Sunday, June 5, 2016
Hand washing equipment
One washes their hands here in a communal way before eating. It is traditional to eat with your hands, rolling the rice and food into little balls and putting in your mouth. It is difficult to wash without someone to pour water over your hands from the plastic kettle to help you rinse.
Lunch in Sokone
For the second day in a row, we've had a delicious traditional lunch at the home of a dignitary in the delta town of Sokone. Wonderful generosity. Beautiful home. Kind and friendly people. We have cold drinks(Orange Fanta for me!), Appetizers of fresh cashews, then Thieboudienne on Friday and chicken or Maffe on Saturday. Some of us eat with our hands in the traditional way---messy---but very cool. It is delicious, but it is the people of the house who are the real pleasure.
?
The French couple staying at the resort here apparently think their child is adorable beyond reproach and have decided to disturb my writing space here on a balcony that up until this point has been very peaceful. I guess it will improve my powers of concentration to deal with it. The vestiges of colonialism huh?
Traditional healer.
Yesterday, Saturday, after a morning lecture in Sokone and a delicious lunch(description to follow soon), we trundled into our trusty bus for a visit to a traditional healer---located in the home village of our Waly Faye, translator and cultural ambassador extraordinaire. We parked on a dusty street and soon attracted a crowd of dusty bedraggled children, all curious, waving, smiling. They looked a bit "rougher" than we've seen before....still with the requisite soccer jersey's and hand-me-down clothing. Emirates Airlines is a familiar sight and Lionel Messi should rest assured that he has not been forgotten in Africa. Waly and Fallou exit the bus to do the pre-arrival arrangements. They soon return to say that the buildings and rooms we will go to are rather tight, but that we will manage in groups.
We are led inside a compound. The number of children has now tripled. There is a distinct smell of dead fish. In fact there are some drying out in the open that are particularly odorous. Reminds me a little of the fish I've had in Russia when imbibing vodka with some of my friends, though that was more salty, and perhaps due to the temps, not as gamy. A woman is also bringing some somewhat fresh fish out of huge container, presumably to dry as well. I snap a photo of her with permission. There is also a stuffy room with some listless, napping goats. We are ushered 5-6 at a time into a crowded little room made of reeds or woven sticks to see and meet the healer. He is unsmiling, and it is hot. he is holding what appears to be a sheaf of worn paper with a strange writing and has baskets of what appear to be dried wood, roots, etc. I, a bit claustrophobic, head outside pretty quickly. After this, Waly has arranged for us all to go to another room in the compound---only slightly larger---for questions and such. It is stuffy and hot. The room is made of concrete blocks with what look like air holes punched in about eye level. Metal roof I think. I find a corner as is my habit. We line the walls. The healer fellow comes in and sits down in front of me facing outward, essentially "trapping" me. No big deal. The questions surprisingly for the stuffy environs begin in earnest. Fallou is especially interested in the worn script----something regarding the combination of Ajami Mandinka and numbers. The healer explains that treatment usually involves a combination of incantation from his script and consumption of natural materials. he has inherited these scripts from his father. Wow. Men in his family have been healers for generations. Fallou and Waly explain that the words and incantations are ancient Mandinka language, written in Ajami. It kind of sends a chill down your spine---this is old stuff---tangible---a bit supernatural. One of his scripts is wooden---with ancient scrawl. At a request he chants some of what is written. Again, chills. I am pretty uncomfortable in the heat and closeness but the questions continue. My roommate, the anthropologist, whose expertise is in the neighboring country of Guinea Bissau, is interested in some of the roots that the healer says come from there. I ask how he is paid. He answers that he has prices, but that most cannot afford them---and that he generally takes what people can spare---it doesn't appear that anyone in the compound is getting rich, the children continue to crowd the doorway. One little girl, maybe 2, in a pink shirt, is especially friendly, hugging each of us tightly. Seems she has a special affinity for Dr. Longman---also a colleague from Puerto Rico. She is in the room most of the time. At one point she wanders back to the door and bangs a little boy on the head with an empty tuna can. This draws admonishment from Fallou, Marie, and after grabbing something of the healer's, draws his ire as well. I find him to be a little subdued. He wears a white shirt, blue tattered capris, his head is shaved. But he answers all our questions. I don't take any pictures of him though some of my colleagues do so. We thank him politely and it is back out in the compound to leave. I'm pretty relieved. Sweaty and a bit dizzy.
