اكل : Akel : Food

Today marks exactly thirty-five days 
since my arrival in Jordan!

Noted: Working from Arabic to English is extremely difficult because I dont know the Arabic alphabet and for me - I have to first find someone to transliterate a word from Arabic and then translate from the transliterated Arabic. Confusing right? This word was pretty new to me - "transliteration" but it makes sense and I like it - it makes reading Arabic easier, even though its not really Arabic anymore.

For example, the title of the post: اكل : Akel : Food

This goes from Arabic to transliterated Arabic to English.

My short lived hopes and dreams of taking Arabic classes while in Jordan were squashed with the reality of TIME. I have no time here. I came here to "recover" but like my Dad, I can't sit still.

The last couple of weeks I've been really trying to "dive" into Jordan. I only have a short time here and want to soak up as much food, culture, music, sightseeing, and tradition as I can.

I've always said the fastest way to learn about a new place/

group of people is through their food (and music). This is my 

culinary experience thus far:

Mezzes are appetizers and here in Jordan. They are a must before dinner or even as a snack during the day. They include foods such as hummus, baba ghanoush, kibbe maqliya, tabouleh, falafel, and za'tar. This list is not exhausted but are some of the most popular in the Levant (a region that generally includs Cyprus, Egypt, Iraq, Israel, Jordan, Lebanon, Palestine, Syria, and Turkey) and usually eaten with pita bread (a type of flat bread with a pocket)!

 

-Hummus, as many of you likely know, is a cooked/mashed chick pea base dip or spread made with tahini, olive oil, lemon juice, salt and garlic.
-Baba ghanoush is cooked eggplant mixed with onions, tomatoes, olive oil and various seasonings.

-Tabouleh, in addition to falafel and hummus, is another dish I had known before arriving here in Jordan. Its comprised of finely chopped tomatoes, parsley, mint, bulgur and onion. Then, seasoned with olive oil, lemon juice, and salt. Sometimes people will substitute couscous for the bulgur and some people add garlic. It's so fresh, light and healthy!
-Falafels are everywhere and ridiculously cheap! The deep-fried balls made from ground chickpeas and/or fava beans can be found on nearly every corner for less than 50 cents.
-Za'tar, the name of my boss's dog, is a powerful blend of herbs, sesame and salt that is usually put on bread. It sort of reminds me of the italian type herbs/spices they give you before the main course at fancy restaurants.
-Kibbeh maklieh, sometimes more commonly known as fried kefta, are fried balls of beef and crushed wheat that are stuffed with spiced ground beef and pine nuts.

Kibbeh Makleih!

Another "appetizer" or smaller meal is Al-Rashoof Soup which consists of coarse wheat flour, yogurt and lentils. I was told this is often times served before/with Mansaf.

Found this soup at Souq el Sodfeh (سوق الصدفة) Farmers Market in Jabal al-Weibdeh

Al-Kabseh (also written Kabsa), which Jordanians tell me is a Saudi dish, is red rice with chicken, vegitables, and lots of spices (cardamom, saffron, cinnamon, black lime, bay leaves and nutmeg). Apparently, Mandi is a type of Kabseh so I guess I have tried this type of dish after all. Mandi has probably been my favorite food so far - not including the mezzes! The word "mandi" comes from the Arabic word nada, meaning "dew" which reflects the moist 'dewy' texture of the meat (chicken or lamb) which is cooked special in a tandoor (a cylindrical clay or metal oven). In addition to the meat, there is a redish rice and, yup, a bunch of spices with a delicious red chili sauce to pour on top.

Another common food, both in Jordan, the Levant, and the US, is shish-kebab! Or taouk-kebab if it's chicken and kofta-kebab if it's lamb. Often times you will find that you can order a platter that has all three of these (beef, chicken and lamb) as well as kefta. Kefta. Is. Amazing. It's ground beef or lamb mixed with mixed with cumin, paprika, minced onion, coriander, mint leaves, and parsley. Sometimes people will add cinnamon, cayenne pepper - but it's optional.

Photo credit: Frédérique Voisin-Demery/Flickr

When I think of Maqloobeh I think of pineapple upside down cake but for dinner, and not sweet. You throw tons of chicken, rice, veggies, baharat spice and a few other goodies in a pot being careful as to not stir it while it cooks. After everything is done - you flip the pot over so its sort of like a layered casserole. Sadly when I tried this dish it was at a buffet and wasn't prepared as beautifully as it should of/could of been.  

