This is the part where I cry. 

This is the part where I cry because my family lives on three continents.

I cry because my son has just really grasped the concept of grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousin-friends, as he calls them, and now he has to say goodbye to them. All of them.

I cry because my niece is about to take her first steps and celebrate her first birthday and those are more landmark moments that I won’t be around for.

And I cry because talking to my mom requires us both to have decent Internet connections in the countries we’re in.

This is the part where I cry because I just took my kids to their last playground and park for two years.

I cry because my son just discovered firemen and mailmen and is constantly on the lookout for them, but won’t see any in Dakar.

I cry because they now ask for things like blueberries, peaches, boxes of raisins, granola bars and string cheese, but starting tomorrow these are off the table.

And I cry because trampoline parks, libraries and their story times, children’s museums, kids’ meals served in clean high chairs next to an air-conditioned play area at fast-food restaurants have all been wonderful beyond  words.

This is the part where I cry because there won’t be any more family bike rides along the Greenway, pizza picnics overlooking the Smoky Mountains (or the presence of any mountains anywhere), hikes along trails, cookouts at the lake or drives through Cades Cove with the top down.

I cry because we are headed back to where daily tasks are more complex and more challenging and more time-consuming. Where getting a drink of water doesn’t mean just turning on the tap, getting cash back isn’t an option, there are no drive-thrus or express lanes.

And I cry because it’s been two months and I haven’t seen a single child begging on the street. 

This is the part where I cry because I just took my last real bath and there will be no more glorious water pressure for showers.

I cry because I have loved sleeping in a temperature-controlled environment with the assurance that the electricity will stay on to maintain it.

This is the part where I cry because today a mosquito bite means an itch but tomorrow it could mean malaria.

I cry because in eight weeks this house accumulated less dust than our apartment in Dakar does in a few days – or one hour of dust storm.

I cry because all summer I have enjoyed every rain shower and storm without running for towels or the floor squeegee, wondering whose houses are flooding this time. 

And I cry because I’ve run my last loads in the super silent dishwasher and gigantic washing machine – again, without fear of a power cut mid cycle.

This is the part where I cry. 

But to, “Joy comes in the morning,” I cling.

Truly there are many blessings in my life right now, but in this moment I need to grieve these things above before I move on. I know several people who are crying through heart-wrenching struggles and losses that are much greater than what I am going through. MS, PTG, JB, GB and CB – our hearts and our prayers are with you.

Dear new arrivals in Dakar

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Hi! Welcome. I know, it’s crazy hot and muggy this time of year. No, it really does get better – right hand pinkie promise. (You’ll learn soon enough never to do anything with your left hand and why…) But yeah, around the end of October it will get even hotter, but the air will be super dry and still. Almost creepy still. It’s miserable for two weeks, but you know that means that cooler weather is on its way in. And by Christmas I’m betting you’ll have even worn a light sweater or jacket a couple times. Trust me, by the end of spring you’ll be thinking 70 degrees is downright nippy!

That’s the thing about life in Dakar: the things that drive you crazy will either change or change you. Sometimes both.

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The grocery items that seem so foreign to you (for a good reason – they are) and limited compared to ‘back home’ will become the ones you rely on. You’ll learn a few tricks (strained lait caillé in a coffee filter = Greek yogurt) and substitutes (no peaches, but amazing mangoes) and there will definitely be some compromising, but hopefully you’ll also discover some new favorites and become grateful for what we do have available. If this is ever challenging, just talk with an expat living in Thies or Saint-Louis or the “Tambacounda metropolitan area”.

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Yes, in the midst of all the things you may find yourself suddenly living without (electricity, water, heart friends, Target, pepperoni…) you will become grateful as you look around.

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That’s a good piece of advice, by the way. Look around. Ask pirogue-loads of questions, but do so respectfully. I find opening with a ‘how’ question is often kinder than a ‘why’ question. ‘How do you…?’ vs. ‘Why don’t you…?’ Make it a goal to learn something new every day, bës bu nekk.

