Mama Soso

Friday we learned cultural immersion techniques at The Baobab Center. The Senegalese have their own set of superstitions, eating manners, and social hierarchies. One should not give out compliments such as, "I like your scarf," because then if that scarf is lost, the complimented person will accuse the complimenter of being a witch. One does not count things, and one would not even think of pointing at anything. It is considered rude to not properly greet each person in a room. The matron is considered the life force of a family; to insult one's mother is the worst insult of all. Also, it is rude to directly say no to a person. For instance, if someone tries to sell something to you while you are walking down the street, you should say, "Bal ma ko, ba baneen," which means, "please excuse me, next time."

And then there is the intricate process of eating. Because we had been in dorms since Sunday, we had not gotten the true Senegalese eating experience. Most families eat communally, which means they sit in a circle and eat from the same giant bowl. They do not use utensils (typically) and since it is rude to put forth a left hand, one must eat solely with his or her right hand. Considering what is in the bowl - rice, vegetables, sauce, and meat - eating with one hand is quite difficult. In order to practice this eating technique, The Baobab Center made us a typical communal meal. Although I didn't have to worry about picking apart a fish or chicken with one hand, I still could not find a way to eat that wouldn't result in rice and sauce all over my face. I also was not too keen on eating from the same bowl that other people had stuck their hands in. Portion sizes are huge here, and we were forewarned that our host mothers will try to feed us an extreme amount of food. The ideal female body in Senegal is a big, curvaceous one (unlike the United States). That said, we were also forewarned that our host mothers may compliment us if we gain weight. People do not drink water during meals here because it hinders one's ability to eat more food. I found this particularly funny, because in the US we are encouraged to drink a lot of water during a meal to prevent overeating.

Eating mannerisms can show how a group of people truly interact... In societies where people eat from their own plates, such as in the US, the culture is geared towards the individual. In places where communal eating takes place, all focus is put on the family as a whole. "Family" in this sense is not limited to those of biological relation, but also friends, neighbors, and even visitors.

Anyway, I knew this adjustment in cultures would be very difficult for me. I prefer to be on my own, and I have been relatively independent for a long time. So, I was quite nervous when Alain, the housing coordinator, called me to his office to inform me of my housing assignment. Most students requested large families, but the thought of trying to remember all those names intimidated me very much so. Large families are typically very formal, and the last thing I want to do is offend anyone. I ended up very happy with my placement, in the local neighborhood, Marmoz, with a woman called Mama Soso (short for Josephine).

After The Baobab Center, all of us students packed up our stuff and left the dorms. As I waited for Mama Soso to pick me up, I saw more and more students leave with their host families. Finally, I saw a woman wearing a large, colorful bubu (the matching skirt and shirt, traditional Senegalese attire) who asked for Rebecca. I held out my right hand for a handshake, but instead she took my hand, pulled me towards her, and gave me a kiss on each cheek and a big hug.

After hearing and almost perfectly understanding French in orientation sessions and at The Baobab Center, I was feeling very confident in my speaking abilities. But then we arrived at Mama Soso's house, where my confidence rapidly fell. She speaks very quickly and throws Wolof into her French (that is common here), so I currently understand less than half of what she says. I know that with time that will change, but I need to learn how to be patient with myself. Anyway, I just wore a smile and nodded, which was followed by a spell of laughter from her. I don't think I have ever met a friendlier person than Mama Soso. She told me she is used to hosting vegetarians (I am her ninth student), and I can come and go as I please. A huge weight lifted off my shoulders; I can retain my "liberté."

For dinner that night she made me a giant plate of carrots, tomatoes, green peppers, hard boiled eggs, and rice. I thought that the plate was for the two of us, but it was actually all for me. She insisted I eat the entire plate over and over again: "Tu vas bien manger ici!" (Translation: You will eat well here!) Thankfully we ate with utensils from our own plates. Lunch at The Baobab Center was enough of a Senegalese dining experience for me! She showed me the rest of her house, which consists of two bedrooms (one is hers, one is mine), a kitchen, a bathroom, and a living room. There is a small front yard and backyard, but it is all concrete and fenced in. Although most families here are Muslim, Mama Soso is very Catholic... There is a large framed picture of the Pope right above her table, along with pictures of Jesus and the Virgin Mary everywhere as well. There is also another woman, Elizabeth, who is currently living with Mama Soso. Elizabeth was introduced to me as my sister, but I soon learned that she is an English teacher in The Gambia and will be leaving in three weeks. I try to speak as much French as possible with Elizabeth, but it is good to know that for now there is someone who speaks English who I can fall back on. In the first night, I must have looked very overwhelmed, because Elizabeth kept asking me, "Ca va?" or, "Are you okay?" My room has an armoire where I can lock my valuables and a bed with a mosquito net over it. There is a screened window, although it does not provide much air flow. I knew that the house would not have AC, but unfortunately it does not have any fans. There aren't any mirrors in the house, which is a good and bad thing. I also did not understand how to work the toilet, so that was a somewhat awkward question to ask Mama Soso. After learning that some people do not even have toilets in their houses, I am very thankful for the existence of the bathroom in my house.

I do not understand how, but the house seems to trap heat inside it, so that it is cooler outside than inside. Saturday felt like the longest day of my life as I sat inside the house and felt like I was being baked alive. I managed to drink 4 liters of water in a span of 36 hours; I sweated more than I thought was humanly possible. Mama Soso and Elizabeth walked around in nothing but towels for the majority of the day, hopping in and out of the shower as they sought necessary. I tried to read my current book, One Hundred Years of Solitude, but my brain did not seem to function. Suddenly, Mama Soso, completely dressed and composed, told me that we were leaving. I was a sweaty mess, but I put on my shoes and followed her out the door, not having any clue where she was leading me. We walked a few blocks and then hopped on a "car rapide," which is a form of public transportation that nobody would condone in the States. Essentially it is a small van that is filled with at least twelve people at a time. We got off the car rapide and went to a house, which I assumed to be a friend's house. We went inside a dark room, where Soso and her friend conversed in Wolof for about an hour. Then they said their good-byes and we were off to another friend's house, but this friend did not happen to be home. We hopped on another car rapide back to Mermoz. Elizabeth and Soso were surprised when I told them I was going to bed around 10:30 p.m. (I honestly do not understand when they sleep). I have never had a more difficult time sleeping than I did on Saturday night. I was so hot, lying in a pool of my own sweat. My cotton sheets were soon soaked, and cotton is probably the worst fabric to get sweaty. People were chanting in the mosque down the street past two in the morning, and it was not a rhythmic sound that can lull one to sleep - it was a sporadic type of chanting that only kept me awake. A few hours later the sun rose and I heard a cacophony of roosters announcing the day had begun. A little while after that, the Mosque sounded the call to prayer and people began chanting again.

For as little sleep as I got Saturday night, I was quite alert on Sunday. Reunited with my fellow students, we had a scavenger hunt in downtown Dakar. We finished early, so we went to the beach that afternoon. I probably walked a collective ten miles in the afternoon heat, and I was so exhausted that I had no problem sleeping the next night.