Manakish, quick, delicious, found on the street everywhere, and in my opinion, quite similar to pizza. Ok, not really but they are shaped the same and sort of look the same. Its pretty much baked flat dough with toppings but no sauce. Toppings include za'atar, cheese (usually one called kashkaval), minced lamb, chili, spinach, fried eggplant and more.
 As they say, save the best for last. Mansaf is by far the most beloved traditional dish in all of Jordan. you haven't tasted Jordanian cuisine until you've tasted mansaf.  lamb cooked in a sauce of fermented dried yogurt and served with rice    served on a large platter with a layer of flatbread (markook or shrak) topped with rice and then meat, garnished with almonds and pine nuts, and then sauce poured over all

The next dishes that are on my "to eat" list (yes, I have one of those) are: Mlokhiye, Konafa, M'askhen, and Bamyeh!

But of course, no meal is complete without argeeleh (shisha) and limon wa nana (mint, sugar, and lemonade blended).

My first limon wa nana :)

Do you have a favorite Jordanian or Levantine food?

Did I miss any good ones?

Dafa tang jër ci Senegal!

Dafa tang jër ci Senegal!

(Its too/so hot in Senegal)

Senegal is the first place I experienced leg sweat, I didn’t know that was a thing. 

My legs were literally dripped sweat, and all I was doing was standing on a bus. 

It’s really hot, all the time – with little to no escape from the heat.  

 #StillBetterThanSnow #IdRatherMeltThanFreeze

The Cornish at sunset, about 1.5km from my house

Transportation à Dakar

One of the first things I noticed about Dakar was the abundance and assortment of shared transportation options! We were all advised to take taxis, which are what you would image: yellow and black, clearly marked cars that drive around and take you from point A to point B. However, they are relatively expensive when compared to other forms of transport and especially when you are on a budget. They range from 500cfa (if you can get the good price) to 3,000cfa ($1- $6) depending on the distance and time of day, and if its raining or not. They told us this would be the safest. But lets be real, only risk takers have fun!

The government owned public transportation is called “Dakar Dem Dikk” – meaning in Wolof – Dakar go and return/come back. They are one solid color, usually greenish and off-white and have a large number and location displayed on a digital sign on the front and back of them. I don’t know the maximum price you can pay on one of these, but prices start at 100cfa and I would imagine no more than 300cfa (20 cents-60 cents). 

Dakar Dem Dikk

Ticket for DDD

 Tatas are also large buses but they are privately owned and not as crowded nor as fast as the Dakar Dem Dikk, or so I’m told. They are white with blue stripes, have numbers displayed on the passenger side of the front window.

Tatas

Ticket for the tatas

Kar Rapids = Literally means fast car - extremely colorful small mini buses that are another form of private transport. These ones are the most fun! The money collector, apparanti bi, literally hangs off the back of the vehicle and has various tapping codes to communicate with the drive, when to stop to let someone off, when to go, etc. These are sometimes packed and you will have to stand and hold onto a bar that runs across the top. This is what I take most often (every day to and from school) and also the cheapest ranging from 50cfa to 200cfa (10 cents – 40 cents). They are also very difficult because you don’t know where each car is going so you have to ask before you get on. The first time I took one, the apparanti bi didn’t speak French, only Wolof, which made me realized ever more how imperative it was to learn Wolof.

Kar Rapid

Ndiaga ndiaye = I may be spelling this wrong as its hard for me to understand exactly what people call this mode of transport. I’m sure it’s Wolof but I have yet to learn its meaning. This private transport is in the form of small mini similar to the kar rapids but buses usually/mostly white and larger. I have only used this once and am still learning how the routes work.

Ndiaga-ndiaye

Clandos, short for clandestine, are privately owned and unmarked cars in certain neighborhoods that are more-or-less like shared taxis. Sometimes they depart from a “clando park” to a certain destination and wait to fill up before they leave, other times you just wait on the side of the street for one to pass by and jump in. These are not found in every neighborhood and I’m still trying to understand where I can and cannot find them.

-The good: There are designated routes for these modes of transportation, for the most part.

-The bad: There are no flyers or pamphlets or an online website you can look at to learn or check the routes – you just ask people.

-The ugly: I’ve gotten on the wrong Dakar dem dikk and when I realized it was going the wrong way, I pretty much jumped off while it was still moving because I didn’t want to go on the highway. But it wasn’t going too fast, don’t worry.

Këru Seck (The Seck House)

I have been with my host family for nearly three weeks and have loved every moment of it. I am living in near the ‘deuxième port de Mermoz” with a large family bearing the last name Seck. I will explain the significance of this last name (and others) in another post. Cousinage is of the utmost importance here in Senegal. You’re name is everything.

Mag, Nox, Samba and a neighborhood friend.

The bracelet on the top was my welcoming gift from the kids when I first arrived.

