Life In Translation

I spend a lot of my time thinking about translation: how to translate ideas and concepts (in multiple directions), how life would sound if I directly translated the word-world of Pulaar into English, how many things would not translate, etc.

Here are a few recent examples:

Film culture—I’ve talked before about how we are able to watch films in my village from time to time with generators and rigged up “theater systems”. I had a visitor just yesterday ask (with some wonder) about the fact that I had not brought a television with me to the village… I don’t know what I would do with a TV, and only just a few weeks ago discovered that someone IN MY FAMILY has a TV. It seems like such an out-of-place concept. But, where there’s a will, there’s a way. And so, we have “film” showings in the village. These vary from Brazilian soap operas* and Guinean sketch comedy to what we would more generally consider actual films. These aren’t exactly the box-office hits that you are watching over there in Hollywood-land. In Mary’s village, films about “les vampires” (more B-level Dracula flicks, less Twilight) have been all the rage. One day Mary’s mother very seriously told her that her daughter had been injured by a stick, but not just any stick—there was a vampire in the stick. While I was in Thies we watched a Wesley Snipe film about life in prison. They were interested to know that I had just heard about Wesley Snipe actually being in prison, but for somewhat-less glamorous crimes than in the movie.

*(Au Coeur du Peche, In the Heart of Sin, the one during my training ended a few months ago with some very dramatic deaths and long-awaited reunion. It has been replaced with Marina, which I know nothing about except that they were watching it in Amber’s village when I went to visit last week.)

While my friend Bethany visited recently, one of the kids was telling us what kinds of films he likes to watch: “jetleecha knorreees.” What? I didn’t understand but after repetition, Bethany understood: Jet Li/Chuck Norris. Here is a phenomenon that most definitely DOES NOT translate. If you mention the name Chuck Norris to anyone in my generation, you are most likely to get a joke in return and if you start with Chuck Norris jokes among a group of people, you will find that almost everyone has a favorite. But they don’t tell well in Pulaar. “Chuck Norris doesn’t sleep, he waits.” You could tell it, but I don’t think anyone in my village would find it very funny. “Chuck Norris doesn’t do push-ups, he pushes the ground down.” I don’t even know how to translate push-up without doing the action... at which point the joke would be lost and we’d be laughing at me trying to explain push-ups. I asked El Hadji who he thought would win in a fight between Jet Li and Chuck Norris. He says Jet Li. Bethany has her doubts about that. I’m undecided. I think it might be an everlasting battle that would tear the earth to shreds and leave the two round-house kicking in space… movie makers take note.

My favorite film translation item comes from a recent conversation I had at my neighbor’s house. They just got a new dog and Ibrahima named him “Rambo”. I like this story because if you translate it word-for-word into English it is exactly the same. I was trying to ask where he heard the name, so that he would tell me about the films but he wasn’t understanding my questions. His Aunt Aissatou understood me and she said, “O yi’ii mo ka filum. O wadi Karate.” (He saw him in the film. He does Karate.) To this, Ibrahima interjected, “O’oo! O fellay yimbe!” (Nuh-uh! He shoots people!) Well said, Ibrahima. Well said. Clearly knows his stuff, that one.

Games—All the rage in my neighborhood are the card games I’ve started teaching the kids. Uno is ever-popular and easy to learn, although “renversay” and “esskippity” are difficult concepts for some of the kids. It reminds me of playing Ludo, the Senegalese board game that is like Parcheesi or Sorry. My little bro, Amadou, is a whiz at rolling and repeatedly gets his wish when he rolls, saying “Hello, six-ski!” “Skip” becomes “Esskip” which then turns into “esskippity” or “mi kippi maa” (I sKIPPed you). We also play (English to Pulaar back to English)
• Go Fish → “Dabbu Liyyi” → Search for Fish
• Old Maid → “Maama” → Grandmother or Old Woman
• BS (or as I like it, No Way Dude!, thank you Ninja Turtle Playing cards) → “A Feenay!” → You Lie! (PS, it is culturally inappropriate to tell someone outright that they are lying, especially someone older or respected… like me. This makes the game extra-hilarious and the adults like to just watch us and laugh when someone gets caught lying.)
• Egyptian Rat Screw (ERS) → “Ndowru Skrew” which becomes more like “Ndowruski” → Rat-ski
• Golf → no translation, so “Golluf”

I’m trying to work up to Phase 10, but that is beyond the younger ones and now that Ndowruski is an option, the older ones are often convinced to play that instead of trying to learn P10.

General words/concepts—As we know, my bed is broken. I have yet to fix it, so currently I am laying the foam mattress on the floor at night and leaning it against the wall each morning. I like this because I feel that it “opens” up my room. I said that to woman in my compound. “O udditii suudu an.” In English, we don’t often use infixes. We use suffixes and prefixes. In Pulaar, every verb has at least one variant or relative derived by infixes. We do and re-do, wind and re-wind, write and re-write, pete and re-peat… just kidding. The Pulaar equivalent to ‘re-’ is ‘-it-’. This is really simplifying, but I think it makes my point. Haalugol is to say, haalitugol is to say again; winndugol is to write, winnditugol is to write again. To close is uddugol, to open udditugol. Conceptually that took me a long time to get straight, but I finally have it. So I used “udditugol” to mean open up the room. Conceptually that made sense to me. My friend didn’t get it. What do you mean “open” the room. I started with a door. If the door is closed, then you open it, and you can move through it. My bed was in the middle of the room, but now, my room is “open” and I can move all over it. I could even have a dance party if I wanted. I think she got it then. Either that or she was too tickled by the idea of a dance party in my room to continue seeking and explanation. In any case, this is just one example of the role that translation plays in my daily life.

