August 24, 2012
It took me a second to think of the date right there. Or the day of the week. I think it's thur-nope-friday. It has to be Friday because there was the grand prayer at 12:30 today. The days are blending together, forming a beautiful string of events, like a necklace of colorful beads. I went out to the field today with the whole fam: Babba, Fadi, their eldest daughter Vimsa, Vimsa's newborn baby (on my back), Nenne, Vimsa's son Abdou, Puppy, and another little dog that I named Smudge (because he is always filthy). I hadn't been out to their field since my dad came to visit back in March; ah that is terrible how does the time fly by this quickly? Let's say that the field has changed only slightly since I was out there in March (noted sarcasm). What were before dry patches of dirt are now full of life. All that was brown and bleak before is now green. And every shade of green imagineable. The light green of corn that "manque l'engraine", needs fertilizer. The deep green of bean plants just sprouting out of the ground. The difference in green between cucumber and melon vines.
The corn that Babba planted in May is already ready. Babba chopped down the stalks, and we pilled them vertically into a huge column. They will dry like that for several weeks, and then the cobs will be taken off. To take the kernels off, the husks will first be removed from the cobs. Then all the cobs will be laid out of the ground and tapped with large sticks to remove to kernels. Then the kernels will be collected, sacked up, and stored for the year (or sold in the markets). What would happen in America if the livelihood of a family (as in if they will EAT or not for the year) depended on months and months of MANUAL labor? It is literally all physical labor. The only exception is hiring cows and a plough to turn the ground before planting the corn or beans. And even with the cows, there is still a great deal of labor involved to plant the seeds, cover the trough, and man the heavy plough...I have a feeling not many American families would survive.
If tomorrow, for any reason (take your pick: aliens, end of oil, Romney wins the election), there is an apocalypse or a change in the world as we know it, this village would not change. If Americans could no longer buy corn flakes or any of the other million things purchased in grocery stores, there would be complete anarchy. If there was a food scarce in America and people had to learn how to grow/gather their own food, it would not be pretty. Things here in my little village, though, wouldn't change. Maybe subtle things; like right now I wouldn't hear music playing from a generator at 9:16pm because there would no longer be gas. Or maybe less people would travel through Gangassaou on the road because there wouldn't be gas to power the cars. But, overall, few things would change. People would keep growing and harvesting corn and beans. They would still eat cous-cous and sauce and cook using firewood. They would still celebrate child's naming ceremonies, marriages and boy's circumsicions with a traditional guitar and empty plastic tubs for the drums. I can safely safe that, if things get crazy over in America (if the end of consumerism as we know unfolds), I'll be staying right here thank you.
After we stacked one fields-worth of corn stalks into two huge columns, I helped Fadi plant some peatmont that she had brought down with her. We had to clear a part of the corn field to do that. Then it was "repos" time and we chilled under their stick hut and ate fresh corn. We cooked it unevenly over the fire (some kernels were yellow and others were burnt black) but it was still scrumptious. Puppy and Smudge enjoyed the corn, too. And then we hit the road (muddy path) back to the village; but not before collecting firewood and cucumbers beforehand. Nenne's cucumber count for the day: 5. Mine: 0. Maybe I don't know what cucumber plants look like when they are interspersed with three other types of vines? Whoops.
In the evening, Fadi and I hit the road up one village from us for a circumsision party (it wasn't really a party, but that's the best way that the French translates). The three boys got circumsised three days ago at the hospital (thank Jesussssss. Last year when I was here it was done by a traditional doctor in the village. Tell me that there is probably nothing more frightening than being a 7-year old boy and having a traditional doctor come at your "boyhood" with a razor...) and then went to a hut in the next village over "to heal". They hung out there for three days and, I'm assuming, played, prayed and ate. For the party afterwards, and to bring the boys back home, all the parents get together and hire traditional music and dance and dance. Fadi and I came in late to the party, but they are probably still dancing right now. Fadi danced a bit; I didn't. It makes too much of a spectable when I dance. The mentality among people isn't "oh come dance with us, it will be fun". It is "oh look the white girl is dancing. Look at how she dances. It's so funny". I would prefer the first and would dance to that; but unfortunately the mentality is always the second.
And then Fadi and I came back to the village, where Puppy was waiting at the hospital on the outskirts of Gangassaou for our return.