Worn out after playing all afternoon

As with most African families, the extended family is treated as the nuclear family and deciphering between who is a cousin and who is a brother is not only difficult but also unnecessary as they are one in the same. Those living in the two story house include my host mom (aka yaay) and dad (aka pappa or baay), their son Cheikh, his wife Jorr their two daughters Nox and Mag (pretty sure these are nick-names), a daughter Bijoux and her son Samba who are just on vacation for a month from Italy where they live and Amadou a grandson who is a couple years younger than me and on vacation from school. There is also a live-in domestic helper named Haddi – I’m not sure if she is related or not to the family but she is here all the time and usually does most of the cleaning and cooking. She looks about my age but probably younger.

As expected, my family is Muslim (94% of Senegalese of Muslim) and they are wonderful! Whenever I’m here, Papa goes to pray at the mosque 5 times a day while yaay prays at home. Cheikh and Jorr are both teachers and I believe Cheikh may even be a professor. 

Getting ready for lunch at the beach

-The good: This family is absolutely wonderful! They are the perfect combination of caring and interested while also making sure I have the space I need to recharge the introvert in me. They don’t speak any English – so it’s only French and Wolof!

-The bad: At first I was thrilled to be in a Wolof speaking household, but now I realized that I don’t understand a thing and unless they address me in French so it’s hard to just “hang out” and profit from being around French.

-The ridiculous: I didn’t meet Amadou until I had lived there for about a week – he is rarely around. One day the whole family went to the beach and he was there, we started chatting and asked him if he lived here in Dakar – he had this dumbfounded look on his face – which was when I realized he lived at the same house I did I just never saw him! We laughed about it.   

The "courtyard" in my house. It started to rain so the kids started playing in the puddles that collected.

Lekk yu Senegalese (Senegalese food)

I have two exceptionally fond memories of my first time in Senegal:

The first was the food, lekk bi and the second was the tea, ataaya bi.

Like in many places, Senegal has three major meals: Ndekki (breakfast), Añ (lunch) and Réér (dinner). Ndekki usually consists of a hot beverage like Nescafé and a baguette with chocolate spread inside. Añ is the bigger meal of the day and is usually served after noon, between 1-3pm. People will usually snack sometime in the late afternoon/early evening, maybe eating left over lunch or something else and then have their final meal, réér after evening prays around 9pm but sometimes as late as 10pm.

Traditionally, everyone eats with their hands (right hand only!*) from the same bowl on or near the ground. The “mother” or the person who cooked the meal or the women “in charge” has a big responsibility to make sure the bowl does spin/move (she does this by placing her pointer finger of her left hand on the bowl so it doesn’t move), and that everyone’s eating space is kept full of food (you only eat what is in front of you, don’t dig into other people’s spaces). Often times the meat/chicken/fish is located in the center of the bowl and the woman in charge will distribute it as the meal goes along. Its her job to make sure that everyone is full as well so even when you are done eating and you tell them “Suur naa!” (I'm full) they will continue to convince you to eat. “Lekkal! Lekkal!” (Eat! Eat!). Finally when you cant take it anymore you will say “Dama suur” which also means “I’m full” but there is more emphasis put on being full; this is usually when they will allow you to stop eating.

Traditional dishes I’ve tried so far:

Cebu jen (The national dish of Senegal - a spicy-ish stuffed fish simmered with vegetables – usually over rice)

Cebu ganaar (Same as above but with chicken)

Maafe (chicken or meat stew in a peanut butter sauce with vegetables – usually over rice)

Yassa (chicken or fish marinated in lemon/lime juice with caramelized onions – usually over rice)

Mbaxal (smoked and salted fish with groundnuts, some form of beans and other veggies with rice)

And many other meal sauces over rice or couscous - these may or may not have specific names, I’m not sure at the moment.

Now I just need to learn how to togg, or cook.

*The left hand is considered unholy and dirty in Senegalese culture. It is used when going to the bathroom and never used to give/receive things or to eat. EVER!

-The good: I haven’t tried anything I don’t like. Lepp naa lekk! (I eat everything!)

-The bad: 9pm or 10pm is super late for me to eat and I have a really hard time digesting food after that. I always wake up with a rock in my belly…hoping to adjust soon!

-The funny: My family usually makes the same thing for dinner: a bit of lettuce covered in French fries and meat, chicken or fish with a big loaf of white bread for each of us.

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Soumbedioune: Largest fish market in Dakar

Samay kalaas ci WARC (My classes at WARC)

My schedule here at the West African Research Center (WARC) is packed and I feel like I’m back in high school. I go to school Monday – Friday from 9am-4pm and have an hour-long conversation with our Senegalese partners right after class. Except for Wednesdays, we thankfully have a half-day. I am taking: French Grammar, Francophone African Literature, Country Analysis and Translation and Wolof.