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Yes, it really is THAT important to learn some Wolof. If you don’t learn any, your life will certainly go on. But the day you throw out a Wolof greeting to a vendor or taxi man, you’ll see the difference in the response you get. Smiles! Better prices! Blessings and prayers for you to have many children!

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Try to put yourself in the pointy tied slip-ons of others and see if there is a way that you can work together to make your new corner of the world a better place.

After all, this is your new home. And even if you can’t believe it right now when everything seems unfamiliar and crazy and sweaty, Dakar will overtake your heart faster than those ants taking over your kitchen.

Some helpful starting points for digging into Dakar…

Dakar Women’s Group
International Christian Fellowship of Dakar
Dakar Eats
The Gazelle Skirt

Priorities, y’all. 

Our summer back in the U.S. can be summed up by my feelings about a pair of little boys’ underwear.

I was folding laundry near the end of our time in America and came across a pair of small underwear with race cars and a red elastic waistband. As I folded them, I realized how faded and dingy the formerly white fabric was. (Water in Dakar tends to defeat even the brightest whites in two washes max.)

My first thought was, “I’m in America. Let’s run to WalMart and buy the little guy new underwear!” My next thought was, “This underwear is fine and totally still works. The money I’d spend on replacing it could feed a talibé boy a meal a day for a week.”

 And from there my mind cycled around and around and back and forth between wanting to seize the opportunities to do (ahem, buy) all we can while we can and feeling ridiculous and selfish because that money could go to better use helping others when we get back to Dakar.

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When we get back to Dakar. When we get back to Dakar…

This has been my mental refrain these past months. When we left, we both needed a serious break from the pressures and stresses of life in Dakar. You know those beat up taxis that pull up to the station and ask for 2000cfa ($4) of gas? That was us. We had enough strength to get by moment by moment, but overall we were just wiped out.

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This summer has been an escape for us (I even took a break from blogging, Facebook and Instagram – gasp!) as we tried to disconnect and recharge our batteries. But even in the restful moments, it’s always in the back of our minds that we are going back and those pressures and stresses will still be there. (On that note, a HUGE thank you to S. who fixed a tire that went flat on our car while we were away, E. who fixed a problem with our freezer in time to save all our food, O. who kept an eye on our apartment and cleaned up after flooding rains…)

So how will we cope when we get back to the demands of ‘real life’? No, no. We don’t want to just cope. We want to thrive. So the question is ‘how can we have the endurance and strength to thrive and to help others in this place we have chosen to make home?’

I Skyped with my parents on this very subject recently and my Mom directed me to John 17 in the New Testament where Jesus said He had completed the work He had be sent to do. (One translation I really like says that He ‘clarified who God is’ by completing this work.) But even Jesus did not do it all. He did not heal every single sick person, eradicate poverty everywhere He went or bring about world peace… But He did faithfully do what was asked of Him.

That is how we will thrive. We will be cutting back on/out some things that we had been doing before in order to free up time to do specific priorities well. And some of those priorities may not look like anything super special or life changing, but for this season of life, they are exactly what we need to be focusing on. 

And THAT makes me happy and excited to get back home to Dakar.

(Side note: I just read ‘The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up’ by Marie Kondo and recommend it very highly. As dorky as it sounds, I cannot wait to get unpacked, declutter and reorganize our apartment!)

Moutarou’s Story: My Experience as a Talibé in Senegal

Screen Shot 2015-06-27 at 11.41.51 AMAn autobiographical account written by our friend and Wolof professor, Moutarou Diallo, who is a former talibé.

In the Coran, the holy book of Muslims, you find the word taliban, an Arabic word that means ‘student’, but it also means someone who studies the Coran. For the Wolof people, the main ethnic group in Senegal, receiving an Islamic education is important and as this tradition has developed, the word taliban became talibé.

Memorizing the Coran and providing children with a religious education at a Coranic school is a tradition that is common to all Muslims. It is also believed that when the last judgment comes, parents that have not educated their children in the Coran will have to justify themselves before God. For this reason, it is considered a parent’s duty to send their children to daaras, Islamic schools that exist all across Senegal, as well as in all Muslim countries.