It took me a second to think of the date right there. Or the day of the week. I think it's thur-nope-friday. It has to be Friday because there was the grand prayer at 12:30 today. The days are blending together, forming a beautiful string of events, like a necklace of colorful beads. I went out to the field today with the whole fam: Babba, Fadi, their eldest daughter Vimsa, Vimsa's newborn baby (on my back), Nenne, Vimsa's son Abdou, Puppy, and another little dog that I named Smudge (because he is always filthy). I hadn't been out to their field since my dad came to visit back in March; ah that is terrible how does the time fly by this quickly? Let's say that the field has changed only slightly since I was out there in March (noted sarcasm). What were before dry patches of dirt are now full of life. All that was brown and bleak before is now green. And every shade of green imagineable. The light green of corn that "manque l'engraine", needs fertilizer. The deep green of bean plants just sprouting out of the ground. The difference in green between cucumber and melon vines.
The corn that Babba planted in May is already ready. Babba chopped down the stalks, and we pilled them vertically into a huge column. They will dry like that for several weeks, and then the cobs will be taken off. To take the kernels off, the husks will first be removed from the cobs. Then all the cobs will be laid out of the ground and tapped with large sticks to remove to kernels. Then the kernels will be collected, sacked up, and stored for the year (or sold in the markets). What would happen in America if the livelihood of a family (as in if they will EAT or not for the year) depended on months and months of MANUAL labor? It is literally all physical labor. The only exception is hiring cows and a plough to turn the ground before planting the corn or beans. And even with the cows, there is still a great deal of labor involved to plant the seeds, cover the trough, and man the heavy plough...I have a feeling not many American families would survive.
If tomorrow, for any reason (take your pick: aliens, end of oil, Romney wins the election), there is an apocalypse or a change in the world as we know it, this village would not change. If Americans could no longer buy corn flakes or any of the other million things purchased in grocery stores, there would be complete anarchy. If there was a food scarce in America and people had to learn how to grow/gather their own food, it would not be pretty. Things here in my little village, though, wouldn't change. Maybe subtle things; like right now I wouldn't hear music playing from a generator at 9:16pm because there would no longer be gas. Or maybe less people would travel through Gangassaou on the road because there wouldn't be gas to power the cars. But, overall, few things would change. People would keep growing and harvesting corn and beans. They would still eat cous-cous and sauce and cook using firewood. They would still celebrate child's naming ceremonies, marriages and boy's circumsicions with a traditional guitar and empty plastic tubs for the drums. I can safely safe that, if things get crazy over in America (if the end of consumerism as we know unfolds), I'll be staying right here thank you.
After we stacked one fields-worth of corn stalks into two huge columns, I helped Fadi plant some peatmont that she had brought down with her. We had to clear a part of the corn field to do that. Then it was "repos" time and we chilled under their stick hut and ate fresh corn. We cooked it unevenly over the fire (some kernels were yellow and others were burnt black) but it was still scrumptious. Puppy and Smudge enjoyed the corn, too. And then we hit the road (muddy path) back to the village; but not before collecting firewood and cucumbers beforehand. Nenne's cucumber count for the day: 5. Mine: 0. Maybe I don't know what cucumber plants look like when they are interspersed with three other types of vines? Whoops.
In the evening, Fadi and I hit the road up one village from us for a circumsision party (it wasn't really a party, but that's the best way that the French translates). The three boys got circumsised three days ago at the hospital (thank Jesussssss. Last year when I was here it was done by a traditional doctor in the village. Tell me that there is probably nothing more frightening than being a 7-year old boy and having a traditional doctor come at your "boyhood" with a razor...) and then went to a hut in the next village over "to heal". They hung out there for three days and, I'm assuming, played, prayed and ate. For the party afterwards, and to bring the boys back home, all the parents get together and hire traditional music and dance and dance. Fadi and I came in late to the party, but they are probably still dancing right now. Fadi danced a bit; I didn't. It makes too much of a spectable when I dance. The mentality among people isn't "oh come dance with us, it will be fun". It is "oh look the white girl is dancing. Look at how she dances. It's so funny". I would prefer the first and would dance to that; but unfortunately the mentality is always the second.
And then Fadi and I came back to the village, where Puppy was waiting at the hospital on the outskirts of Gangassaou for our return.
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