-The good: So much class time! Lots of ups and downs but the classes are terrific!

-The bad: Because we have two levels of French – we have to split the class in two so instead of having our grammar class 13 hours a week we only have it for 7 hours a week and have “free time” in lieu of where we were supposed to have the other classes.

-The sad: Sometimes I feel like my French is getting worse. I am also torn every night between studying French or Wolof.

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Very important phrases that can be said nearly every other sentence:

1.     Alhamdulillah or santé yalla (Arabic/Wolof) – meaning “Thanks to God” or “Thanks be to God”

2.     Inshallah (Arabic) – meaning “God willing”

You can literally insert one of these two phrases in just about ever sentence you make. If you are talking about the present, for example Lekk bi neex na (The food is great) or Jamm rekk (There is only peace) – You insert alhamdulillah or santé yalla at the end – you can even say this after a person says something in the present.

On the contrary, if you talk about events that haven’t happened yet you say inshallah. For example, Ba beneen yoon, inshallah – (See you next time, God willing) or dinnaa degg Wolof, inshallah -  (I will understand Wolof, God willing).

Also other good ones:

Mangiy/Yaangiy/Nungiy ci yoxo yalla! – I/You/We am/are in the hands of God.
Yalla rekk a xam! - Only God knows

People just love when you reference Allah.

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Tabaski, also known as Eid al-Adha meaning "Festival of the sacrifice", is just around the corner so I will hopefully have an update before then. This is arguably the biggest, most celebrated and most anticipated holiday of the year in Senegal and many Islamic countries. Think American’s doing Christmas. It is talked about and prepared for weeks and months in advanced, money is saved up and sheep are plentiful. Yes, sheep. 

For Tabaski, all families are to buy and slaughter a sheep to symbolize and honor the willingness of Ibrahim to sacrifice his promised/given son (Ismail) as an act of submission to Allah's command. In the end he didn’t sacrifice his son because his son turned into a ram at the moment of sacrifice. The meat from the sacrificed goat is then divided into three parts; the family keeps 1/3, another ½ is given to friends/family and the last 1/3 is given to the poor. It’s a really beautiful tradition and I’m exited to be here for it. Last time I was in Senegal it was the weeks before Tabaski so I ended up celebrating in Mali with a group of travelers.

I’ve also finished my Senegal Bucket List for 2015-2017!! I have a lot to do in the next 17 months, lets hope I can accomplish it all! Also, it’s a working document so if you know of anything else I should add just tell me; I’m open to ideas.

Njangu wolof, francais, cosaan ak koor.

Njangu wolof, francais, cosaan ak koor 

My studies of wolof, french, tradition/customs and Ramadan.

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This is my first blog post as a Boren Fellow (more about my plan abroad) and my first blog post as part of my ‘practicum phase’ for my masters program at SIT Graduate Institute.

The on-campus phase of my graduate program came and went as if it was “one long night”..just as one of our professors had warned us it would be during orientation back in August. I felt as if as soon as my boxes were unpacked, my walls decorated and I was moved into the “Sunflower House”, I had to begin repacking my things into boxes and mentally prepare myself to spend exorbitant amounts of money to ship my life to my sister’s house for storage (thank you, Hanna!). Similar to adjusting to cold bucket showers, I’ve also gotten used to letting go of unnecessary material belongings.

But this is the life of a vagabond.
Or perhaps I’m transitioning to a “development” professional?
Either way, this is the life I have chosen.
This is the life I want.

And to be honest, I secretly enjoy both of these things...the cold bucket showers and lack of material possessions (except my books, I cant part with those).

The weeks after leaving Brattleboro and SIT were spent in Wisconsin visiting family and in New England with friends from school. Soon it was time for the Convocation and Orientation for the Boren Fellowship in DC. To say the least, this was an interesting three-day experience and I’m not really sure what I was expecting to get. It was a mix of government propaganda, basic study abroad orientation, advice on how to not become a spy against the US government and a dash of “big brother is watching you” rhetoric. 

Me and Carl (friend from SIT) at the Boren Orientation. He's going to Brazil!

In all honesty, I didn’t learn anything from this experience and was overall disappointed by the entire seminar. I felt the money could have been better spent elsewhere. However, I do understand that these fellows (graduate/doctoral students) and scholars (undergraduate students) have varying levels of experiences and expectations and I’m sure NSEP and Boren did the best that they could. One conclusion I came to which I constantly remind myself of even now as I am in Florida is this: for some, this is a semester study abroad/exchange program and even the first time out of the US…but for others, this is a professional development opportunity that will likely launch them into their career and even published research. On a personal note, I’ve become more aware of my need to be accepting of this difference and the variety of people participating in the program.

For once in my life, I am "the old person". 

And I am learning a lot.