Senegalese parents believe these Coranic schools are the best place for their children to learn the morals of the holy Coran and also to receive an education in life. The objectives, then, are to provide their children with a good education, to instill in them good behavior, to teach them how to be humble, and how to become a respectable figures in their community. Each Coranic school, called a daara, is managed by a marabout or religious leader that knows the Coran well and knows how to teach it. His role is to teach children to memorize the holy Coran and to teach them patience, suffering, as well as the capacity to be independent, humble and modest. However, over the years the concept of talibé in Senegal has taken on a connotation that is different from its purely religious and spiritual roots: in recent decades, a talibé has also come to imply a child that lives on the street and supports himself through begging.

My Road to Becoming a Talibé

I share my personal story as an example. I grew up in Thiès, a city 70 km from the capital city of Dakar. My father initiated my studies in the holy Coran and my experiences as an student of the Coran began when I was two years old. I began by learning the Arabic alphabet, then moved on to learning to read it, and finally I learned suras so that I would have something to complete my prayers with. When I arrived home after classes at the French school, I had to recite the few verses that my father had written out for me that morning.

My father was originally from Guinea but he had a very different mentality than most immigrants to Senegal. He believed that it was important both to be educated in the French school and to learn the Coran from front-to-back simultaneously. My education at the French school was always a top priority for both my father and me. I could not have imagined stopping French school.

However when it came time for summer vacations, my father placed me in a daara rather than allowing me to enjoy my free time away from school. My father thought that I was very rowdy so for three consecutive years, he sent me to a daara that was 15 km from Thiès. I do not remember this period of my life very clearly, but I do know that begging did not exist in this village, and I remember that I lived with my uncle who took care of us.

After my third summer as a talibé in Thiès, my father found a new pretext to send me even farther away as he feltI was becoming too big of a burden to be near home. Although I had already memorized a good portion of the Coran, my father thought it necessary only that I continue my studies of Shar’ia, the Islamic laws. So he sent me to Dakar in order to learn the Coran and the Shar’ia at the house of my uncle who was also a marabout.

In Dakar, things were much different for me as a talibé. I learned the Coran, but I also begged daily. Even though my case was an exception in many ways, it is like this for many talibés whose parents decide that their child must leave the house to go learn the Coran far from home. Parents often send their children even farther that I was sent – often they are sent 200 km or more. There are many different reasons that parents make such decisions. Often, they live in extreme poverty and they lack the means to support their children. It is also believed that it is normal and acceptable for children to suffer in life. They say every day that the school of the toubabs (white people) destroys the children’s culture and spirit that are embodied in Islam. Of course, there are many other reasons as well, but they cannot all be discussed here.

Although girls do not become talibés, they are still expected to learn the Coran. However they only go to the local neighborhood daara during the day and then return home in the afternoon. The reason for this is that traditionally in Africa, girls stay home to learn from their mothers how to clean and cook. The mother is preparing them for when they move in to the conjugal home of their future husband.

A Day in my Life as a Talibé

For a talibé, the day begins at 5am when we woke up to review what we were taught the night before. These lessons last until 7am when we took our tin cans, the pots, to beg for food and money to give to the marabout.The talibés at my daara were dressed much better and were cleaner than the talibés you see today. Without the tell-tale pot, nobody could have imagined that we were talibés from the way we dressed. The talibé pot is traditionally an empty red tomato concentrate can used to collect items we beg for. We would take off the top off the tin can, wash it and then put two holes on the upper edges on opposing sides and put a metal wire through it to hang around our necks. However, I was ashamed of being a talibé and I was very good at hiding it from the people in the neighborhood so I used a bag to collect items in rather than a pot.

We returned to the daara around 11am with rice, sugar, candles, small coin change, and the other things that we had collected. We would sell the small items because the marabout expected us to give him cash daily. If we did not hand in a certain sum to the marabout, we were beaten. In my case, I sold my rice, my sugar and all the rest to a woman from Mali who lived in the marabout’s house.

