RIP Philip

So my neighbor Yusuf, who I hang out with sometimes and drink tea with, came by this morning saying something about my other chicken, Philip, being sick. And that he wanted to buy him. Or something. So he was like how much? And the chicken was a gift from the chef du village so I didn’t feel right about taking money for him so I just said to give me some piment out of his garden and he could have him. And he was like no, you don’t understand, come over to my house, “she” speaks French.

So I go over there. And there’s this rather coiffured lady sitting in the chair there, making herself some coffee. This is what most of Yusuf’s clients look like. Usually educated, from out of town, well-dressed, well-fed, nice coiffure. See, Yusuf is the marabout, or, witch doctor, we would probably call him in America. And he’s like, KNOWN apparently, so people come from all over the place to have him do his thing for them.

So I thought the lady just wanted to buy my chicken for dinner. But after sitting there for awhile, while Yusuf was drawing out a benediction on this tombstone-shaped piece of wood, I was like, dude it isn’t right to sell this chicken when he was a gift from the chef du village and I could give it to my family and they could have some protein, right? I really didn’t want to take money for him and would REALLY rather have the family eat him.

So after Yusuf had caught the chicken and tied his legs (it was clear he was sick, he was dripping liquid out of his mouth and his top waddle was turning black), I told them I didn’t feel right about selling the chicken. And they were arguing with me for a minute and then she said she would replace the chicken. And I’m like well if you can replace him, why don’t you just buy a different one at the market?

So through all this confusion, she’s finally like, but I need a WHITE chicken, NOW. And I’m all like why the heck do you need a white chicken? And she was like, you don’t believe, I don’t want to tell you. And that’s when I realized they needed the white chicken to do whatever marabout ritual Yusuf was going to do for her. It HAD to be white, and mine was the best one around, being fairly large, male, and (unarguably) very pristine white. So then I was like OH. Definitely didn’t want to mess up the poor lady’s sacrifice. So I said, well, if you replace him you can kill him.

So Yusuf hung him upside down on his moto handles and hung his big knife next to him. I wish I had a picture of this. Then he gave me 100 francs and told me to go buy tea. And I was like do I look like a petite to you? I ended up giving it to a petite to go get the tea (and then I gave her a bon bon). Then Yusuf and the client got on his moto and went off into the bush with my chicken.

Sorry Philip. You would have died today anyways.

So when they got back Philip was all dead and she cleaned him and started to make food. I was like oh, so he’s going to get eaten after all. I had like three lunches. The first was the toh Yusuf’s (first) wife made, and she makes a pretty good toh sauce. I wouldn’t have eaten it at all if it wasn’t considered rude, though, because Sita was making BASI for lunch and I friggin love basi so I wanted to save as much room in my tummy as possible. So I ate a few handfuls of the toh. Then a petite brought the basi over and I started to eat that. Yusuf had a few handfuls of that and I was going to enjoy more of it but he took it away and told me I had to eat Philip with them. She (her name was Ami) had made this spaghetti dish with oil, garlic, onions, tomatoes, Maggi and black pepper, and then had cooked Philip up on top of that. So then I had to eat THAT. It was tasty. But I still looked longingly at my unfinished basi, which after all of that I was clearly too full to enjoy any more of. When we were done eating, the rest of the family got to dig into it, including the kids, so everybody got a little protein out of it anyway.

So the bottom line is I ate both of my chickens this week. But both of the families who feed me got some protein out of it, so a good sacrifice in all.

Petite Setu washed all my dirty clothes today, including my Dakar purse, which was FILTHY. So that’s good. Every time she washes my clothes, the girls ask to have certain articles. And I’m like look when I leave I will leave all my clothes for you guys. But for now, I need these clothes! Especially my swimsuit, which is the article they asked to have this time.

So I usually give her bon bons (candy) for doing the laundry because her mom won’t let me pay her. But today as we were hanging up the finished wash, she asked for “macaroni” which refers to any kind of pasta, really. And I was like I don’t have any, which is actually not true, because I do have one or two macaroni and cheeses hanging around but if she thinks I’m giving her a box of Trader Joe’s shells and cheese she is MISTAKEN. She says I can get it at the boutique. I ask how much it is and she says 350 CFA, which is like, less than a dollar. And I’m like fine, because I originally wanted to pay her like 500 CFA each time she did my laundry, so it’s still a deal! I tried to just give her the money but she was like no, you have to go with me and buy it, I guess because if I just gave her the money it would be like I paid her and she bought spaghetti with her earnings. This way I could just give her the spaghetti. So after we get the spaghetti she’s like come over to my house, let’s make it! And I’m like crap. I am SO not hungry right now after the mess of food I ate for lunch and I really want to take a nap and I have no desire to cook right now. Because at this point I am thinking she wants me to make an American sauce for it. But it turns out she didn’t, she did the cooking, she just wanted me to sit there with her while she did it and then eat with her.

So here’s how they make spaghetti: they put the “oil” (which I am now suspecting is shea butter) in the pot and let it melt. Then they mash up tomatoes with their fingers. Then they put the tomato skins in the oil, leave it for a minute. Then they put some water in, then the rest of the tomato stuff, then more water. They let that cook awhile and then they add the Maggi cube (MSG) and about a salt shaker’s worth of salt (I’m feeling the heart attack already). Then they break up the spaghetti into little inch and a half long pieces and put that in. It cooks in the sauce until it’s basically just lightly coated and has soaked up lots of salt and water. Then you eat it. It’s not bad tasting at all, but it sure as shit is not healthy. But the kids were all really excited about it.

That’s one thing: they do know how to share here. I mean, Setu earned that spaghetti fair and square, but instead of keeping it all to herself she shared it with like 10 other kids, plus me and her mom. I’ve noticed they do this with candy I give them, too. Like to the point of sharing a lollipop, which is gross, but hey, they’ve got the spirit.

I also taught all the kids sitting around watching us cook how to cover their mouths when they cough, because they kept coughing on me. I was like CUT THAT OUT I’ve got a big month ahead of me and I don’t wanna be sick for it!!

So we’ll see if that sticks.

Also, kind of a non-sequitor, but I was talking to my mom on the phone the other day and I had asked her to send me one of my textbooks from college that I had never read and she was like, “I don’t know how you got all those A’s, you never read shit.” And it’s true. I would be surprised if I even got through three of the at least a hundred books I was assigned in college (she also said it made her feel so good that she had spent all that money on those books – but in my defense, I didn’t KNOW I wasn’t gonna read them at the time of purchase). One I know I finished was for a class on violence vs. non-violence. It was called Remains by William Crapser. It was a firsthand account of the Vietnam War and a great book. But I couldn’t for sure name any others that I definitely got all the way through. Because I probably didn’t. I should have brought more of them to Africa with me, because I read all the time here. And then I could review my education and when I get back maybe put it to better use. Maybe.