Everyone has scooters here - its really exciting and I am jealous.

African Flagship Language Initiative at University Florida-Gainesville

My first impressions of Gainesville and UF: hot; sticky; lots of alcohol; party town; flat; rape culture (may do another post about this soon); hot; generally privileged population (UF); massive school. After a couple of weeks, the area really started to grow on me, but then again maybe I just like the way a tan looks on me. I’m subletting from a bunch of fraternity guys and living with four other students who are all part of the AFLI program (two going to Tanzania for Swahili and two going to Mozambique for Portuguese). The neighborhood is great; the apartment is the most bougie place I’ve ever lived and its walking distance to my classes and some cafes for study time!

Class Photo: (L to R) Jacky, Brenda, Olivia, Kayla, Me and Oumar.

I came to Gainesville for a seven-week intensive language study of Advanced French and Survival Wolof. I am in this class with four other women of which I am the oldest: two fellows and three scholars. Of the seven weeks program – the first and last week will be spent on Wolof and the middle five are French. After the first week of Wolof, I was able to introduce myself, my friends and members of my family while giving a very little background of where I come from and what I do. I can negotiate a taxi price (très importante!) and go through basic salutations. Salutations are so important in Senegal, you must always be sure to greet everyone! Wolof is the most common language in Senegal while French, the language of the colonizer, is used more in formal settings (ie: school, business, government).

Without any delay, we dove right into Senegalese culture, politics and history by picking up our first novel, “Une Si Longue Lettre” (So Long a Letter) by Mariama Ba – this book is sometimes referred to as the feminist manifesto of Senegal and was written in the post independence era. It depicts several strong female characters while giving an honest critique of polygamy, a practice that is still very common in Senegal today. A heart-string pulling fiction, I recommend this book to anyone interested in stories of love, friendship, independence and liberation through the eyes of Senegalese women. They have a translated version!

Our class is about to finish our second book, “La Greve des Battu” (The Beggars Strike) by Aminata Sow Fall and will begin our last book, “Le Ventre de l'Atlantique” (The Belly of the Atlantic) by Fatou Diome, next week. 

Several months ago I found an article (totally worth reading!) and a video (totally worth watching!) showing Fatou Diome as she eloquently and fearlessly detailed the "migrant crisis" in Europe (mostly in the Atlantic and Mediterranean). Explaining the hypocritical stance France has taken towards its immigrants, she states, “If they were Whites, the whole Earth would be shaking now. Instead, it’s Blacks and Arabs who are dying and their lives are cheaper.” Low and behold, during the first week of classes I not only find out that we will be reading her book on migration/immigration but also that my instructor, Oumar Ba, was the author of the article I read months ago!! 

In the last couple of years I’ve began to realize how often we (as Westerners, those from “developed countries”) read about people and situations through the lens of people just like us. What do I mean by this? I mean that our history books in school, talking about the Trail of Tears and Jim Crow Era are written by white people (usually males) which gives an extremely limited and often distorted viewpoint. When reading, we read books written by Americans and Europeans (usually men): the knowledge keepers, the knowledge creators and the knowledge protectors (For more on this – read Michel Foucault’s Power/Knowledge). For example, when I tried to find books and articles online about Senegal, the most popular results were those written by white men and women who in essence – went to Senegal – collected information – came back to their respective countries – and wrote a book which defined what Senegal is and who Senegalese people are. That is not ok. To be clear, I am not saying this knowledge doesn’t have value (it does!) – but it’s important to realize its limitations and to fill those gaps with the words of the actual people you are reading about.

For this reason and many more, I was immediately thrilled to have Oumar as our instructor for the summer. Not only was he Senegalese and gave us three books written by Senegalese authors, but they were written by Senegalese women! An even more marginalized and unheard group. Throughout our course thus far, we have watched movies by Ousman Sembene (the father of African Cinema), learned about people like Annette Mbaye d'Erneville (the first Senegalese with a degree in Journalism), the influential political M23 movement, including Y'en A Marre! (We're fed up!) and Touche Pas Ma Constitution! (Dont touch my constitution!) as well as watched countless Senegalese and/or West African music videos everyday giving us a taste of the nightlife and traditional music before we go.

One story that stood out to me was the story of “The Women of Nder”. A tragic and powerful story which took place in 1819 in Nder, a village in the North of Senegal. This village, as like many others during this time, had a history of resisting and falling victim to the Moore warriors and slave trade. While the men of Nder were off fighting the Moores one day, a woman saw another group of the Moore warriors crossing the river on their way to Nder. They knew what awaited them, the same fate of their mothers and grandmothers before them, a life of enslavement and shame. Instead of giving up – they sent the elders and children to hid in a nearby fields and armed themselves with everything they could find to fight off the warriors! They won the first attack, but they knew a second was coming and that it would be too much for them to handle. The women of the village decided they would rather take death and honor than slavery. Collectively, the women burned themselves in a massive fire before the Moores arrived to take them captive.