Afterwards we had to write more verses from the Coran and memorize the daily assigned verses. More begging came after that, but for this second round, we would beg for food for the mid-day meal. There was a market next to the daara where there were restaurants and we went there to beg for rice. It was hot and delicious, much better than what was prepared at the daara.

At our daara, the wife of the marabout’s younger brother prepared one meal a day, but food she cooked had no taste. The dish that she made the most was white rice with a red sauce. She had to cook for a large number of people and it was the most economic choice. And so, at meal times, you would always hear that she was making ceebu soos (rice with sauce). But we called it rendez-vous en bas (all the way to the bottom) because in reality, the red sauce was just lots of water and barely any tomato sauce or other ingredients. Even after she poured the sauce over the rice, you could not even tell it was there, and we would be looking for the sauce all the way to the bottom of the bowl. All we could do to diminish our suffering and hunger was to laugh while we ate.

Before picking back up with our Coranic studies from 3 to 5pm, we would drink the famous Senegalese tea, called ataaya. After this, we would reheat many different plates of rice we had begged for earlier in the day as a snack. We usually had a varied collection of all the different Senegalese rice dishes: white rice, red rice, mafé, yassa, suppu kanja, and domaada. They were all mixed together and many in colors.

We quickly learned that we could always count on a couple of houses that we called the plans, or our routes. We knew they would give us charity every day. When I came to one of these houses on my plan, I only had to ring the bell, and the cleaning woman would open the door and give me either rice or sugar, and sometimes even money.

We were free until 7pm, when we had to get ready to beg for dinner. Each talibé brought back his own couscous or another dish and we would all eat together and taste all the different couscous dishes and compare which were the best. These were my favorite moments from my life as a talibé.

After dinner, we all met up again in the little mosque to pray and then go over the few verses of the Coran we had been assigned for the day. We did a few final verses to memorize them well, but it was a very relaxed time in the day. We would exchange little jokes and laugh in the back of the mosque. It was a true pleasure for us all, and we would quickly let the Coran, our lessons, and the restrictions of the daara slip from our thoughts. We lay down to rest for the night at 11pm to rest before starting the same difficult routine the next day.

What I experienced as a talibé is a completely different picture than what you see in the streets of Dakar today. For example, even though my aunt only rarely changed the dish for the mid-day meal, she always prepared us lunch. What we see every day in Dakar is truly unimaginable: there are talibés on every street, all the time. Even at midnight you see little boys begging on the street in front of bars or restaurants. A large part is due to the immeasurable number of marabouts, or should I say the “faux marabouts”, who set up a daara solely to rake in profits off the talibés that beg for them.

The Role of the Marabout in a Daara

The main role of the marabout is to teach the holy Coran and to assure that it will be memorized by the children that are in his charge. The child must also learn from the marabout how to live. While the child is in the care of the marabout, he must memorize the Coran, be able to translate it, he must learn the Shar’ia, and he must learn as much as possible about his religion and God. He must also be able to apply this knowledge to every part of his life. The child learns the Coran, it is true, but he also learns about life. This is all good and well, except that the child does not gain a craft or practical skill because his day is consumed by his duties to the marabout. One of the only opportunities that is left to him is to become a marabout himself.

In the daara where I was, there were a number of talibés that did learn a skill and some of them went on to become tailors, car mechanics, or bakers. However the only reason they had the opportunity to enter these trades later in life was because they managed to deceive their marabout. Our marabout came in the mornings and in the afternoons he was often not there too looks over us and we took advantage of this to escape.

In general, the relationship between a talibé and his marabout is defined by fear. The marabout is a strict figure with a rigid face, and he is quick to hit if the talibé makes a mistake. You never look the marabout in his eyes when you address him and you must always keep your head lowered in front of him. The marabout is not seen as a father figure, but as someone to fear and respect.

