Looking for a Donkey and Staying for Dinner

     Before school starts in October, my job is to integrate into my community. I've been here for three weeks already, but I feel like I've hardly done a thing. Then again, it's hard to quantify what I've done in the past three weeks when integration doesn't exactly have a recipe. I've established routines of sweeping every morning, hand washing dishes every other morning, going to the market every three days, doing laundry once a week, etc. My favorite part of the day, though, is riding into the market area to read with 11-year-old Souleymane, who is a boy that used to hang out with the previous volunteer a lot. Every day, he works at what he calls his "garage," where he does bike repairs. He comes in my courtyard every morning to say "bonjour" on his way to his garage and every evening to say "bonsoir" on his way home. He's a really sweet kid. As a fellow volunteer told me, "I'm going to just stick to making friends with kids, then I'll work my way up to adults." It's a great plan. 

     One day when I was at Souley's garage, I let slip that I'd hurt my back. Souley told me to return to my house and after he closed up his garage, he would come enlever (pronounced on-lev-ay, meaning "to remove, or to carry off") water from the robinet (pronounced row-bee-nay, meaning tap) for me. I had no choice in the matter, he was coming whether I liked it or not. I honestly don't mind taking orders from an 11-year-old because he's such a sweetheart. I was overjoyed because I do like taking bucket baths, or ya know, drinking water, staying hydrated in this humid heat. And that's just the delivery of French here, anyway. There's no point of talking in riddles, just say what you mean and be done with it. I appreciate that so much here. I always feel like I'm being rude or needy when I tell people what I need, but that's the social norm here, so I'm technically not being rude.

     I came home to do my daily evening attempt at logging onto the internet via my 3G data internet key. I'm not in a major city, so I'm always on the Edge network. Hey, that's better than nothing! But, it's rainy season, so storms love to play with cell service. Unable to log on for the second day in a row, I put on Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire and settled down with some cold, flavored water that Souley's mom, Aïsseta, sells at the family boutique (mini specialized food shop). Ron Weasley is freaking out about the old dress robes he has to wear to the Yule Ball when Souley arrived. He brought his bike, but he likes using my bike to get water because it's a lot stronger. Peace Corps gives Trek bikes to volunteers because the terrain is uneven and the bikes go through a lot in 2 years.  And he's a bike mechanic, so he knows what he's talking about. I locked my doors to walk with him to the robinet, but he turned around and ordered, "sit down, I'll be right back." Didn't have to tell me twice! In the US it would be something more along the lines of, "I got this, hang out, I'll be right back." Nope, nice and straightforward. And thank goodness because while I get used to new accents, it helps to hear simple French.

     He came back with the filled containers and then asked if I had to work tonight or if I wanted to come with him to the field to get his animals. "Ce n'est pas loin," he encouraged. Well, if it's not far, I might as well come on a mini adventure. When we left my house it was dusk, but it wasn't far so I'd have 30+ minutes to return before it would be completely dark. I brought my bike light just in case. I hadn't yet ridden to this part of town. We passed a village of cement brick homes with either thatched or metal roofs and then were surrounded by an expanse of green champs (French for fields). We pedaled on the dirt road passing by many champs, with the cool night breeze feeling very refreshing after the day's heat. When we passed a group of large bushes, the temperature instantaneously dropped to what felt like 65 degrees, which is not something I've experienced since arriving in country, though any exposure to air conditioning feels just as refreshing as a 65-degree cold pocket. And then the cold pocket disappeared. So bizarre. It reminded me of the dip in Hopkins Drive at UC San Diego that we called "dementor valley" due to its drop in temperature in the evenings as the street plunges into the canyon before ascending back up the hill to Warren College dorms on the east side of the canyon and RIMAC gym on the west side.

     Souley was right that the champ wasn't far at all, maybe a little over a mile from my house. He hopped off of his bike, put his hands on his hips and just stood there looking out at the dimly lit expanse as dusk turned to twilight. I didn't see any animals and was instantly concerned because corporal punishment is most often the consequence of children losing the family animals. "What kind of animals are we looking for?" I asked.

     "A donkey and a goat," he replied. My eyesight is not very good at night, so I knew I'd be of no use, though I swore I saw what looked like a donkey a quarter-mile away, near a tree. "No, he was tied up here. Let's go home," Souley insisted. So, we got back on our bikes and I prayed that the donkey was at his house.

     The twilight ride to his house was more enjoyable than the ride at dusk; it's something about the color the sky turns. The return ride past the "dementor bushes" made me smile. We arrived at his house and the donkey was there. Thank goodness. His grandmother had fetched it earlier.