This story and so many others we have read/watched highlight the long-standing Senegalese tradition of resistance, preservation and dignity.

The best part about all of this learning = ALL of it is done in French!!

Reading our book French book while waiting for our drinks and food to come.

We also have conversation partners we meet with three nights a week who also double as our "host family" for two weekends throughout the program. Our get together was on my birthday (June 27th) and because it was during the holy month of Ramadan (June 18 - July 16), we decided to wait until Baye (our conversation partner) was ready to break fast for the day. Traditionally in Senegal, fast is broken everyday with Ndoogu, a special celebration and meal that is usually comprised of fried dough of some sort, dates and other small snacks along side of bissap (hibiscus juice), tea and/or coffee, followed by evening prayers and then a larger meal.

Our weekend "host family" with Baye - Celebrated with an Ndoogu!

Read this super short and concise article about Ramadan to get a little more information.

This year for Ramadan, I decided to fast once a week. Starting on a Thursday June 18th, I allowed myself water during the day but the following two weeks I had no water (and obviously no food). This last week I missed the day of fasting because we had free food for orientation (I couldn't miss that) so I shall make it up next week, the last week, by doing two. Friday is Eid al-Fitr which marks the end of Ramadan and the breaking of fast. While I'm in Senegal next year, I will more than likely fast for the entire month as the majority of the country (95% of the population is Muslim) will be fasting.

Center for African Studies at UF and Potential of a PhD

After a couple of weeks here at the University of Florida-Gainesville, it finally dawned on me why Boren sent all of us here to learn these languages. The Center for African Studies, the department that hosts the AFLI Program I am studying with, is one of the largest (if not thee largest) African research institutions in the US! The Center has over 100-affiliated teaching and research faculty in several disciplines (e.g.: languages, humanities, agriculture, business, engineering, law and more). They produce the African Studies Quarterly and have tons of opportunities for Masters/Doctoral degrees, funding and research/professional development opportunities. I’ve been thinking about a PhD sometime in the future, but didn’t know where to start looking since I had always went to smaller schools. Like they say, everything happens for a reason so I’ve decided to make some connections here and look more into the programs they offer for the future.

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I also had my 26th birthday in Gainesville!! My best friend Sarah come up from Southern Florida to visit, I had some friends at my house for drinks and hooka then took off to the club for some dancing!

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I leave for Senegal in 27 days.

I plan to stay for 18 months.

I’ve been working on a country profile for Senegal; hope to have that done soon.

I’ve also been working on a bucket list of things I want to do in Senegal, just like that one for Cameroon. 

"We know of course there's really no such thing as the 'voiceless'. There are only the deliberately silenced, or the preferably unheard."
- Arundhati Roy

N'DEP - Yoff, Senegal

Yoff, Dakar, Senegal

The N'DEP Ritual of Yoff, Dakar, Senegal

There are some people who believe in two worlds: the :”human world” and the “spirit world”. The human world is the world that we live every day. It's tangible, factual and real. Things in the human world are consistent, practical and often times provable. In this world which we all know and embrace, most things are simple and clear - just as night and day. But, many Westerners have not heard of the spirit world and most of those who have are not able to conceptualize what it actually means therefore it is easily written off and disregarded. The spirit world is and entire other world inside of our own. Here, things are less tangible; ghost, spirits witchcraft, fetishes and more. For most, the idea of ​​a spirit world is quite preposterous and even comical. But to their disbelieve, the spirit world is much more than beliefs and superstitions - it's tradition, a lifestyle and a way to stay connected to their ancestors. For those who believe, there's lot of respect and fear of this world. I am convinced that those who don’t believe because continue to do so because they chose not to understand.

In the village of Yoff, in Dakar, Senegal, I experienced the spirit world with my own eyes for the first time. Previous to this experience, I had had several encounters with friends and colleagues telling “stories” of the spirit world, but to me, there were just that - stories.

My first night in Yoff, I was invited to an N'DEP by Djibi Mbaye, my new friend who was a traditional Griot drummer. Griots are found throughout West Africa and are essentially a member of a class or society who are poets, musicians and/or storytellers and their purpose is to maintain the tradition and oral history. Often times, most so historically, they are the lower and uneducated class and it’s a profession passed from father to son. Djibi was to pick me up at 22:00 - I didn't know what to wear, I didn’t know where we were going, I didn’t what to expect. I clung to the one sentence of advice I received was from and friend who had studied abroad a in the same area a few months before I arrive: "Be ready for some crazy shit." With empty hands, Djibi and I left my compound. 

