First, I threw myself to the wolves today. There is always a kind of a power struggle here and age wins out, no matter what. In fact, the whole society is ordered this way. Good behavior is determined by the elders, people are accepted or rejected based on what the elder members of the community say, and it goes on and on. Every task is determined the same way, as a young person, you will be told how everything should be done—the laundry, the mopping, even how to cut an onion. This can be pretty annoying if you are university-educated foreigner who thinks she has a pretty good idea of how to cut an onion and doesn’t want to be pushed around. Worse yet is when the Wolofs around you decide after 30 seconds that you are physically incapable of cutting onions and refuse to let you try any more. But in the end, I decided to put myself to this test, knowing that if the gamble worked, the payoff would be enormous.
The test was “moyne” the act of mixing millet flour and water in a big calabash bowl to make tiny grains that will be made into couscous. Believe it or not, the process is pretty tricky and there is (of course) a specific technique to get the most perfect grains, not too dry, not too big, not too clumpy. It was awfully scary sitting in the middle of all the big-shot Wolof grandmothers and trying it, but I actually succeeded and the chorus of praise (WAAW Koumba! Waaw kaaye!) was definitely worth it. I knew that my acceptance was confirmed when I kept getting meat thrown in front of me at the bowl at lunch by an imposing grandmother with a very toothy smile.
The second story is courtesy of my neighbor Neil. The post here in Senegal is extremely expensive, but every once in a while we just have to mail something out. Neil wanted to mail a little music and a couple other things to a friend, but his package was going to cost him 8.000 cfa, which is just too much (about $16). The postman told him that if he could reduce the weight by 4 grams, the price would be cut in half. The two of them dissected the package, looking for something to throw out. Turning up nothing, the postman simply took the cd case, held the cover firmly, cracked it in half and threw out the piece not attached to the hinge. Problem solved.
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