Korite!

So yesterday was Korite, which marks the end of the month of Ramadan. “Wait!” you’re probably thinking to yourself. “I am a savvy and up-to-date person who has access to things like the news! I thought Korite was two days ago, on Tuesday? Why does Lisa lie about things on her blog?” If you are thinking this, you are probably correct! But so am I. Why? Because Senegal has their own Korite. This fact was explained to me the other day by a local teacher (who went on to ask me if Jesus was my best friend and personal savior, which, in Senegal, is quite difficult for me to answer). Most Muslims around the world follow Mecca and celebrate Korite when Mecca sees the sliver of the moon in the sky, signifying the end of the month of Ramadan. But Senegal? Senegal does it on her own terms. She has councils of people watching the sky every night, searching for the moon. If they see it, they call Dakar and everybody parties! If no one does, they ignore Mecca and wait. It was cloudy Monday night, I guess, so our Ramadan came a later than the rest of the world, at least from what I hear.

I’m glad Korite came when it did, because my world was starting to go crazy. Namely:

- my family’s fast had gotten to the point where they were spending the hour before breakfast meticulously laying out their food, buttering their bread, and preparing their tea. I literally witnessed my host mom holding a date in one hand, positioned two inches from her mouth, and coffee in the other for FIFTEEN MINUTES as she waited for the call to prayer. And boom! The first note she heard from the muezzin, and all of that food was gone. No one had qualms about complaining about the fast by the end, mostly good naturedly, but still desperately.

- Then again, they were also extra hungry because they kept sleeping through xedde, the meal they eat in the darkness of the early morning before the sun comes up. One morning, they got a real kick when they found out I had actually been awake at 4:30am – the only one awake, the only one who would spend all day eating anyway. I wasn’t having my xedde though. Just turning off my robinet, you know, like I have to do every morning at 4:30am, but that’s another story.

- The local teacher told me that the children would stop coming to school days before Korite “to get their hair braided,” according to the local teacher. And he was right. Class plummeted from 40 to like 7 students. And the salons were POPPIN. My host sister went through a six hour process to get her snazzy Korite hairstyle. It ended up being a ponytail, which made me feel vaguely guilty about the 30 seconds it takes to throw my own hair up into one. But I mean, hers looked great. I actually tried to replicate it. Her six hour hairstyle clearly won:

My little sister Bigue’s hairstyle was described as “three pom-poms.” Which is exactly what you would imagine:

- My laments about never having any ways or activities for making friends met its match: every passing acquaintaince in Senegal invited me over for Korite. It was like they finally had a reason! Unfortunately, I was already spoken for, with my family.

- People asking for money were out in full force. One evening, someone knocked on the door and my host mom ran and hid in her bedroom. After the person left, my host mom and sisters emerged to discuss the events with disgust and defiance. Apparently, around Korite, people wander through compounds, asking generic questions to kids like, “Where’s your mom?” Then, when the lady of the house comes out, people demand money, and in Senegal, at this point, you can’t just say no. My host mother indignantly told me that this is ridiculous because she already donates to charity. She tells the kids to ask the beggars what her name is… if they don’t know, they don’t get to come inside. I found this hilariously like hiding from door-to-door salespeople in America. A lot of African countries have this image of perfect communities! Everyone helps each other! People live in a utopia where money is given freely! No. My host mom hid in her room.

And of course, my most personally shocking pre-Korite moment:

- I WAS HIT BY A MOTORCYCLE. I mean, seriously Senegal? What was a motorcycle doing on the sidewalk? How did you miss the sight of me, the lone white lady dressed in a bright blue and pink tie-dyed dress?! I was walking down the street, minding out my own business, and then BOOM! A motorcycle was barreling at me. So I made what I’m sure was a really embarrassing yelping sound and kind of simultaneously pushed it away from me and jumped. It clipped my arm and then crashed into a telephone pole. I was fine. The guy was fine. The bike… was not. My host mom blamed this entire incident on Korite, so… so will I.

But the actual day of (SENEGALESE) Korite was quite lovely. Everyone was just in such a great mood. A few long-lost family members stopped by, everyone put on nice clothes, we ate my favorite meal of chicken, onions, and noodles. In the afternoon, we brought extra food to some neighbor’s houses, pot-luck style, and went on some friend visits. Strangely, I actually enjoyed all of this. I don’t know if it’s because my language is better so I was actually participating, or maybe it was just the belly full of chicken. But yeah, Korite was a great time.

So yes, things are going well. My work project is moving along, and one of the students I tutor recently confided that I "am her best friend and the best teacher in the world.” My heart melted faster than Velveeta (which actually isn’t fast at all and a bad comparison). The baby has successfully fallen asleep in my arms, which also made my heart melt. Early tomorrow morning, I’m headed to Dakar for a post-Ramadan vacation/celebration of friend’s birthdays/near-anniversary of 6 months in Senegal for me – quite the smorgasboard of occasions.

Hope all is well! Happy Labor Day to those in America, and happy life to everyone else.