Le Mois de Kar'em

So it’s Ramadan. It started when I was in Conakry over the weekend and when I got back to my village it was in full swing. In fact when I arrived about 8pm Monday night (threw out a leap of faith and went all the way to the gare in the city south of me once we got there from Conakry at about 6pm – which Ian forewent – and found a car going all the way to Ian’s village which could drop me off at mine and silently thanked God for the good luck). We stopped in the only sizeable village between the city and my village just as night had fallen so that people could eat. Not the passengers, really, because if you hadn’t brought food with you, you were SOL. I was just planning to eat when I got home so I was just like, “eat fast”. And then this old lady came running up to the car and asked if everyone who didn’t have food wanted to eat “toh”, which many volunteers describe as snot in slime sauce or something like that. I actually didn’t think it was so bad. The lady even brought me a spoon which I was grateful for because all day a small child had been coughing on my hand in the taxi and I was NOT about to eat with my hand but I had my second toh experience. I don’t mind it at all, really. I mean, it’s different from rice but I don’t think it’s bad at all.

The lady told me next time I come through that village I have to ask for her and she’ll feed me but the taxis never stop there, it’s a drive-through village, but if I ever have the chance I will look for her anyway.

So yesterday I was on my porch talking to Ousmane II about the state of my service in Guinea (it still amazes me the level of maturity and detail I can talk to Ousmane II about) and Caw Ousmane walked by and I told him he needed to invite me to pray and eat dinner with them during the “mois de Kar’em” and he said I could come that night but I already had plans for my dinner so I said I would come tomorrow at 7pm. So today I showed up freshly bathed, in an African complet, ready to go to mosque and eat with the family. Turns out I actually got treated like a WOMAN! Which means I did not get to go to mosque. Instead I navigated my way through a bunch of manioc with the other women to a house I had never seen (it was hidden) where I prayed on a mat with Aissatou and Fatoumatou and this other lady and then we gathered around a bowl of toh with peanut sauce and ate with our hands (I refused the spoon offered as I had recently washed my hands with soap). I am of the belief that “chose” with sauce tastes better when you eat it with your hands. Even though the Peace Corps Medical Unit does not recommend it. Hasn’t made me sick yet.

In fact I have been less sick in the time I have been eating street food and with my hands than I was when I was eating individually prepared plates with my host family during training. I assume my system has adapted.

Anyway after the toh we got the bowl of (shoot I forgot the name AGAIN but it is basically rice and sugar – Gosi), which I also enjoyed with my hand. As soon as we were done I just had time to thank the old lady who had hosted us before we went back to the compound and sat down for some attaya (meticulously brewed green tea). Then I said I had to go buy rice for Yogi at the Carrefour (since I can only buy rice at night now, no one’s there in the morning which means I sleep in until 9 or so). I asked if I could come for prayer and dinner with them every day for the month of Ramadan and they said “of course!”. Then Aissatou walked me home where I got my bowl (in America it would be a pot) and got Yogi rice with peanut sauce and meat – which I may have enjoyed if I wasn’t already stuffed from my evening Ramadan meal.

I wish I lived with a family because then I would fast with them for the month of Kar’em but since I don’t, I can at least impose on Aissatou’s family for prayer and dinner for the month. Still gonna sleep in as long as I want and have an instant oatmeal for breakfast but hey, I’m all alone here.