Home Sweet Home

I still can barely wrap my mind around it-- I am now an official resident of Dakar!  Last week I was a visitor, albeit a very welcome one, but now I have a home here.  A new family.  And even a new name!  No more than ten minutes following my arrival than my host father Papy Jo exclaimed, “A name!  My daughter has to have a name!”  Having written my name down for them moments earlier, I sat there rather stunned, as suddenly it dawned on me that the heated Wolof conversation that ensued was a naming ceremony of sorts—for me!  They decided on "Amy Diallo" [pronounced Amie], after my host mother’s little sister.  Since that time, I have not once heard my actual name-- I suppose I am in the process of developing a Senegalese alter ego!

My mother, Mama Fat Kane, is a formidable woman and a skilled entrepreneur who cultivates rice fields in the north.  Though she constantly rotates between correcting both my French and Wolof, telling me what to do, and commanding me to eat, I have decided to believe that she likes me deep, deep down, as she does the same with her own grown children!  Papy Jo is a kind, good-humored man in his mid-eighties: after introducing me to Mama Fat Kane, he gestured wildly at the word “fat,” winking at me and whispering that we must not tell her what it means in English.  He is no longer able to walk on his own, so he spends the day sitting in the living room talking to whoever is there to listen—thus far, he’s told me stories about his psychology research in Canada, his experience advising the ministers of education in France and of desertification in Libya, as well his work with city planning here in Dakar.

Depending on the position of the moon, either tomorrow or Thursday will be the Muslim celebration of Korité, marking the end of Ramadan (and the fasting that accompanies it).  Because of this, there is currently a surplus of 15 people living in my house…as well as a sheep on the terrace, which I’m pretty sure we’ll be eating during the festival!

To give you a vague idea of what my interactions have been like with my family (which take place in a jumbled mix of Wolof and French), here is a quick anecdote that pretty much sums everything up:

Last night I had a conversation with my parents about how much I love to dance and ballet in particular.  A few minutes later, Mama Fat Kane asked if I would please sweep the house for her.  Unfortunately for me, the French word for sweep is “balaie,” and so, thinking I’d just been ordered to do ballet, I took off my shoes and turned a quick pirouette…needless to say, after staring at me speechless for a few minutes, the entire family burst out laughing, and tears ran down Papy’s face.

And then they gave me a broom…embarrassing, yes, but c’est la vie!

Ba benen yoon,

Janelle/ Amy Diallo