Eating to live- Senegalese Village Diet

I just realized I have yet to write a blog on the thing that I think about the most- FOOOOOODD!!! obviously....So I am going to try to give you all a run down on the typical Senegalese village diet and table manners, or should I say dirt manners?

First off I will give you a summary village meals. Lunch is always plain rice with peanut sauce. The sauce is made by boiling water, then adding peanut butter to it. A special stick is used to stir this mixture which makes it boil up and become fluffier. Spices, pounded onion, pepper and occasionally dried fish (gross) or small bits of meat are added for flavor. In general this sauce, mafee, is not bad it is just becomes kinda drab when you eat it every day.

My favorite sauce

There are two dinner options for me. One is a couscous that is made either or millet or corn with a sauce served over it. My favorite is when there is couscous with a leaf sauce that is made by boiling leaves, and then adding spice and ground peanuts (right now squash is also added giving me a real vegtable!). My other dinner option is boiled corn that turns into a kind of mush and then has either a peanut or leafy sauce in the middle. When I first got here I could not stomach any of the mush but now, I have gotten used to it... Never thought I would say that.

For special events cheeb is cooked. This is rice that is cooked with oil and spices. Then a few veggies are fried up to serve on top and if you are lucky, fish is fried and put on top as well. I do not particularly like cheeb as it just means oily rice, no sauce, and in my case only a small bite of fried cassava, but other volunteers eat cheeb everyday for lunch and see a pile of veggies in the center. I only saw that many veggies for Tabaski, the biggest holiday of the year.

Something I find particularly cool is that for the first time in my life I am completely eating seasonally. For instance, I had never seen a squash here until about a month ago when there was a massive harvest in my village and now I get a bite of squash everyday. Squash is usually boiled or fried and is a delicious addition. Before squash it was okra, and before bitter tomato and before that it was... humm I forget!

Plato-y food, when the sauce is good I can handle it!

Much to my mother and grandmother's chagrin, but to my pleasure, I eat with my hands here!! Myself and 8 other women crowd around one bowl for meals, using only our right hand to scoop out rice from the portion of the bowl directly in front of us. To get the sauce you kinda pull some of the sauce from the center to the rice, roll it in your hand for a bit, then those it in your mouth, licking off the remainder of the sauce. If I did not look attractive when eating before I came to this country, there is no WAY I look anything less than hideous now.

Lastly, I want to clarify that what I eat is totally different from Anna, who is a mere 10 km away from me, and is completely different from what someone would eat 70 km away in Tamba. Every village is different and every family is different. I recently discovered that my family's food is especially poor and there are other compounds in my village that eat more fish, meat, veggies etc... Yes, I have been using this knowledge to my advantage and eating food at other homes :)

People love it when I eat at their home. The funny part is that I am always given my own bowl, as I am a special guest, and then brought in a room to eat alone. Either that or a few people will awkwardly watch me eat by myself as they wait for their bowl. I compare this to having a visitor in the states, sitting them in front of the table as the rest of the house goes and watches TV. Weird right? Gotta love culture! 

While I sure do miss American food and find myself dreaming (literally) about salad bars, multigrain bread, Mexican food, asparagas and shrimp...ok i need to stop making this list...I have found that because I often have no choice of what I am eating, I have learned how to eat to live, not live to eat, which is something that us Americans love to do.
With that said, every time I go into Tamba I shove myself with goodies and treats and delicious care packages that you all have provided me. Sooooo I have definitely not made it a rule for myself but it is an interesting thing to think about and man am I excited to not eat rice ever again!!!!!!!

My favorite baby!! Aminata, isnt she adorable! And yes, very dirty :P

Rediscovering my Roots

Best picnic spot

In preparation for the 400 km bike ride over the preceding 6 days, I packed my backpack full of the necessities- one shirt, one tent, one skirt, one book, underwear, soap, and LOTS of snacks. Bits of all of you came with me- padded bike shorts from mom, map from dad, shirt from Deb, art tools from Jill, and goodies that were hungrily consumed from the rest of you. We all appreciated it sooo much and all of you were in my thoughts! 