The Main Difficulties Facing Talibés

Waking up at five in the morning is not an easy thing for a child. To obtain money, however possible, only to pass it on to the marabout is far more challenging. You have to walk for hours in the sun and go from house to house, which is often humiliating. Some people give you nothing and call you all kinds of bad things. During the cold season it is the same, with the only difference being that the weather becomes an additional burden because you do not have the proper clothes to go around in the waves of cold weather.

Eating means begging, but what you find in terms of food is not always edible. Often we were given only the scraps of what is left from the meal. And consequently, illness and disease are a close companions.

Even when it rains, you must beg in the streets. The same tattered shirts and shorts that we wore in the dry season must see us through the rains as well. Often, we wore the same clothes for days and days. Most talibés do not own shoes and roam the city barefoot.

Because we slept on the ground, it was always a problem when it comes time to go to bed. I, for example, slept on a dismantled card board box. I felt like a homeless person. When it rains, the water comes in, and you have to try to fall asleep soaking wet. Often, we could not sleep and we were forced to stay awake until the rain stopped.

Most talibés you see in the street in the big cities like Dakar and Thiès come from the north, the center and the south of Senegal, and sometimes from neighboring countries. I am from Thiès, only 70 km from Dakar and I had the chance to go home once a month to see my family. Sometimes my mother would come to visit me and gave me new clothes. This alone was a big difference from the other talibés. Also, our daara was very different from the others because we did not wander around the streets at night when there is a lot of crime. Currently, most of the talibés in Dakar do so. They stand in front of restaurants at all hours and you see them stop people to ask for money.

My daara was an exception in many ways. We were spared many trials, even though we certainly had plenty. We were clothed and able to change our clothes, and if a talibé was sick, we brought him to the health center that served our neighborhood. Currently though, there is no longer this same guarantee of a certain standard of life at my daara. The hygiene is poor, the food is often rotten, the children fall ill and no one brings them to get medical care. This is the situation for most daaras across the country.

The Positives of my Experience as a Talibé

For me, yes, the experience did have some good aspects. First of all, I knew that my time as a talibé would always be short. I was a talibé only during the summer and only until I was 15 years old. Out of all of those years that I was in the daara, I only had to beg for three summers. And so, it was not as hard for me to be a talibé as it was for others who were destined to be talibés all throughout their childhood and adolescence.

In many ways, I benefited from these experiences. For example, I conquered my timidity. I was a very quiet and shy person, but because I was forced to learn how to beg, I overcame my inhibitions. I learned to overcome suffering and to look life straight on. I was also forced to learn how to be flexible, to be humble, and to take consideration of the value and meaning of other people’s lives. I gained the experience necessary to take control of the hardships in my life and to learn to be satisfied and content with what I had. Respect is another thing that you have to learn as a talibé.

After my experiences as a talibé, I saw in myself something genuinely different. Living through experiences that are not shared by most of my peers at the French school, I felt that something was missing for them. The French school seemed to me, a much more of a simple building and an easy way of life. For example, when a professor punished us, unlike the other students, I was never bothered by these punishments. This was because at the Coranic school, I received beatings that were much more severe and painful.

Thanks to these experiences, I learned to overcome and succeed in any situation. If I am in a complicated situation from which there seems to be no escape, I am determined to get out. As a talibé I learned to believe that no matter what bad situation you are in, you will finish by overcoming it if you have an iron will. You learn to say, “I have seen things harder than this and these new trials are nothing to me.” No matter how my life may change, even if I were to become very wealthy, the lessons I learned as a talibé would stay with me.

However, I must say that I would never send my children to be talibés. I truly believe that it is bad. No one can provide an education for your children better than you can. In my opinion, it is handing off your responsibility as a parent to a marabout. A child needs to feel affection from his family. The education that a child receives from life within a home holds no comparison in this world.

Recently, my father sent one of my younger brothers to be a talibé in the same daara I was in without telling me. When I found this out, I went to my father to persuade him to let my younger brother come back home. It was not easy because my father was bent on removing him from the French school to send him to Coranic school exclusively. I continued to persuade my father until he finally took my brother out of the daara. It was a long and bitter argument. In the end, my efforts paid off, and my father’s eyes have been opened through my testimony. Since then, he has never tried to send another of my brothers to the daara because now, he too believes that it is not the answer.

