Unfortunately to tell this story I have none of my own pics so I'll borrow some from the internet. I took a taxi not much unlike the one in the pic and we drove down a very similar street. There was an absurd amount of trash on the real street though. Now, trash pick-up isn't always a forte in West Africa cities but it was noticibly a lot. Also, it was strewn all over the place whereas regular trash patterns are pretty concentrated in certain spots. Later, Aida explained to me that during Ramadan, there was a 24/7 festival and vendors were constantly out on the streets. Now that Ramadan is over, the vendors have left in their wake a bunch of trash. I am happy to report that by the time I left Aida's house @4 hours later, trash collectors were outside cleaning up the street. Impressive!! It was an amazing amount of trash.Back to the journey, on the way to Aida's house we passed a number of public buses very similar to this one:
Once I arrived at the meeting spot, the police station, I called Aida to let her know I arrived. Her daughter met me there. I was shown into the apartment and introduced to the grandchildren. We chatted and got to know each other over juice. She told me her first career was as a midwife. I think I need to add that to my list of favorite people. I love the metaphor of a midwife when it comes to traning and development and it's secretly (or perhaps not so much anymore) a career I'd totally get into were I to do a 2nd career. . .Perhaps in retirement. She then told me how she moved on to get advanced degrees in public health and work for USAID and other international NGOs then retired as a consultant. It was in Ghana that she had met my colleagues who connected me with her. She has 8 children. When I asked her how many grandchildren she has she said "Can I count them? Perhaps over a dozen." She was quite a delightful person and a great conversaitonalist. After a bit her househelp moved the coffee table to the side and spread out a cloth on the floor. I wasn't sure why. . .
Then she asked me for a bench. I wasn't sure why. She sat on the floor and I followed suit. They asked me if it was ok and I said it was fine. When in Rome. . .She asked if I wanted to wash my hands. When I said yes she brought me a cute little pot and basin ensemble with soap on the side. I washed my hands as they poured the water. I still wasn't sure why I was sitting on the floor..
By the time they brought out the food on a big round plate about 2.5 feet in diameter I had realized that the traditional way of Senegalese eating is on the floor, from a communal plate, no utensils. We started with passing around bread. We used the bread and straight up fingers to scoop up the deliciousness on the plate which included an onion sauce, chicken, lamb, cucumbers, tomatoes, lettuce, french fries and beets. I couldn't find a picture of exaclty what we ate but it was something like a combo of these two, without the peas and rice and with the chicken cut in parts. Also, add cut up lamb. The onion sauce and fries looked the same.
It was all delicious but my favorite was the onion sauce.
It went from the plates above to this. Probably just as many hands in the dish and the little 'uns at Aida house were hard core, no spoons:) When we started eating Aida mentioned how a lot is learned about the culture through the way they eat: sharing, enjoying community, each one having their portion, etc. I started eating with my left hand as a left-hander then caught myself remembering that the left hand is taboo in many West African cultures. I noticed everyone put the bread in the left hand and ate exclusively with the right hand. When in Rome. . .I have plans to go shopping with Aida this Saturday (she loves bargaining!) and to see her daughter Awa's pictures from China. She just arrived back from Hong Kong this afternoon while I was sitting there. Although tired she was glowing about the experience and we started a fabulous conversation about her experiences. I intend to remember to bring my camera next time.
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