It's funny how so much yet so little actually happens on any given day.

One of my coworkers (that I hadn't actually seen yet) has been really sick for a really long time. Hepatitis B or something serious of that nature. He was in the hospital for a couple days last week, but they finally discharged him because there was nothing they could do. Bouba texted me the night before last to tell me that he had finally passed on and that I should come early so we (the whole staff) could go to the family's home. Mamadou Keita was the nurse on staff.

As for the personal side of it, it was really sad. As to the cultural side of it, it was fascinating. So I'm going to take the more distant approach to describing it.

I was going to go dressed in one of my African skirts, but Ndeye Sokhna, a friend in town, said, "Nope, "bakhul", you can't go like that. She gave me a Senegalese ensemble to wear, and I felt soooo awkward evevn though everyone thought I looked just amazing. While I was changing, the men left... and I thought they'd left without me. I called one who said that they'd just buried him and that they'd swing by to pick me up in a bit. I was so upset that I'd missed the whole thing, but talking to Yakham, apparently it's only the men that are allowed to go to the burial (and, according to Yakham who is known to bs, really ugly old women who won't distract from the religious aspect of the burial). The women wait for the men at the home of the deceased.

So, they came to pick me up around 11h45, and we went to Sor, the mainland neighborhood of Saint-Louis. Everyone was already back. In the middle of the road in the neighborhood, they'd set up a huge tent to block the sun, and all the men (upwards of 60) were standing there, en masse, praying, reciting verses of the Qur'an, and sharing stories about Keita. I followed Sokh into the "yard" of the family's home where they had also installed a huge tent. There were at least 75 women under the tent, completely decked out in beautiful traditional Muslim dress (even though the men could go in shirts and jeans). Women were all veiled and silent.

We were sitting in silence for 2 hours, praying, counting on prayer beads. There was a steady trail of women, and a few men, streaming into the room where the family was to offer their condolences and any spare change they can afford to give. (They don't have insurance, so if they husband, the bread-winner, dies, the family loses everything.) No one was crying. There was one woman I was next to that had a few tears streaming down her cheeks every once in a while, but she promptly dried them... It seems almost a shameful act to cry here, an act of weakness.

14h00 came and it was time to pray. After prayer, they brought around basins for handwashing and then many families get together to bring rice for everyone to eat. We ate, and then we left the yard and went back up to meet the rest of our coworkers. Someone was making tea, and we just sat and chatted with everyone from the office (Pape, Diop, Moussa, Nioufa, Tounkara, Goudiaby, Bouna, Bouba, Adja, Awa, Anna, Clo, Ndeye) and then some of the big religious leaders (Moussa Sow, El Hadji Mokhsine) of the area whose talibés came to the center.

It was really moving to see such a community response. Really. It's amazing to see how everyone joins together. That family will be well cared for no doubt. And that's so amazing to see. Really moving. And to be have all of my coworkers in the same place at the same time really meant a lot to me, too.

So hopefully that was my first and last Senegalese funeral.

We got home around 17h30, and when I walked into the house, I saw Lamine with a few of his friends playing my guitar. (They'd snapped a string when they were trying to tune it... of course.) Lamine is a rapper and one of the guys kinda playing guitar so they were freestylin' it up in Wolof, French, and even some English. It felt so good to be around musicians again. Lamine and I are going to cut our own CD. Haha.

I fell asleep actually before dinner. I'm embarrassed to even say it, but I was so cold, I couldn't believe it. Ndeye Cissé gave me a heavy blanket to wrap up in, laughing because she couldn't believe a toubab was cold. Haha. It did get down to 18°C (60-65°F). How embarrassing.

Last night, Georges and I went out for a drink. We went to Flamingo, a really touristy place, and the guy who was working there didn't even speak very much French, and even when I ordered in Wolof, some of the things I was asking for where in French (I was going to have a "Tequila Sunrise" with pineapple juice). I took a sip, and it was plain and simple pineapple juice. That's what he charged me for, too, so it was okay, but geez. You can't work at a toubab restaurant and not speak Toubab. Crazy. Anyway, it was nice to see Georges, but this morning, when I went to grab some café touba, Lamine and Goudiaby were very concerned that I had gone out with this Georges character. Even when I tell him that Georges is short (5'6"), old (33), and married (things they know I don't go for), they insist that I bring him by sometime so they can meet him. How cute is that?! They just want to make sure I'll be safe.

Last night was also the first night that I spent in town, and it feels great. I feel like I actually live here. I unpacked, set up my mosquito net, and slept pretty well. It's nice to know that I have a real home here. It feels more permanent. And it's nice to not always have to go back to my host family's house /or/ the university. It's so easy!

I'm so lucky to have people who really care about me here. I have been told "make yourself at home, this is your home now" by so many different households... and they actually mean it.

Yesterday I also met Yakham's spiritual guide. And it was pretty cool. He's extremely well-educated (university sociology, theology and philosophy), and his presence is just so... calming and assuring. Really. He asked me about my religion, and when I said I didn't have one, he said, oh, so you're "unrooted"? He was saying all sorts of the "a tree needs root to grow", "a tree without roots is nothing but dead wood", but then he also said that just because wood is dead doesn't mean it can't be useful, for fire to heat homes and to help people... It sounds hokey, but it was also really meaningful because of his state of mind when he was saying it. He wasn't saying it to convert me to Islam or any other religion. He was simply telling me what he thought... and that it's up to me to make my own decision. Interesting discussion.

In any case, I need to stop procrastinating (hence the length of this post...) and get to work. I'm at a toubab bakery right now on their really slow WiFi, enjoying a really moist coconut macaroon. Mmmmm. Hope all is well wherever you're reading this.

Call me if you want to talk! Or we can set up a time to Skype. Rock on.
011 221 77 143 04 84
(Yes, that's the right amount of numbers...)

BISOUS!!!