The other day, I crashed a baptism and a wedding in the same day. We were sitting in class at Bakary’s and all of the sudden 15 women come in with huge cooking vats and bowls and bowls of veggies and set up shop. So Aziz called of class because he said the Wolofs are holding a baptism at the Drame house. But the Drames arent Wolof, why is the baptism at their house? Oh because they have really good shade and a lot of room. More Senegalese hospitality- hosting a party at your house for people who don’t speak the same language as you.
So we left and Bakary came over to my house for lunch because Aziz said that the baptism food would not be ready for a real long time. So he sat with the girls as my twin sisters gave him universal teenager angst looks. Then after finishing our beautiful mural of a pregnant woman taking malaria prophylaxis at the health post, we returned to the Drame’s to a huge group of women in beautiful, matching outfits signing and dancing to intense drum music. The boys were not supposed to be there, because at a baptism the women and the men celebrate separately and then at night they get together.
The sight was something I have never seen in Senegal. Women who wear skirts to their ankles, who cook and take care of children and do enormous amounts of work in serious ways all day were lifting up their skirts to show their bin bin beads, dancing so intensely and sexually. And the best part is, they didn’t need men to do it! I love that they get together to express themselves, their sexuality their energy every time someone has a babies (great excuse for a par-tay). It made me almost emotional seeing the strength of these women. I am so excited for my women’s groups in my village!
So then I get home and there is nobody in the compound, this I have never seen before. My house. It was weird. So I am in my room putting some anti itch on the weird rash on my neck that awkwardly looks like a hickey and Manjara, my 10 year olds sister comes to fetch me and brings me to a wedding! More dancing! This time mixed-gender. I love crashing the par-tays.
The one problem with this party crashing is that the whole thing about being white is that everyone obviously notices when you enter a party. And they like to make you dance. In the middle of the circles. Which makes it sort of awkward when you don’t know the party hosts. And when I am at the novice level of the Senegalese dancing.
**Tomorrow- going to my real village to visit! Exciting!**
baptism crashing.
The other day, I crashed a baptism and a wedding in the same day. We were sitting in class at Bakary’s and all of the sudden 15 women come in with huge cooking vats and bowls and bowls of veggies and set up shop. So Aziz called of class because he said the Wolofs are holding a baptism at the Drame house. But the Drames arent Wolof, why is the baptism at their house? Oh because they have really good shade and a lot of room. More Senegalese hospitality- hosting a party at your house for people who don’t speak the same language as you.
So we left and Bakary came over to my house for lunch because Aziz said that the baptism food would not be ready for a real long time. So he sat with the girls as my twin sisters gave him universal teenager angst looks. Then after finishing our beautiful mural of a pregnant woman taking malaria prophylaxis at the health post, we returned to the Drame’s to a huge group of women in beautiful, matching outfits signing and dancing to intense drum music. The boys were not supposed to be there, because at a baptism the women and the men celebrate separately and then at night they get together.
The sight was something I have never seen in Senegal. Women who wear skirts to their ankles, who cook and take care of children and do enormous amounts of work in serious ways all day were lifting up their skirts to show their bin bin beads, dancing so intensely and sexually. And the best part is, they didn’t need men to do it! I love that they get together to express themselves, their sexuality their energy every time someone has a babies (great excuse for a par-tay). It made me almost emotional seeing the strength of these women. I am so excited for my women’s groups in my village!
So then I get home and there is nobody in the compound, this I have never seen before. My house. It was weird. So I am in my room putting some anti itch on the weird rash on my neck that awkwardly looks like a hickey and Manjara, my 10 year olds sister comes to fetch me and brings me to a wedding! More dancing! This time mixed-gender. I love crashing the par-tays.
The one problem with this party crashing is that the whole thing about being white is that everyone obviously notices when you enter a party. And they like to make you dance. In the middle of the circles. Which makes it sort of awkward when you don’t know the party hosts. And when I am at the novice level of the Senegalese dancing.
**Tomorrow- going to my real village to visit! Exciting!**
