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Published: December 20th 2007
I ni la fila! Ca fait deux jours, deh! I know…it’s been a long time since I’ve updated…
The rainy season ended in October and the last month has been harvest time. This year’s rainy season came too late and didn’t last long enough, so the corn harvest has been weak. Since corn is the staple food, many villagers are concerned about shortages later in the year. Some other crops were “gatés” as well, and some, such as millet and cotton, seem to have done alright. Bike paths that once crossed vast stretches of sand are now canopied by tall stalks whose tops are inverted by the weight of millet grains. Picked cotton accumulates in mounds of fluffy softness seemingly too white for the dusty climate.
The village is again empty during the day. When the rickety market stalls are silent and the dust swirls in the wind it looks like the town has been deserted for years. In the late afternoon the villagers begin to trickle in from all directions, some on bikes, some on donkey carts, and then the women on foot balancing giant bundles of firewood on their heads. My neighbors arrive each evening with a pile of crops on a donkey cart - peanuts, corn, millet, watermelon. The year’s supply of millet is stacked on a crooked platform where the cows and donkeys can’t reach it.
After Ramadan was a series of fêtes that had been put off during the month-long fast. (You don’t want to throw a party when no one can eat during the day.) A few wealthier families threw lavish and much-anticipated baptisms for babies born during the fast.
Baptisms, following Muslim tradition, are held seven days after the child’s birth when the baby is officially given its name. Friends and family dress in their finest complets and go to congratulate the family. Elders and women close to the mother gather in one house with the baby, important men gather in another house, and a crowd circulates in the courtyard. Female guests go to greet the women and see the baby, male guests greet the men. After these introductions, guests mingle in the courtyard. Local drummers perform and snacks and sweet juice made from millet are distributed. Women of the courtyard spend all morning preparing a vat of rice and sauce and everyone has a good meal.
During big fêtes, griots circulate among the guests, complementing women’s outfits and entertaining the crowds. Traditionally, griots are the keepers of village history, tellers of heroic acts performed by one’s ancestors. When approached by any member of the village, a griot can regale a crowd with tales from that person’s family history. (They usually expect a little change in return.) At large baptisms, griot women howl at well-dressed guests to draw the crowd’s attention. The targeted guest tosses a coin to the griot who then ostentatiously sings the guest’s praises to the amusement of the crowd. If you’re a foreigner and they don’t know your family history, they’ll shout a string of benedictions and wish you a good husband
Satiri’s biggest baptism party was held by a friend, Gnanama (whose name means “it’s good!”). He is the president of Satiri’s parent-student association, the village conseil, the local representative of the ruling CDP political party, and holds a number of other positions. He is well-known and knows everyone, and it’s only fitting that he should throw the village’s largest baptism party.
It was a double baptism: for Gnanama’s son and grandson, both born during Ramadan. Since he had to wait until after the fast, he had plenty of time to prepare. He informed me of the date weeks in advance (a practice unheard of around here) to be sure I wouldn’t miss it. I had to come early, he said, and see how the courtyard prepares for the fête. He took me to the fields and showed me the plot of millet he was harvesting to make juice for the guests.
Everyone from Satiri was invited. Some even came from neighboring villages or in from Bobo. Gnanama somehow acquired a party tent in his courtyard to provide shade for more people. The crowd was a mélange of important figures from around the prefecture to barefoot kids drawn in from the street by the balafon music. All received candies and millet drinks and sodas served cold - Gnanama had ice brought in from Bobo. Everyone stuffed themselves with rice and brought more home to eat later. Important guests were ushered inside to eat meat with theirs. Drummers and balafon artists played all day (balafon = like a xylophone made of wood and gourds). The courtyard was packed with guests dancing, mingling, and eating. Gnanama’s pet monkey, who usually rules the quiet courtyard, stayed high in her mango tree, terrified. Gnanama busily attended to his guests, beaming with pride over his new son and grandson and at the success of his village-wide fête.
With the harvest, we once again have some fruits and vegetables available - tomatoes, cucumbers, bananas, and lots of watermelons! There are piles of them for sale along the main road, cheap and absolutely delicious.
For a long time at the end of the rainy season there were not many fruits and vegetables around, but caterpillars were in season! I got to enjoy lots of to’o sauces that featured the three-inch black worms. They’re collected from shea trees and sold sun-dried by the kilo in town, a cheap and somewhat creepy alternative to meat. The women in my courtyard laughingly refer to them as “really dark fish.” I’m told their not bad when deep-fried. Boiled in sauce they just taste like wet caterpillars. Looking forward to locust season!
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eric
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three-inch black worms
Is comparing the taste of food to wet caterpillars similar to the tastes like chicken comparison? To'o with black worms just tastes like wet cater pillars...the fries from the Banfora MacDonalds tastes like wet catapillars..."the cat" prefers large spiders because they taste like wet caterpillars...