|Demba and I at the demo plot|
We get back around 10 and eat some type of porridge for breakfast, depending on what my moms pounded that morning. Between 11am and 4pm it is far to hot to get much of anything accomplished without completely exhausting yourself. I will sit and chat with my family in the shade, or help my sisters cook lunch. Lunchtime is 2pm, followed By siesta, when I try to read some of my various Peace Corps manuals and readings before falling asleep on my floor. Unless, my neighbors Omar 2011 and Omar 2012 are baking bread in their mud brick oven; then I go "help" and get first dibs on fresh, hot bread. Then it is back to the demo plot for evening water; sometimes we go visit a rice paddy or peanut field where my parents, aunts, and uncles are harvesting before heading home. The peanut field is always better because it means a snack! Even better when we have a lighter and can light some peanut plants on fire and have roasted peanuts.
Back home sweaty and caked in dirt, I play with my little brothers and sisters, then retreat to take a bucket bath outside under the setting sun. Then, I hang out with my siblings and neighbors in front of my older brothers hut, chatting in Pulaar while we make tea and listen to the radio. I eat dinner with my dad in my hut and we talk about our plans for the next day and what projects we can do in the community. After dinner I usually keep to myself and watch the stars (amazing far far away from electricity), or write, or read. Sometimes, if I'm not exhausted, I'll go back out and talk with the guests and neighbors that come by to greet the compound in the evening. Either way, I'm usually asleep early because it's so dark and my brain cannot function in Pulaar after about 9pm.
Unfortunately there is also the sadder memory of my sister's death and funeral: she's been real sick for a while so I never got a chance to know her, but it was still heartbreaking to watch my family and the community mourn her, people I have come to love. Just as I was going to sleep, I heard wailing-screaming out in the compound that a chorus of sobs and shouts as the women of the village poured into our compound and announced her passing. The men followed to pay there respects. It was all sort of eery in the half-moon light and confused, I walked through the dark until I met my brother's wife, crying. She explained what had happened between sobs as a held her up, because she was literally shaking with sobs. The next day was the funeral, which was a repeat of the previous night all morning with people and relatives coming to pay their respects from surrounding villages.
When my brothers finally carried the body from my mom's hut to bring her to the cemetery (only men can attend the burial), most of the women started wailing, some of my sisters throwing themselves on the ground and beating the earth in grief. It was both a sad and awkward experience for me because I felt my family's grief, but I didn't know how to comfort them or how to react. A couple hours later the neighborhood women served lunch to all the guests; they had been over all morning cooking couscous in giant cauldrons, stirring with spoons the size of themselves.
Tabaski, or Eid al-Adha, was just two days later. Our celebration was toned down because the family was still in mourning and many of our resources had been used during the funeral. For those of you that don't know, Tabaski is the West African name for the Muslim holiday that commemorates Abraham's almost sacrifice of his own son to Allah (God), before Allah intervenes and replaces his son with a ram. So every head of the household buys at least one ram (or goat in our case) and slaughters it. Then the women cook up the meat and dishes are passed back and forth between neighbors and family members throughout the next two days. Everyone gets all dressed up in new clothes and gets their hair done, kind of like Korite (end of Ramadan). Tabaski is a huge deal in the village, where we never eat meat and only really eat fish. Kind of like Thanksgiving for Americans in a way...
Which is exactly how I described Thanksgiving to my host family, except we eat turkey instead of sheep, this being the precursor to the Great Turkey Hunt. I had seen a turkey in a neighboring village during Volunteer visit during training. I asked my dad which village the turkey lived in and set out to Sare Yarubel with my closest neighbor and best friend in country, Sam, to find the legendary beast.
|Hiraade/Herman the Turkey|
Unfortunately, because of the poor condition of the paths between the village, the turkey was able to escape - twice. But his feet were tied and he could get far so we tied him back down a continued to Sare Abdou, where a fellow volunteer's father helped us secure him on the bike rack better. With the sun setting, I rode into my village, all the children chasing me to get a better look at the beast. They wanted to know its name (maybe they thought I was adopting it, like the cat), so I told them "Hiraade," or "Dinner."Once it was untie however, they kept their distance. The turkey spent the night tied up in my backyard on a hunger strike.
I heard rustling during the night but thought nothing of it. The next morning, I went out back to brush my teeth and there was the turkey - free and tail feathers spread and menacing. I figured I could just let it run around the backyard for a couple hours until my boss came with the Peace Corps car to catch up with me about my projects and, hopefully, drive Hiraade to Kolda.
While I was drawing water for the garden, he escaped out the front during and into the compound, heading for the kitchen. My siblings and I tried to chase him away, but he just ran into the neighbor's compound, starting a panic among the goats. The men in the compound helped me chase him back towards my hut, but they were too scared to try and catch the "giant chicken." So I grabbed its tail feathers, then caught its wings so it couldn't fight me, and finally tied his feet together. Never ever thought I would be catching Thanksgiving dinner... Two hours later, my APCD came and took it to Kolda, where it has been renamed Herman and awaits its fate tomorrow. The funny part about this whole story is Sam is a vegetarian and I don't eat all that much meat... yet we are the mighty mighty turkey captors of the Kolda region.