Tabaski

The Tabaski celebration started last Thursday, and went something like this: in the morning I woke up and put on my nice outfit, only to go outside and find that most people were going about their daily business in their same old everyday clothes, with the exception of the men and little children who dressed up to go pray. I, therefore, wandered around and chatted with a few people at the boutique, all the while receiving compliments on my clothes. "Yaangiy noos!" is what they said the most, which translates something as "You're having fun!" but seems to carry the underlying implication of "You have a lot of money so you can enjoy yourself and your clothes are also fabulous today!" Anyway, I went home and learned a new greeting: "baalma ac", which apparantly is what is said to people during Tabaski. Eventually, the parade of well-dressed people returned from prayer and gathered in a spacious courtyard near the chief's house. The men stood in front, while I found a group of older ladies and joined them in sitting on mats behind. There was a long spell of praying and chanting, most of which was incomprehensible to me, and before long people began to disperse. I got up to greet my usual crowd, when I realized what had been going on, because the carcasses of four rams were laying there with their throats slit. As I walked the short distance home, I passed several sheep in various stages of being slaughtered and butchered. It was interesting to observe how they do it. In the US our meat comes in pretty plastic packages, and we don't really know how it got there. How many people could pick out the flank of living the cow their flank steak came from? Anyway, the idea of high-quality steaks is pretty much unknown in the village. The meat was chopped up by the men into chunks compromised of all manner of bone, fat, meat, organ and gristle. There was some pattern to it, though - we ate the organ meats that first day, while the haunches were saved for Friday's lunch. Anyway, once the meat was prepared I joined the women in the kitchen. We made a series of peppery soups with bits of meat and slurped them up, all while working on the chef d'oeuvre: a thick sauce of meat, onion, fried potatoes, macaroni and oil, spiced with the usual bouillon. I contributed by peeling all the vegetables, chopping onios, and pounding peppercorns. The overall sense of excitement permeated everything. Everybody was in a great mood, laughing and snatching bits of piping-hot meat from the pot. I can't really describe how tasty it was in comparison to the usual monotony of mafe (a kind of peanut butter sauce) and rice. And protein, real concentrated protein was such a treat! Eventually, our sauce was finished, and we ladled it into bowls which were carried to the chief's compound. There, all the neighborhood women were gathered, along with dozens of loaves of bread. We waited for everyone to arrive, then dug into the meal, scooping up mouthfuls of the stew with bits of bread. You don't savor a meal here in the same way as back home. Instead, you "lekkal ba suur" - eat until you are full - which usually translates as eating as much as possible in as short a time as possible. It was delicious, though, and afterwards people relaxed and chatted for awhile before ambling home to shower and change. Here's where the pretty clothes come in! After sudown, around seven o'clock this time of year, everyone dressed up in their finest complets and boubous to go visiting. The moon being nearly full, there is so much light in the evenings a lamp is unnecessary; it's an enchanted time, full of moonshadows. Children wandered from house to house, collecting money for sweets or tea. They also accepted peanuts, corn, or millet. A small sidenote: the women will use these crops like cash; they will take a few kilos of peanuts to the boutique, weigh it, and exhange it for other goods such as spices or rice. Also, a man comes by in his horse charette every day and he will exchange fish for any of those grains, which are later resold in the market. The overall feeling of Tabaski for me was a cross between Thanksgiving, Halloween, and Christmas, though all of course considerably less commercialized than their American counterparts. In other news, it is now bissap season in the village, which means that the women go out into the fields to harvest the fleshy blossoms (which are actually the fruit of the plant, not the flower, though they look like a flower and not a fruit) and then spend all afternoon peeling the bissap off its core. I usually join in this venture, which is relaxing in the repetitiveness of the action. It's also a good opportunity to listen to the women and talk with them. I get along really well with the women of the village, and it's nice to spend time with them. The bissap harvest was put on hold for Tabaski, but will be starting up again soon. To dress myself up for the celebration, I put henna designs on my hands and feet, which was super-fun! I think I'll do henna just for "noos" later on, because it looks cool but doesn't last too long. Anyway, that's about all. I have had probably as much meat in the past three days as I'm likely to see the entire rest of the year, and soon it will be back to businss as usual. Christmas at the beach with the rest of the Kaolack crew is next on the agenda!