That night was the first night of the ritual of the N'DEP and it was to continue for the rest of the week (5 days total), twice a day (once at noon and once late in the evening). Our pace was slow but I was still sweating, it was hot season and unless you engulfed yourself with air-conditioning, there was no escaping the sweltering heat. As we wove through the narrow alleyways I could feel the hot sand between my toes. Yoff was so close to the Atlantic Ocean, it was nearly covered in sand. Suddenly, I could hear drums in the distance. We followed suite. Soon we arrived to a circle type gathering of about 30 people. Djibi took his place among the drummers and motioned for me to sit on the bench with the other drummers. I was feeling insecure, clueless and frankly a bit frightened but nobody seemed to pay attention to me. All of the drummers were Griot and played together in some sort of "band" where they are hired for various ceremonies such as an N'DEP or a SABAR. The size of those watching began to get bigger and drumbeats became stronger. Women wearing radiant colors and patters started dancing while they would give a kick and cause sand to go everywhere. The atmosphere was tense and I could tell the ritual was ready to begin.

Seven women with the same fabric but different styles of clothes entered the corner from the crowd. I didn't know where they came from but a man was following them. The women chanted in the microphone and danced around the circle. At this point, my French was terrible and Djibi didn't speak English so we weren’t able to really communicate. He leaned over to me and explained that all of the women in the fabric had at one point been cured by an N'DEP, or at least that’s what I got out of our broken French. Suddenly there was a cry from the back and two young women, both looking to be about 20 years of age, appear in the corner wearing darker pattered dresses and cowrie shelled headbands. 

"Who's that?" I ask Djibi motioning towards the two young girls. Before jumping into the next song he muttered, "Elles sont malade dans le tete, elles ont besoin l’N'DEP” meaning: Those girls are sick in the head, they need the N'DEP. And there it began.

The N'DEP is a ritual of drums, dancing and singing and is used for what the Western world might call a mental patient. The purpose of the ritual is to extract the “wrab” from the person who is sick. A wrab is a lost ancestral spirit who sometimes possesses a person, often a young woman. The wrab attacks the person with a physical or mental illness of any kind. Occasionally, there is even a sacrifice, for example, a chicken, in addition to the N'DEP. The N'DEP is headed by a female religious specialist sometimes know as a witch doctor. This is preformed twice a day and between 3 -7 days to ensure full recovery and full extraction of the spirit. This was all information I learned prior to my experience but I thought I should share before continuing with my written account of what I saw. Djibi’s friend explained to me that wrabs are more dangerous during the day, especially if you are young woman. The wrab can seep into your hair and you will become possessed just like that. Since the objective of the N'DEP to remove the evil spirit, sometimes the spirits are expelled and look for another host to posses right then and there. As she explained these details, she wrapped a bracelet of cowrie shells around my hand. “These” she explained, “will protect you from spirits and witchcraft.” Griot drummers are hired for these ceremonies because the beats which they play remove the wrap. The witch doctor which prescribes the ceremony often times will do a protective blessing for the drumming group to ward off any bad spirits. These were all things I wish I had known before hand but were useful for my research regardless.

The drumming became more intense and so did the dancing. The djembe drums shook the sand, I could feel the vibrations internally. One of the women seemed to fall into some sort of trance and crashed into the sand. She twisted and rolled across the sand as if she was having a seizure. She paid no attention to her surroundings. The drumbeat got louder then faster still. The possessed woman pulled at her hair - she was clearly distraught. Meanwhile, another woman fell into a trance as she leaped forward in the sand and began trying to swim. The music was so loud I couldn’t even hear myself think. I could feel sweat dripping down my body. The drummer to my left hit his drum with such force that his sweat splashed onto me nearly every note.  

Another cry burst out - but this time, it came from the crowd. While I was searching for where it came from, the woman fell into a trance. All of the women were doing something different at this point. One was rolling in the sand, another jumping around the circle waving her arms and another was being held by a woman to ensure her safety. After a few minutes, the drums became slow and the women grew tired. The beat stops and everyone took a few moments to recuperate. A cup of water was passed to everyone in the drumming group to refresh themselves; they looked exhausted.

At this point, I noticed something very strange and symbolic. Every drummer dipped their drumstick (which was essentially a stick from a local hard wooded tree) into the water cup before they drank it. Perhaps it is for protection against the spirit; I was never able to figure that out due to my poor French. Someone called into the microphone and the drums began to play again. Quickly, another woman fell into a trance: that was the 4th woman to 'lose it'. I thought it was odd that neither of the two young ladies whom the N'DEP were for had fallen into a trance. I looked at my watch and saw that it was about 01:00. A woman began passing around two bottles of coke to all of the women helping to preform the N'DEP. Suddenly they began fighting for it. The older woman won and began pouring the soda all over her body and throughout her hair.

