Our family compound is now less one person. With a number somewhere in the high 20s you would think one person would scarcely be missed, but when that one person is Ami there is a noticable gap. Last week she left to go to Jofiore with her new husband and we're all mourning the loss of a good friend and, if possible, an even better cook. The wedding was quite an affair, and as sad as I am to see Ami leave I won't say I'm as upset for the festivities to be over.
It all started on Thursday when relatives from all over the place started showing up in Sambande, and suddenly the number of people in our compound doubled. I greeted everyone, fended off a respectable number of marriage questions/proposals and then hid away with Ami while Yassine painted our hands and feet with henna. Towards the evening the men killed the goat and I sat with the women and peeled onions and carrots for dinner. After dinner the drumming and dancing started and carried on well into the 2am hour which is when I finally managed to fall asleep.
The next morning I woke up early and savored the solitude of my room for a few hours before I opened my door to the masses. I greeted a decent chunk of people then sat with Adama and tried to avoid any more questions about my own marital status. Around 10 Ami emerged from her room dressed in a simple white linen robe with a cream shawl draped over her head completely covering her face. She was led to a mat in the middle of the courtyard and we all looked on while the Imam spoke and my dad made a speech. I was touched to see him tearing up as he spoke since Senegalese men take such pride in showing no emotion other than anger.
Almost before the prayers were finished people started clawing and scrambling to get into the alham rented to take us to Jofiore. As is typical with Senegalese transportation there was a considerable amount of pushing, squishing and smushing before the driver lost patience and decided to drive off with one little girl still hanging out the door. After much shouting and pounding on the roof the driver conceded to stop so she could clamber in. Filled to absolute capacity (9 people and an infant in our 4 person seat alone) we started on our 14k journey over flooded bush paths. The next hour can only be described as the most ear-splitting, back breaking, bone jarring, headache inducing hour of my life. Imagine sharing a mini-bus with 60 middle school cheerleaders all "singing" at the top of their lungs then give one of them a metal bowl to pound on directly in your ear then add 90 degree temperatures and a dirt track made entirely of potholes. It was kind of like that.
After a couple of wrong turns and some dodgy swerving through the mud we pulled up to Ami's new town and the noise cranked up another 10 decibels to a volume I previously thought impossible. after some tense arguing with the driver over payment we all piled out of the alham and it trundled off. I secretly wondered if it would ever come back. It turns out the 10 minutes Ami spent sitting on the mat in our compound by herself was the most formal part of the whole ceremony, and the rest of the day was spent eating and dancing and sweating in a tiny hut with 30 other women. More goats were killed and lunch was served around 1:30. I got to eat at a bowl alone with Ami and her mom and we got the head of the goat all to ourselves. After lunch came a sweet rice porridge with milk and sugar, then bread and butter and coffee and finally those minty throat lozenges that everyone here loves so much.
Once we were sufficiently stuffed the real dancing began. Ami disappeared to put on her wedding finery and all of the women gathered out in the courtyard with bowls and gourds and anything else they could find to beat out a rhythm on. What ensued can only be described as on all out dance off. The women from Jofiore stayed on one side of the courtyard and our crowd stayed on the other, and each group sent their dancers to the middle. If you're imagining break dancing or some sort of pop and lock then you've seen one too many low-budget teen movies. There are only two real types of dances at a Senegalese dance party and what they lack in creativity and variety they make up for in speed and vigor. Both involve grabbing the edge of your wrap skirt with your left hand and pulling it open to reveal your knees. Then depending on your energy level (or sense of modesty) you either engage in the high step, bringing your knees nearly to your chin while bending at the waist to accentuate your bootie, or the low step where your feet only rise a foot off the ground. If you're feeling particularly sassy or, on this particular occasion, if you want to taunt the other dancers you end your dance with a full frontal crotch shot by grabbing the other side of your skirt and pulling it wide open. I purposefully kept my eyes above waist level once I realized underwear is an entirely optional piece of clothing at a wedding.
Just as the rivalry was really heating up Ami reappeared all decked out in a shiny new complet with glitter in her hair. I was glad to see she opted to skip out on the halloween style orange cake makeup most women wear for there weddings, she was really quite beautiful. This was also the first time I had seen her smile all day, since up to that point she had been mostly on the verge of tears. She made the rounds to greet everyone, then a second meal of rice and sheep was served.
Shortly after six the alham returned and started honking away, which I took as our cue to leave. The women however, seemed entirely unconcerned by the angry driver and lingered over their rice in complete leisure. By the time everyone had assembled and said their goodbyes the impatient driver had left and had to be called and threatened/persuaded to come back. The ride home was no less crowded, but it was thankfully much quieter. Between the heat of the day and the lack of sleep the night before I was thoroughly exhausted by the time we got home and I made a beeline straight for the safety of my hut. Little did I know my day was far from over.
The termite colony that had slowly been creeping into the grass of my roof had suddenly turned into a full-blown infestation, and I returned to my room to find them falling from my roof like rain right over my bed, covering my mattress in a living blanket of dirt and bugs. Despite my best efforts to brush them to the floor they just kept coming...wave after wave in insects falling on my head like some scene from a horror movie. As gross as the termites were, they presented the least of my worries. The army of ants that had come to claim their prize after the termites made their kamikaze dive were entirely unconcerned with the difference between insect and human flesh and I received an untold number of painful bites before I gave up and abandoned ship. Since my dad had taken both my spare mattress and my mat for our wedding guests I passed a miserable night standing in the middle of my room sobbing for all the world like a baby.
Why I didn't think to move my foam pad to a different part of the room I'm not sure, but I chalk it up to not being able to think straight due to exhaustion and hysteria. I suppose it wouldn't have done much good though since the pad is only an inch think and the ants were all over the floor as well. By dawn I was utterly wrecked and my eyes were so swollen from lack of sleep that my family freaked out and immediately came to my rescue. My mom got a stick and knocked down about 10 dustpans full of termites and dirt and my brothers swept until the ants were back to their usual numbers. I spent the rest of the morning sleeping soundly.
A few observations about the previous days' events:
- I find it interesting that the word for wedding in Seereer is gulag...that seems to be a fitting description for teh institution of marriage in this country...you don't have much of a choice, you're sent far away from your friends and family and you're confined to a life of back-breaking labor and practically servitude to some man who is already looking for his next wife to add to the work crew.
- Senegalese people may or may not be robots. They have no need for sleep, seem impervious to the heat, can lift super-human loads onto their heads and show no signs of discomfort at the constant exposure to decibel levels equal to that of a jet engine at take off.
- In the midst of hysterics the things most important to a person in terms of comfort are revealed. Apparently mine are my mom, my dog, Washington DC and string cheese.