     The minute I walked into the courtyard, I knew I had no choice but to greet everyone and stay. It's the socially correct thing to do. Also, Peace Corps encourages us to walk into our neighbors' courtyards and have a seat as a means of successfully integrating into the community. Pick a courtyard, any courtyard. It's more difficult than it sounds. For someone who's extroverted like me, being in a foreign country has made me quite introverted. So, the concept of making myself go into a stranger's courtyard, pray they speak French, introduce myself and explain why I'm there…it's quite daunting. And if they only speak Mooré, then I'll introduce myself and sit there knowing they're talking about me every time I hear nasara in the middle of rapid conversation.

     Souley's younger sister, Nemata, ran up smiling from ear to ear, flashing the gap where her 2 front adult teeth have yet to come in. She's adorable. Then I heard giggling and saw two-year-old Abadou waddling around. I love him because he's not scared of me, like most young children who cry in their mothers' laps when they can't quite compute this smiling woman with pale skin. He's sassy and he just never stops laughing. He's hands down the happiest 2-year-old I've ever met. I shook Aïsseta's hand and saw the grandmother praying on her mat in the corner. They pulled up a chair for me and I knew it was game over at that point; I was definitely staying for dinner. I longingly looked up at the twilit sky and gave up hope of being home by dark. So, I sat in the chair and soaked in the courtyard. Well, I would consider their home more of a compound. The courtyard wall forms a circle that encompasses 6 separate houses, which are each the size of one room. The houses line the circular wall, forming an empty communal space in the middle that is completely cemented. I can imagine the cementing greatly helps in reducing mosquitos and other pesty bugs. In a previous post, I showed the courtyard of my host family in Léo. To give a sort of reference point, this family's compound could easily fit in my host family's large courtyard. It could even fit in my courtyard here in Boussé! It has a nice hominess to it, though. Each short house is made of cement brick and a metal roof. The donkey was eating and keeping to himself behind me.

     Souley's grandmother walked over to introduce herself after she finished her evening prayer. "Bonsoir," I reflexively said.

     "Zaabre kibare," she said as she shook my hand and curtsied. Shoot, Mooré.

     "Laafi," I quickly replied, almost like a question. "Mam yטטr la a Katie," I said slowly for her to comprehend my terrible Mooré accent and my name. She clapped and smiled with excitement at my ability to speak a little Mooré. Th especially next to l is extremely difficult for French speakers to pronounce, so I go by Katie, which ends up sounding more like "Caught-tee," but I'll take what I can get.

     So, I sat with the family and watched the stars come out as Aïsseta prepared dinner. She understands most of my French and if not, Souley rephrases what I say in Mooré. She handed me a bag full of onions and explained that they were a gift from the grandmother. Abadou was running around, following his mother like a puppy dog. She worked by the light of a strong flashlight and little Abadou would occasionally grab the light and run away with it, not realizing the consequence until Aïsseta made guttural noises of frustration at him and he'd immediately stop. Eventually, the grandmother called Abadou over and kept him distracted so Aïsseta could cook. Nemata followed her mother back and forth between the sauce on the gas stove and the boiling water on the fire, helping her mother along the way. Many of my friends observed how crucial girls are to family chores while staying with their host families. I understood the concept, but watched it with my own eyes as Nemata then rinsed and dried dishes after her mother washed them, or continued to pound millet while her mother checked on the sauce.

   When the meal was ready, I watched Aïsseta pour the sauce into three different containers and the tô, boiled millet or corn flour with water, into three others. I prayed that she wouldd give me the smallest of the containers, but of course she gave me the largest. I'm sure it was just out of respect and hospitality, but I don't know how she expected me to eat all of it. I washed my hands and then dug my fingers into the spongy tô, formed a ball, dipped it into the sauce and then placed it in my mouth. My mouth has grown accustomed to scorchingly hot foods and liquids since my arrival three months ago. My fingers, however, have not and burned every time I tried to peel off the top-most layer. My strategy proved fruitless though since it was still 90 degrees and thus unable to cool the top layer anymore than the rest. Souley sat off to the side, without a dish in front of him. I invited him to join me, though he just smiled and refused. I wasn't surprised. Food is served according to the social hierarchy. Since an adult male arrived with his daughter, that left the three dishes to go to me, them and the grandmother; though, I would have been more than happy to wait, but I knew I'd be served first anyway since I was a guest. The father would most certainly have received a dish early on, too, if he hadn't still been at the family boutique. After I finished one-third of my plate, my burned fingers and I made it very obvious that I was done eating. The dish then passed along to Souley and he dug right in, finishing the dish in a blink.

     After their other visitors left and Souley had finished eating, Aïsseta said that she and Souley would walk me home. I wish she would have eaten dinner first, but she insisted that I go home and "rest." Rest, from what, I don't know. So, my new bag of onions and I walked with them. Souley insisted on pushing my bike the entire way. Though I will continue to put myself out there to meet new families, it's nice knowing that I've already found one that can be my new host family.