One of the women in a mad manner stumbled up to a drummer, grabbed his drum like the horns of a bull and began violently shaking herself up and down in a ‘head banging’ sort of manner. The woman who had won the Coke battle was rolling and twisting about in the sand. Each and every inch of her body was covered in specs of sand.  As if the heat was too much and her shirt too constricting, she removed it from her body and threw it across the sand covered platform. The others came to her rescue by tying a piece of fabric around her waist as they slowly pulled her to the side. I was finally able to take my eyes off of the N'DEP and turned to look at the crowds reaction to all of this. It seemed as though no one was surprised by any of the behavior. I suppose that sort of ceremony was quite common in Yoff. I was still oblivious to what everything meant and due the language barrier between Djibi and I – I had no other choice but to wait patiently and soak in every single movement and gesture which I deemed significant or puzzling.

A small, old woman stood up from the crowd and began dancing as she was cheered on by laughter. The two young women finally made their appearance running wild around the circle with a rope of cowrie shells above their heads. In an uncontrolled manner, they were jumping and twisting about as they ran around the open circle. Their wraps had finally seemed to be coming out; they were now on the ground rolling about. The older women helped keep them sage and under control with the same fabric wrap around the waist.

Due to my proximity to the drummers, I internally noticed as their beats began to subside. The vibrations of the drums on my skin diminished and the intensity of the atmosphere dropped. It seems to be the end of the ritual. The same woman who had brought them into the circle at the beginning carried out the young girls. It was as if they had vanished. Djibi signaled for me and we like that, we were gone.

My mind was racing as we meandered the narrow paths of sand in Yoff. Due to the extreme heat during the dry season, many people were still awake. We passed a man sleeping on a mat outside his home. Before dropping me off, Djibi and I made plans for later that day. There was another session of the N'DEP to take place around noon. Just as my head hit the pillow, I was out.

I awoke to the sound of my fan, legs tangled in my sheets, and ears ringing from the intensity of the drums just hours earlier. Soon noon was upon me and my friend Abdul Aziz accompanied me to the N'DEP. Again, we could hear the drumbeat getting louder and louder. My heart began to beat faster and faster as we approached. I turned to Aziz and said, “Come with me today.” He replied saying, "I don’t believe in those things. Plus, they are only for women and children. I cannot go.” He told me the men of the neighborhood would strongly disapprove if he went: it would be a risk of their masculinity and their reputation they were seen there. According to him, things of this are for women because they are the guardians of traditional religion. As I turned to part ways, he stopped me to advise me, "Antonia, you have to wear your hair up. Do not allow anyone to touch your hair and do not talk to people who are not friends with Djibi. This slightly confused me and I wrote it off to paranoia. In hindsight after my research, I realize he was trying to protect me from the wrab.

I followed the drumming and arrived at the same location where we were the previous night. I snuck in through the back as the N'DEP was already underway and greeted Djibi who was out front playing the talking drum. I took my seat next to drummers. It was mid day and the sun was at its highest. Fortunately for us, the tarp over our heads deflected the worst of the brutal midday heat. A woman was circling around selling frozen hibiscus juice; it failed to cool me off.

 

The women who were the most hysterical yesterday sat on the side watching with a surprising calm demeanor. This change really had me puzzled. I had so many unanswered questions about this ceremony and I began to challenge my own preconceived notions and understanding of the spirit of the world. After about an hour of the ritual, similar to the night before, I looked for the nearest exit; I needed to collect my thoughts. At first, I thought this entire experience was hysterical. But in a very short period of time my ignorant laughter had been turned into fear and subsequently reconstructed into curiosity and I became intrigued. Then it dawned on me, I had witnessed the most extraordinary and idiosyncratic occasions of my life and its events have remain vivid in my mind ever since.

Keeping an open mind is at the heart of acceptance, tolerance and infinite knowledge. During this transformative period of my life, I was able to generate thoughtful questions which I hoped would give me clarity on what I had seen so I could find closure and understanding. To my dismay, often times my questions were unable to be really elucidated. The unexplainable is sometimes frightening but I encourage everyone to embrace it. It would be unjustifiable to totally write off what I had seen as if it were some sort of theater piece or a make believe fairytale. However, it is also foolish in the eyes of many Westerners to believe that ancestral spirit can possess a person and that drum beats will cure them. For those who have lived only to the human world, I would urge you to open yourself up to an alternative world - the spirit world. Embrace mystery, discover alternative thoughts, listen to the stories of others and always keep and open mind and an open heart.

Read more about my travels in Senegal.