Living with a family other than your own is always difficult. Each family has its own dynamic and way of operating. When you are living with a family who operates using an entirely different language, it takes even more adjusting. I'm not asking the family to speak English, that's not why I went abroad, but using French for the majority of the time would be nice. However, Abou (the father) is the only one who speaks fluent French in the house, Dieynaba (the 11-year-old) is on my same level of French so were are able to communicate but it hasn't helped with trying to improve my language and Hawa (the mama of the house) speaks very little French, so most of our communicating is done through hand gestures and the repetitive "tu cromprends?" ("do you understand") and after awhile our messages are translated and received. It is Hawa, though, who I spend most of my time with. This past weekend, she took me under her wing and the two of us were able to grow closer. On Saturday, she took me to her friends house, who I'm pretty sure is blood related somehow but who really knows. Later that evening, there was some sort of celebration at the house so before hand a group of about four women and their daughters all congregated to do the cooking.
When we first arrived at the house, we sat down for a shared Thieboudienne lunch- the women eating around one platter, the men around another. After we were all "haarii" ("full"in Pulaar- I can now say I'm full in 4 languages-necessary here otherwise they keep telling you to eat and eat and eat), the women, including myself, went up to the roof to begin cooking. There was a large bowl filled with dough that had been made the night before and a couple of the women started pulling it out and kneading it. At this point, I hadn't joined in. Being a visitor and being a white American on top of that, nobody here really expects you to help out- more out of politeness than anything, like "you are our guest please sit on this stool and enjoy yourself". But I always feel so uncomfortable when the treat me like this. I like to be in the middle of things, helping out, contributing if I can, I don't like to sit back and watch everybody else around me work or more that while I'm here I don't feel as if I should have this special treatment. So once the kneading was done, some of the girls starting rolling the dough into little balls to then be flattened out to make a cocoon for a meat/spice mixture. Now this is something I knew how to do and knew that if I chimed into help I wouldn't need much instruction. It was just like making Pastitsies (Senegalese style)!! So I picked up a tin cooking sheet and asked Hawa for some dough that I could start spreading. At first, Hawa just looked at me like- you don't have to help, we can handle it, go back to reading your book. But I insisted- I was bored trying to read and I didn't want to feel like such an outsider not helping out.
When I started with my first pieces of dough, I noticed that one at a time the women would kind of glance over making sure that I was doing it right. They would keep trying to correct me or give me instruction but if there is one thing my Maltese heritage has given me, it's the ability to spread dough! It's funny because I think I've said it before but whenever a Toubab can accomplish something, be it a dance move, a native greeting, or even making food that the Senegalese do, they are always so surprised. At the same time that it's like "what because I'm white you don't think I can do such and such", it's also a way to gain acceptance. When a Toubab can prove them wrong, instead of holding it against you, they really appreciate it.
Nicesh! The making of dough and flattening it, then giving it to the men to cook is just like my friend, Agnes', wedding. Her family is from the Fiji Islands. I also felt like a 'whitie' at the ritual of making the dough with all of the women. I admire your spirit!
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