Dear Santa

29 Juilliet 2006

I want a bou-bou like its my job.

I want a flowing white chunk of fabric to wear and wrap around me, to
fidget with and constantly adjust, and to make me look like something
out of ancient history, as so happens when they're worn by the native
people here. I want a bou-bou. I want a man-dress (a gendura). The
trouble is, somewhere in the garbled, tangled puzzle that is the
genetic line of us white-European descended peoples there is a nasty
little stowaway whose ultimate effect is this: we cannot wear these
clothes. We cannot wear them. We look comical at best, and more often
than not, totally grotesque. Such is one of the great sadnesses of my
life now. I want one so badly! Consider this: with a bou-bou, shirt
and pants are optional (you must wear a knickers-like garment called
sirwaal lest your bare-ass be exposed through the wide-open sides)
With a gendura, all other garments appear to be optional! Including
underwear! Do you know how much easier it is to do one's business in a
hole when you're not wearing underwear? Pray you never find out. (Just
kidding, just kidding)
For real though: I'm asking Santa for the ability to passably wear a
man-dress, 'cause I'm totally getting one.

Sometimes I have a few young pals who come to visit me at night,
practice English, and speak at me in their (exceedingly) bad French.

The other night, in an attempt to keep the conversation going, I,
needful of verbs, pointed out qmaar (moon) and dilegaan (cowpeas) in
English. My friend Moussa leaned back on the mat, looked up at the
sky, and tried to memorize: "Cowpeas-moon, cowpeas-moon" he repeated.
Also in his and his sidekick Hassan's repertoire are 'stomach, chest,
cheek, nose and mouth' in addition to most of the numbers from 1 to
20, excepting 12, which is perpetually pronounced 'twelven'. You're
ready for America buddy!

Last night, the subject in which they seemed most interested was what
went on when I went to Kaedi for Center Days.

-'Did you listen to music?'

Yes

-'Was any of it Michael Jackson, and/or Fifty-Cent and/or Ja-Rule?'

(Well...no. But) sure, why not.

-'Did you dance while there?'

(Again, no. But) sure, why not.

-'Boys and girls?'

Mmmhmm.

-Together?

(sensing their interest) Yes.

- Let me get this straight, les garcons AVEC les filles??!

Of course!

Therein ensued the equivalent of 'wow', and a long low whistle. Yes, I
have officially become cool in the eyes of the teenage boys of
M'Beidia.

Today, after the rain, I took advantage of the coolness to take a nap
inside (for once), and listen to my iPod a bit. When Habiba came to
investigate with her quizzical look, we dance a little together - me
lying on my mattella, she looking puzzled in the doorway. Good times.