Now, at my home in Thiès, my younger brother and sisters attend French schools in the morning and the afternoon. After each French class, they go to the daara during the midday and at the end of the day. It is better like this, and the children benefit from it. My sister is proof of this as she completely finished memorizing the Coran and she is only 15 years old. She surpassed me because, despite of the years I spent in the daara, I never finished memorizing the entire Coran.

The Current Situation in Senegal

There are men that call themselves marabouts only to profit from the talibé system and to earn money on the backs of children. It is a virtual black market that reaps in the profits from child labor. Imagine having 10 children at your service. Each talibé is required to bring in 500 Fcfa ($1) per day, so at the end of the month you have amassed 150,000 Fcfa ($300). In Senegal, this sum would allow you to live an easy life. Now imagine a marabout that has 50 talibés through whom he gains his living. It is easy to see what attracts people to set themselves up as marabouts and to hound parents who are weighed down by poverty and are cut off from outside resources or information. Perhaps now it is easier to understand why there are so many talibés in this country.

There are many marabouts that go to the villages where the parents are poor and families have ten or more children with the goal of collecting more laborers for themselves. The responsibility of the families who give their children to marabouts must be addressed. A way must be found to enforce some kind of punishment on the parents and marabouts that treat their children in this manner. It must also be impressed on parents just how big of a responsibility children are. It requires lots of hard work and planning to raise children, if you decide to have them, you must take on the responsibilities that follow.

Providing your children with an Islamic education is not an excuse to ignore the practical skills that are necessary in life. It is possible to send your children to a Coranic school and French school at the same time without turning them into talibés. I know it is possible because I have done it myself. Today, I am a Wolof and French language instructor in schools for American university students who are studying abroad. All throughout my education in the French system, I have studied the Coran at the same time.

The current system of the talibés does not work and serves no good. It exploits children and deprives them of their freedom and basic rights. Currently, the daaras function anarchically without respect for children’s rights, their health, education, security, and any kind of practical training for the future or training in leisure activities such as art or sports. Health is also neglected and there is a common lack of respect for even the most basic rules of hygiene. Over time, the system of the talibés will change, as it is neither sustainable nor acceptable, and hopefully it will even disappear. In any case, the situation must improve. If there is goodwill and money available, this system could be brought under control.

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Thank you, Moutarou, for sharing your story with us.

We are praying with you for change to come and that each of us will be willing to do what is needed to bring it about, and in the meantime that we will care for the talibés on our streets.

Respecting Ramadan and our fasting friends

sm Khady praying“Oh, that smells awesome. I’m so hungry!”

I said it without thinking and immediately wished I could have swallowed my words before they made it out of my mouth. This week was the first day of Ramadan, the Islamic holy month of fasting, and less than six hours into it, I had already goofed and said something rather inconsiderate in front of my Muslim friend who was abstaining from eating or drinking from sunrise to sunset for the next 29 or 30 (depending on the moon) days.

The conversation that followed though really helped me to understand some ways that we as non-Muslims can respect Ramadan and our fasting friends. In a country that’s more than 95% Muslim, Ramadan is a big deal and affects nearly every aspect of life for one month a year.

Here is some information on how Ramadan is observed in Senegal and also some suggestions below, but I’d love to hear from others too!

– Families wake up early to eat breakfast together before the sun rises. For moms, this means about a 5am wake-up to get the meal ready. If women around you seem sleepy, they probably are!

– From sunrise to sunset, no water or food. Some who take fasting regulations very seriously won’t even swallow their own saliva, so watch out for spitters.

– The five prayer times are a crucial part of Ramadan. My friend brought her prayer mat with her to our house so that she can pray at 2pm.

– Modesty is also very important. If you went to the beaches in Dakar last weekend, you saw that they were packed. Some of that is due to the heat and some is the ‘last hoorah’ before Ramadan. Running around in a bathing suit and pareo wrap is not considered acceptable during this time. (In addition to her prayer mat, my friend is also keeping her head covered when she leaves her home.)

