On Ramadan and Always Being Prepared
The dogs are howling again. Funny how I didn’t notice when they stopped but now that they’re back…
It must be the rainy season.
And with it comes Ramadan. In about five hours, the town crier will load up with his drum and wand, slug down some warm water and march all over the village shouting for everyone to wake up and stuff themselves with food before the sun gets wind of their plan. Women pound fufu, men shout to their children to bring them more water, tools are gathered so the farm can be taken care of my mid-morning, leaving the rest of the day to sleep and try to forget that you’re dying of thirst in the middle of the savannah.
I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it, but I’m not fasting and this hoopla occurs at 3 in the morning.
Believe me - it was really fun to wake up to my first night at site last year with no warning from Peace Corps on what to expect. This year? I’m ready. When I was at my mid-service medical exam, I nabbed a few pairs of earplugs which I will gently jam all the way to my Tympanic Membrane to keep this noise from entering my brain.
That being said, it’s really kind of an interesting time in my village. It allows for a lot of side work and observation and participation to be done as my starving farmers aren’t in the mood to hear anything I have to teach them about family planning. I go to farm with people, shell groundnuts under trees, work on secondary projects - it’s a happy and fruitful time for me.
I think it is for them, too. People here don’t like to be idle and when the farming season is over, there’s nothing to do but watch plants die in the heat. Family comes in from all over, sleeping in every extra nook and cranny available, just so they can help dig up the yams and unbury the mounds of peanuts. I came home to about six extra teenagers living in my house (there were none before), but I just shrugged. School is out, farm is on and if those kids aren’t helping, well, they’ll be doing other things - what else can I have expected?
So, in about three weeks, there’ll be a huge celebration complete with a community feast, gifts being exchanged, new clothes fresh from the tailors shop and one of the most colorful prayer sessions I’ve ever seen. I can’t wait to spy all the five year olds with their crisp three-piece denim and/or corduroy suits and shiny cowboy boots walking around on eggshells because, even at that age, they know the value of a dollar and new possessions.
Or, you know, they might actually be walking on eggshells. Still need to work on organizing a town refuse pile...