Soon we are back in the street, kids swarming everywhere. I shake about 20 hands. They are wide eyed and curious---not begging or anything like that at all. About 10 of them are sharing one lollipop. Perhaps I am wrong, but this seems to be a rather unique experience for them. You leave with this nagging feeling---something to the effect as to the randomness of where you are born. I have this thought that as a teacher, I could do more in some way. We shall see. They are not decrepit or appear to be suffering---pity is not the emotion you feel. It is just that these people live exponentially different lives than I and it causes almost constant reflection here.
Back to the bus. We have a wrestling(more on this soon too) tournament to witness this evening. Dinner is chicken at the lodge. I have some time in the pool. It is nice. I alternate swimming with the slow uploading of photographic evidence of Africa and Senegal. At 9ish we are back on the bus. All for now.
We are led inside a compound. The number of children has now tripled. There is a distinct smell of dead fish. In fact there are some drying out in the open that are particularly odorous. Reminds me a little of the fish I've had in Russia when imbibing vodka with some of my friends, though that was more salty, and perhaps due to the temps, not as gamy. A woman is also bringing some somewhat fresh fish out of huge container, presumably to dry as well. I snap a photo of her with permission. There is also a stuffy room with some listless, napping goats. We are ushered 5-6 at a time into a crowded little room made of reeds or woven sticks to see and meet the healer. He is unsmiling, and it is hot. he is holding what appears to be a sheaf of worn paper with a strange writing and has baskets of what appear to be dried wood, roots, etc. I, a bit claustrophobic, head outside pretty quickly. After this, Waly has arranged for us all to go to another room in the compound---only slightly larger---for questions and such. It is stuffy and hot. The room is made of concrete blocks with what look like air holes punched in about eye level. Metal roof I think. I find a corner as is my habit. We line the walls. The healer fellow comes in and sits down in front of me facing outward, essentially "trapping" me. No big deal. The questions surprisingly for the stuffy environs begin in earnest. Fallou is especially interested in the worn script----something regarding the combination of Ajami Mandinka and numbers. The healer explains that treatment usually involves a combination of incantation from his script and consumption of natural materials. he has inherited these scripts from his father. Wow. Men in his family have been healers for generations. Fallou and Waly explain that the words and incantations are ancient Mandinka language, written in Ajami. It kind of sends a chill down your spine---this is old stuff---tangible---a bit supernatural. One of his scripts is wooden---with ancient scrawl. At a request he chants some of what is written. Again, chills. I am pretty uncomfortable in the heat and closeness but the questions continue. My roommate, the anthropologist, whose expertise is in the neighboring country of Guinea Bissau, is interested in some of the roots that the healer says come from there. I ask how he is paid. He answers that he has prices, but that most cannot afford them---and that he generally takes what people can spare---it doesn't appear that anyone in the compound is getting rich, the children continue to crowd the doorway. One little girl, maybe 2, in a pink shirt, is especially friendly, hugging each of us tightly. Seems she has a special affinity for Dr. Longman---also a colleague from Puerto Rico. She is in the room most of the time. At one point she wanders back to the door and bangs a little boy on the head with an empty tuna can. This draws admonishment from Fallou, Marie, and after grabbing something of the healer's, draws his ire as well. I find him to be a little subdued. He wears a white shirt, blue tattered capris, his head is shaved. But he answers all our questions. I don't take any pictures of him though some of my colleagues do so. We thank him politely and it is back out in the compound to leave. I'm pretty relieved. Sweaty and a bit dizzy.
Soon we are back in the street, kids swarming everywhere. I shake about 20 hands. They are wide eyed and curious---not begging or anything like that at all. About 10 of them are sharing one lollipop. Perhaps I am wrong, but this seems to be a rather unique experience for them. You leave with this nagging feeling---something to the effect as to the randomness of where you are born. I have this thought that as a teacher, I could do more in some way. We shall see. They are not decrepit or appear to be suffering---pity is not the emotion you feel. It is just that these people live exponentially different lives than I and it causes almost constant reflection here.
Back to the bus. We have a wrestling(more on this soon too) tournament to witness this evening. Dinner is chicken at the lodge. I have some time in the pool. It is nice. I alternate swimming with the slow uploading of photographic evidence of Africa and Senegal. At 9ish we are back on the bus. All for now.
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