– All men are required to fast. Women should fast as well, but if they are pregnant, breastfeeding or on their period, they do not have to. The fasting days can be made up at another time. One friend of mine who has an eight-month-old and is breastfeeding is choosing to fast this month even though she could delay it because it’s much easier to do in community than alone.

– Breaking the fast (ndogou) at sunset is a family event and many people will leave work early during this month in order to be home in time to eat in community. (For those who can’t make it home in time, there are vendors selling dried dates along the streets.)

So how can we respect our fasting friends, colleagues and workers?

– Avoid eating or drinking when you’re out and about. Eating lunch in a restaurant is still fine of course, but be discreet with those sips from your water bottle as you’re running errands around town.

– Be aware that people may want to take time to pray at around 2pm and 5pm. This may be your house-helper, your taxi driver, your electrician…

– Ladies, consider wearing longer hemlines and opting for short sleeves rather than spaghetti straps on tops.

– If someone comes to visit you during Ramadan, ask if they are fasting before offering a drink or something to eat.

– If your visitor is at your home around a prayer time, they may ask where they can go to pray. Have a place in mind where you are comfortable letting them pray and know which direction Mecca is so that you can help orient them.

– Consider letting your workers leave early to be home with their families to break the fast. This is very appreciated. For women, this may mean leaving as early as 4 or 5pm if they are the ones preparing the food.

– If you can’t let your workers go home in time to break the fast with their families, you can offer them an ndogou, such as coffee or café Touba with milk powder and sugar and some bread with butter or mayonnaise. If you have a worker staying on through the evening (nanny/babysitter, for example), offering them a meal as well would be appreciated.

– Don’t schedule appointments in the evening, if you can avoid it. (Or if you do, don’t be too surprised or annoyed if the plumber arrives late!)

How to make Ndogou gift baskets for Ramadan

Last year during Ramadan, we had a friend stop by who was (like most everyone in Senegal) fasting. He was here hanging out as the sun went down, so I gave my best effort to put together an ndogou for him to eat and drink to break his fast for the day at the appropriate time.

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I’d never really considered it until that night, so realized in the moment that I had not a clue what to prepare or how to serve food to break the fast. Fortunately, my Muslim friends on social media responded quickly and were a great help and the ndogou-Toubab went over really well.

This year we’ve decided to make ndogou gift baskets to give to some of our friends who will begin fasting tomorrow for 30 days. (We don’t fast for Ramadan since we aren’t Muslim, but we do join in praying with them that God would continue to reveal Himself and His truths.) So once again I called on a Senegalese friend for help.

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Everyone, meet Khadi Gadio. (Ask me in person sometime how I got to know her. Great story.) She’s offered to answer my questions so that we can figure out the best way to go about putting together the baskets.

Me: First, thanks for helping us out. As expats in Senegal, it can be a bit overwhelming and intimidating to navigate a cultural and religious practice that isn’t our own. But since we do live here, we want to be a part of life here.

KG: You are most welcome! Having lived 20-something years outside of Senegal, I fully understanding wanting to be a part of life in different cultural/religious environment. It is so great to see expats getting involved in local practices and customs!

Me: Okay, my first question is a pretty obvious one. What types of things can go in the gift basket?

Me: ANYTHING! During the month of Ramadan it is the cultural norm to give “Sukarou Koor” to those close to us, especially inlaws. Sukarou koor, meaning “sugar for Ramadan” is a metaphor for a gift given during Ramadan. These gifts usually come in the form of money, fabric, cooked meals, Holy Qurans and most recently gift baskets. I have received many different types of baskets in the last few years and made quite a few as well. I have received baskets full of different sorts of spices, baskets containing only condiments (ketchup, mayo, mustards, piment etc), fruit baskets and most commonly the complete ndogou basket containing, coffee, sugar, honey, milk, juice, hot chocolate, chocolate spread, dates, cheese etc.

