle.  The pounding is my wake-up call, Senegalese life is starting and if I don’t want to look like a pampered American, I sure as hell better be out of my bed by 7.30.

It’s always fun trying to guess what we’re having for lunch.  While usually its rice with bissap sauce, on rare occasions we’ll have rice and fish, rice with a peanut sauce or even onion sauce.  Each meal has its own sounds and while not foolproof, the amount of sizzling emanating from the pot, can give away hints as to what we will be dining on.  One prolonged sizzle is usually rice with dried fish.  Three sizzles is rice, fish and vegetables and many sizzles can mean fish balls.  When it’s 12pm and you’re patiently awaiting lunch while sitting in the shade with your book, you have to find something to entertain you.

Since I arrived in this country 10 months ago, I have been washing my laundry by hand once a week.  This means that I have now gotten my hands wet 40 times and if I say so myself, I do a very good job at getting everything clean with my dish soap and bar of boutique soap.  But no matter how many times I wash my clothes-the proper sound of hand washing will always elude me.  I've tried to contort my hands every which way and still, I can not manage the squish-squelch sound that the Senegalese equate with proper clothes washing.  I can scrub, rinse and wring clothes clean, but without the sound I am woefully a novice at the art of hand washing laundry.

Imagine that you have no counter-tops in your kitchen. You have no table either and your floor is dirt and sand.  Welcome to a Senegalese women's life.  It's amazing how efficient they are with their time and resources and by far the cutting of onions amazes me the most.  With the onion in one hand and knife in the other they make 6 crisscross cuts that almost go all the way through the vegetable.  Then they dice the onion by cutting in a circular motion.  Although I can do this just fine now, when you first try to cut an onion in your hand, it is not easy!  Next time you are cooking a meal, try to prepare everything in your hands or a bowl on the floor.

On a day to day basis, women here wear pagnes or wrap skirts.  Easy to put on and adjust, allows for good air flow in the hot weather and can be used as a towel after bathing, pagnes are a good choice for African women.  What I love the most though is how women crouch or sit down on the ground while wearing their pagnes.  With legs shoulder width apart, they grab the front and back of the skirt between their legs with one hand, then its a fast swoop of the butt forward into an effortless squat/sit.

Cooking here requires a good deal of physical effort in this country and owing to this, Senegalese women have quite impressive biceps.  To prepare millet to be processed in the machines, women must first pound the grain with a mortar and pestle.  However this is no ordinary mortar and pestle.  The pestle is about the size of my entire body and usually two women each have a pestle and alternate pounding the millet.  They form a kind of dance, swaying their bodies back and forth, never missing a beat of pound, up, pound, down, pound, up, pound, down.