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Published: October 14th 2005
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colors of hunger
i imagine it's a long, hungry day for everyone fasting, and sundown offers this for one to feast on - as well as all the dates, tea, fish, rice and sweets Tonight my roomie, Alexa, had seven Jews over (I think that’s pretty much all the Jews in Senegal) to break the Yom Kippur fast. Due to the ceremony being in my living room and Alexa’s unwaivering kindness, I was invited to the soiree.
I quickly scanned the room to see if I could tell superficially if I was the sole gentile, I zeroed in on at least one suspicious chic in the group of young college students who sat huddled on our sparse supply of floor coverings - she didn’t ‘look’ like a Jew and I guessed right. Feeling a bit awkward anyway having 7 ‘strangers’ in my house, I wasn’t about to start asking Judaism questions - and was disappointed at myself for still not having learned these high holy days by heart after living with a Jewish roommate whom I adore for 2 years who tried to answer all my ignorant Jew questions then.
But I digress.
So, this curly-locked bubbly, optimistic college chic busted out with a few questions before prayers were said - and once started - the Hebrew absolute music to my ears - and wine and food was passed. Having only drank wine twice in my life, I surprisingly had no reserves sharing from the cup with my circle of worshipers. The moment was too precious to allow myself to even hesitate in sharing fully in the service. Here I am, the mosque a few steps away, millions of miles from Brooklyn (not much closer to Israel), breaking the Yom Kippur fast. (I told you how Non-Christian holidays always enchant me!)…
And here were these girls, most of them quite far from being devout back in the states, but I imagine clinging on to the observance here in Senegal, trying to find community and normalcy in this ever-changing environment (yesterday, an entire motorcycle shop disappeared. motorbikes, mechanics, foundation and everything. overnight!). Anyways, I guess, me, too! I was reveling in some false sense of community. Enjoying an evening of Americans, albeit ones 10 years younger than I and full of more courage than I think I had at that age. When I was 18 or 19, I was dreaming of running off to Germany (still am) - and thought that was adventurous - ha! These girls recounted their predawn arrivals, their being walked down into dark alleys into family rooms where they stood and smiled - some of them completely unable to communicate through the language barrier. They could laugh at some of these foibles now that they’ve been here a whopping 6 weeks - but I know that with all the lessons thrown at you each day here, time is more precious here, carries more knowledge, more weight. They’re seasoned now.
The melodic Hebrew readings were monotonously restated done in English - and I sat reflectively, thinking about what I could be ‘repenting’ for having done or not done in the past year. But as I’ve been having my own tortuous, reflective Yom Kippur for months now, I didn’t dwell on it and instead joined in on the laughing and talking and commenting on how all the Senegalese ‘pastries’ here are pretty much Challah bread anyways, with a bit of sugar there, some raisins here, etc. We also hashed out harder issues for them, the slow pace of everything here, the come-ons of Senegalese men, the far-from-rigorous academic demands, the tribal language barriers….
And so, my ‘alternate’ Senegal experience continues. While the first time I wanted nothing to do with other Americans and avoided them easily (we do stick out, don’t we? it’s all the smiling if nothing else), this time I was happy to sit amongst fellow Americans, SEVEN of them to boot - all exchange students save one peace corps volunteer who had come in 10 hours from the countryside just to break fast!...
Later on another American stopped by who works with Alexa at a nearby NGO. She came in tow with her Senegalese husband with whom I made the effort to talk to because I know the feeling of having no idea what’s being said around you. Even if he does speak English fairly well - there were a total of 10 American girls at this point, chattering away. He could only smile at our animations. I did go beyond surface conversation with him, though - and we talked a bit about the roots of Senegalese music and I told him my plans for this weekend to go see a famous musician, Vieux Mac Faye, who’s recently back on the scene. I pronounced his name the best I could and looked for recognition in my interlocutor’s eyes - and was greeted with much more than affirmation of my garbled French! As it turns out, this guy grew up (and still lives) in the house across from Vieux Mac, has taken music lessons from him, and still chills with him when Vieux’s in town.
Dakar has been getting increasingly smaller it seems…or is it just that staying in one place and being open to whomever crosses your path makes it so?…if everyone in NYC talked to one new person a day for at least 10 minutes (and that’s a lot of New York minutes!), would we all just get along in a few months?
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