Me: So it’s mostly breakfast foods?

KG: Yes, the ndogou basket contains mostly breakfast items that are consumed at the time of breaking fast.

Me: I’ve seen some people put in pastries like croissants in baskets. Could I put in something American and homemade, like banana bread muffins?

KG: Absolutely! Anything homemade would be great in a basket.

Me: What about fruit?

KG: Some people give fruits baskets but personally I prefer offering items that don’t go bad quickly.

Me: Are there any specific brands or varieties of dates that are considered better than others?

KG: There are dried dates (lighter in color) and normal dates. I am not a fan of dried dates. As for brands I am sure people have preferences as well but I am yet to come across a “bad” brand.

Me: As far as the packaging goes, I’ve seen baskets being woven along the side of the road here in Dakar. Could those work?

KG: I have enjoyed making my mom tons of gift baskets for the past ten years and every year I use locally woven baskets. They work great and can be ordered in any shape or size.

Me: And then would we include a card or note?

KG: Although not mandatory, I always include a note with warm words and prayers. Can’t forget Ramadan is all about kindness and well-wishing!

Me: What are some customary Ramadan wishes or prayers that people might say to each other, either in a card or when delivering the gift basket?

KG: Fasting during Ramadan is not just the act of refraining from food and water from sunrise to sundown. We fast to exercise and strengthen self-control, to attain closeness to Allah, to remember to learn to give and not to take (increase generosity). My wish is always that we obtain personal objectives throughout the month and that Allah accepts our fast. When delivering a basket I usually call before to mention that I am bringing by some Sukarou koor, once there it’s mostly “Bon Ramadan”.

Me: Do you think it’s best to give the baskets at the beginning of Ramadan or anytime during the 30 days?

KG: You can send a basket anytime during the month but usually best during the first two weeks so that the recipient has enough time to enjoy its contents!

Me: What if I really like the idea of giving a gift basket, but I don’t have time to package them up myself? Word on the street is that you can tell me where to order a lovely selection of gift baskets for Ramadan.

KG: But of course! This year I will be venturing into the basket world along with SENexpress to offer our clients very special baskets that may serve as gifts or even for personal consumption. We are proposing three different baskets including one for our diabetic fasters and a platter containing Moroccan zaalouk (eggplant puree simply-to-die-for), cheeses, dried fruits, smoked salmon and other goodies. To top it all off, all baskets or our platter come with a free SENexpress errand valid the entire month and is delivered to you or your recipient free of charge!

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Me: Thank you so much, Khadi, for your time and for answering my questions. It really does go a long way in making Senegal feel like home when we are able to connect with our neighbors in meaningful and respectful ways. Jere jef waye!

KG: Anytime. Nio ko bok!

I’m coco for Bégué Coco!

Bégué Coco: An African Coconut Social Enterprise

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So here’s my coconut-shell version of the story: About a year ago I came across a stand selling coconut-based products at a local organic market. I ordered some dried coconut pieces for the kids, coconut frozen yogurt for myself and (again for myself) a bottle of coconut oil. I’d never tried it before, but unless you live under a rock, you’ve probably heard how great it is for you and 127 ways to use it.

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We were hooked right away – the whole family. I put coconut oil on the kids’ hair as a conditioner, I used it on my face as a moisturizer, we all used it on hands and cuticles… Basically the bottle was bouncing around from room to room and so of course, it inevitably got dropped one day and met its fate with the tile floors. We were so hooked on it though that I tracked down the nearest Bégué Coco sale point (roadside bio market in Almadies!) and went the very next day to buy more.

While I was there, they asked if I would participate in a video project they were working on and give my thoughts on their products. I found out later that they were developing a fundraising campaign and this video would be used to helped get the word out. Here’s the full video below…

Bégué Coco​ is fundraising to scale up production and become self-sufficient. They have a fantastic fundraising page with lots of good info here, but before you click, let me give my 2cfa that this is an excellent initiative producing high quality items that meet a market need and benefit the community and environment. Win, win, coconutty win!

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