Chrissie, Alicia and I sleepily departed the Tambacounda regional house on Christmas Eve morning with zero expectations. I desperately needed to get away from my region as I was going a little stir crazy after repeating the same routine for over 2 months. 

Our first clue of crossing over the border into a different country, and a former British colony, was when we saw a ‘Police’ car pass us on the road (instead of Gendarme) followed by children eagerly chasing our bikes and simultaneously shouting ‘Helloooo, How are you’. It was bizarre. I forgot how accustomed I have become to everyone speaking French! Greeting people in English and being able to negotiate prices in my native tongue was a whole different ball game that I never got used to.

Wassu Stone Circles

The other linguistic bonus for me was that the majority of the country is Mandinka, meaning I could finally use my language skills that I have been so diligently working on. This is something I can rarely do in Senegal as most people do not speak a Mande language. I had not expected this but I was getting a vacation away from Senegal. 

Contrary to its obscure geographic proximity (look at a map) and ethnic similarities, the differences did not end with the English language. Because of the size, colonial histories, current presidential situation, and more, the Gambia and Senegal are two very different countries. 

Ferry crossing, the man refused to accept money from us to pay for the ticket

Most of our days we took slowly, leisurely riding past ponds, tropical forests, swarms of birds and the adjacent river. We stopped in villages and asked for water when thirsty, ate next to picturesque landscape when hungry, and napped under the shade of trees when tired (although were often interrupted from these naps by herds of cows, curious children and concerned adults).






In total we biked over 430 kilometers although the time flew by due to the lax pace and good company- we impressively sang all of 100 bottles of beers on the wall, played 21 questions for hours and discussed everything from the validity of obscure cereal flavors to pigmy rituals.

The scenery, company and fresh air were enough to make a perfect trip but what was truly the icing on the cake were the people who we met on the way. While I do not know why, we collectively decided that Gambians are friendlier than Senegalese people, which was a touching reminder of why I returned to Africa for Peace Corps. I was thoroughly impressed by the kindness and generosity of Ghanaians and found Gambians to be just as warm.

After biking 3/4^th of the country we decided to take an extra detour to visit James Island and Juffure, where the writer Alex Haley traced his African roots. Afterwards, he wrote a book titled “Roots” which became an American classic and made James Island a popular tourist attraction.





Visiting the Island was fascinating as there was a crumbling fort that thousands of slaves had been shipped out of and a group of American tourists who made themselves known by rudely shouting ‘can yall stop speaking The Gambian already!’.

But for me, the real adventure was the journey there. We took a horrible road off of the main highway to get down to Juffre which took us longer than expected. As the sun was setting we rolled into a small Wolof village and asked if we could pitch our tents and spend the night in someone’s compound. The prospect of making us sleep outside was appalling and we were quickly ushered to the chief’s home. Upon entering the compound, 65 adults and children alike surrounded us, unable to tear their eyes away. To entertain them we sung a round of ‘jingle bells’ that was an immediate hit and turned into a clapping and dancing fest. Afterwards we were brought to a massive room with a private bathroom that was our lodging for the night. Two families brought us food and were sad to see us go the following day.

James Island

Once in Juffre, we were reminded of the fact that we are white, rich, tourists and were constantly asked to give money for this and that, making me so frustrated that I was ready to leave without spending the night. But once again, our language skills changed the experience. As soon as we turned the conversation into Mandinka or Pulaar our skin color became inconsequential. We were offered a free place to stay, tea, and food that was pushed in our faces until we could no longer politely turn them down and were forced to oblige. 

The river at Georgetown, the previous Gambian captial

Without realizing it, I have become accustomed to people sharing everything with me, going out of their way to help me, and eagerly hanging onto every word that I say. Some days I become irritated by this all encompassing attention and just want to blend in and go places without being badgered by a million questions. Receiving genuine kindness and generosity from Gambians reminded me that this is a truly extraordinary experience and while it may be frustrating, the root of the matter is that people here are truly exceptional.