COURTYARD TIME
01.26.08
COMFORTABLE IN THE COURTYARD
So, here I am, joining the extended family tonight in the courtyard, where I’m aware that I’m getting more comfortable in their environment. Initially, it felt so foreign, I could only observe for short times and then retreat. Tonight, I enjoyed remaining among the family and appreciating their interactions in the cooling evening air. Much of my experiences in West Africa have indicated that the evening hours are a time for finalizing business, eating late meals, and socializing. Up until now, I’ve missed out on this, choosing to maintain my own hours and use my evenings to read, etc.
This is what I experienced…
A family resting peacefully together outside after the heat of the day has dissipated. Relatives from other places coming to sit together. Many small children; Grandma and Grandpa; Aunties; Uncles. Neighbor children. Young men in their twenties. Tonight the draw was the continuation of the Africa Cup soccer matches – thus the interest of the twenty-something men. (Sudan and Egypt ) This family has acquired a TV; not rare, but still not the norm. We didn’t see it out until the soccer matches, so hopefully it remains for special occasions. To the right of the TV, set outside for everyone to view, were 7 young boys and girls sitting on their haunches. The irregular semicircle of adults of various generations sat on crude benches, little stools only 8 inches in diameter meant for sitting on during food prep, broken plastic chairs, and chunks of concrete.
Tonight, I watch more closely two mothers, immersed in their evening rituals of bathing their stair-step children one at a time in a bucket or basin. Little ones howl as mom vigorously scrubs their bodies from head to toe with no mercy for eyes or tender heads of napped hair. I watched one two year old lose his footing in a small bucket and tip the entire bucket over, falling fully into the dust and sand. His very dark and wet skin contrasted the light red dust that now clung to his entire left side from the knee up, including the entire side of his face and head! Mom was tired and wasn’t particularly happy to have to draw more water to rinse him off again. Tonight the fathers are not present, but my experience is that they would have little part in these rituals. Many un circumcised little boys remained undressed and sought out a snack by dipping the four fingers of their right hand into a large basin of porridge-like gruel made from ground millet and thin milk from their small herd of long horned cows. Mothers now walk around with a baby on their hip, their breasts bare and uncovered, a length of colorful fabric wrapped around their waist reaching their feet. These sights are beginning to seem normal.
The sheep break out of their pen for a while and finish off the millet gruel, their presence in the courtyard, along with chickens, is a normal occurrence. But tonight, with the many guests, it’s a bit much and the large, short haired animals are shooed back to their holding area, closed off with a metal mattress frame.
Among the crowd around the TV are another half dozen very young children, clean for the moment and in an adult lap or nestled in next to an older child on a bench. One who has remained comfortably leaning across my knees is Cinnabou, probably two or so, not very verbal yet, content to participate in a watchful manner. Eventually “Nabou” climbs into my lap and fingers the icy plastic bag that holds a drink I’ve been enjoying slowly: a frozen bisop popsicle of sorts. Bisop is made from a boiled dark red mixture of flowers from a common plant, sweetened with cane sugar, and held for special occasions. It’s probably not the safest beverage for a “Toobab” (white stranger), but I seem to be able to tolerate it internally – this is my third in two weeks, my intestines find it agreeable. It’s not the bisop that could be a problem, just how the beverage is handled and mixed with local water that can if “iffy.” Anyhow, the frozen-and-now-melting drink is welcome in the still warm evening.
The head of our household, Abduhl Rachmanne, abstains from TV and has his own room where he’s been receiving friends all evening. It’s the custom to go out for walks to greet friends and family; Abduhl’s friends come to him as a senior member of the community. His long robes are always accompanied by his checkered scarf that identify him as a respected Koranic teacher. Others come to visit Lobe, dressed beautifully with headscarves and layers of long colorful fabric, long gold earrings, several shiny rings, some with henna stained designs on their hands and finers.
Earlier, I greeted an older woman at the gate of the courtyard in Wolof: As salaamu alay kum (May peace be with you); She responded, Mu alay kum salaam (Peace be with you.) Na nga def? (How are you?) Mag ngi fi. (I’m fine). Ana sa waa ker? (How is your family?) Nu nga fa (They are fine). Nanga tudd? (What is your name?) I learned her name is Fatou Ba. We laughed as we discovered that is also my given Senegalese name! She identified herself as a sister of Lobe (Abduhl’s wife and grandma to the dozen or so youngins in the courtyard.) Since she primarily speaks Pular, I was out of luck for any further conversation.
However, I’m finding there is more than one way to communicate. By pulling at her breast in a fashion that depicts a nursing mother, I learned that she and Lobe nursed from the same mother… therefore I assume they are sisters. However, even with this information, they may share the same mother in a greater sense than blood sisters. Family relations in this culture are non-specific… one has many brothers and sisters, parents, etc. Large families are united not only by blood, but other unstated ties and commitments.
As I finish my recollections of the evening, I’m in my room adjacent to the courtyard with a door between us instead of the usual hanging cloth. It’s after 11:30, but friendly adult conversations continue outside the gate. Because it’s Friday night, I expect visiting will go on well into the early morning hours. Someone set up a loud speaker just down the dirt road with popular chanting music, better than usual I should say. However, the volume is much, much! I’ll probably get out my well-hidden Ipod and plug in so I can fall asleep better. This too is becoming more familiar. Isn’t that amazing!?