Dreads, Kids, Work, and Camping

I'm too tired and lazy to write about the last few weeks. SO, here's a few "thousand words" to tell you what I've been up to:

On my birthday, (or L'anniversaire de Bob Marley, as they prefer to remember it), I made a piñata to share American birthday traditions with the schoolkids.

Notice I included the dreads for those who asked... this is, incidentally, the day that I began to painstakingly comb them out... see further down for results.

The kids LOVED the idea of a piñata. LOVED it.

I was showing Seikou how to strum. Strumming rhythmically is aparently very very tricky, but as long as Aminata plays the chords, the kids are thrilled with the music they make.

I spend a lot of time with kids and occasionally catch precious moments on film. Here's Hawa wearing a broken gourd on her head... who knows why?

In June my favorite school teacher got married and I got to be a "hostess" at the wedding. Consider this my bridesmaid's dress.

When Erik visited, he brought my dad's had with him and Amadou likes to ham it up.

Here's Erik and my host dad in "Senegalese" pose.

Our net distribution in Cour Bambey. YOU paid for those nets. THANK YOU!!!

Mike does part of our Nets causery during the distribution, explaining proper use, care, and importance of mosquito nets.

I've been working on a nutrition mural at the school kitchen: the 3 food groups-
Go (carbs), Grow (proteins), and Glow (vitamin/mineral rich F & Vs)!

I recently visited a waterfall with some friends. This is me and Kay.

This is my "Mom will want a picture of me" photo. You're welcome, Mom.

To get back from the falls, we had to ford a river - first carrying our bikes, then a second time with our stuff on our heads to keep it dry. The river was about chin-deep this day and we didn't lose any oxen (or bicycles). Take that, Oregon Trail!

To Everything, A Season

A time to feast, to fast, to cry, to laugh.

This summer is flying by, and I know so from more than looking at the calendar. I know because people at home are getting ready for the new school year and even though we have until the end of the rainy season, the signs of change are beginning to pop up all over the place. The rains have redoubled their efforts in the last two weeks. Nearly every day there is a drizzle and most nights bring thunderstorms. Last year was a heavy year, but being my first rainy season, I assumed it was normal that this kind of rain start early in July. It is, after all, the RAINY season. I was concerned about the apparent lack of rain this year until I talked with my host dad. He said that actually, there was so much rain last year, it nearly ruined some of the crops. This year is far more normal: the August rains have waited until August to show up, leaving July alone with enough sun to encourage good crops.

The tell-tale sign that the season is progressing is the appearance in the markets of the first harvest: roasted corn! Corn is the quick-crop in our area. It is the first planted and the first harvested. Other crops won’t be ready until well into September and October, but the first corn is ripening and today the produce ladies have moved on from selling oranges and the last mangoes of the season to roasting corn on the street corners. Although not as sweet as the roast corn I know in the US, it is a special early-harvest treat to have roast corn. It starts in the markets and in a week or two, will show up in the village. It’s the kids who roast the corn (just like they’ll do with peanuts, cassava, and did with mangoes earlier).

Another sign of change is tied into the calendar—the Islamic calendar: Ramadan starts this weekend: the holy month of fasting, purity, and spiritual devotion. Starting Saturday, the village will be waking up before dawn to eat breakfast; then from sunrise to sunset, they will abstain from food, drink, cigarettes, etc. I have agreed to fast as much as I feel able this year, to join in solidarity with my family and friends, and to offer myself in spiritual devotion. As last year, I suspect my family will demand that I “rest” from fasting every few days, because (and they’re right) it’s hard, and I’m not actually required to fast. There is again this year, a pregnant woman in my family (but shhh… we don’t talk about that sort of thing) so I can be guaranteed there will be lunch available on days that I would want it, and I can always cook for myself. The part I’m most excited about, however, is the joy of breaking the fast. Last year I was blown away by the wonderful sense of community I found in breaking the fast with the neighborhood women. This year, I want to take the word “breakfast” literally and make pancakes one night for the women.

I am curious to see how the fasting ritual will affect the new enterprise developing in my compound. One of the women in my family has recently become a bean lady. Most mornings and evenings, she sits in front of our compound with a pile of bread and a pot of beans and a huge pot of hot “café touba” (a kind of spiced coffee). For 200 cfa (say-fa… roughly 40 cents), you can buy a bean sandwich and cup of coffee. I am helping her in her new business by being the keeper-of-the-profits. She brings the profits to my hut and stores her money there, in an old vitamin bottle. The child-proof bottle performs as a sort of lock-box, and with the money in my hut, she won’t be hassled to dole out the money to others. She can save! (It really is a big enough deal to merit that exclamation point). I’m going to help her keep track of accounting by keeping a written record of what money goes in and out of the “account”, essentially basic bookkeeping. I have hopes of her becoming a savvy businesswoman and want to do everything I can to aid that goal, so I’m excited about working with her on this project.

Another community project has come to a new stage: trees! I may be a little late to reap the full benefits of the rainy season, but it is not too too late… with the help of the soccer team, we out-planted most of the community tree-nursery at the school and along the path into the village. In several years, our entry path will be a boulevard of cashews and mangoes, the school will have an inner-wall of nebeday, and a grove of mangoes, and the village will be peppered with the delicate flowers of the flamboyant… si allah jabbi (God willing). Of course, the mangoes, cashews, and flamboyant won’t be much for a few years at least, but I’ll be able to see them use the fast-growing nebeday in school lunches this year, in conjunction with the World Food Program. Food security is going to be a major focus for me this school year: I’d like to see the schools in my area producing some of their own food in school gardens in order to guarantee at least one well-balanced, nutrient-rich meal, per day for the students. We’ll see how successful that is.

Personally, my living situation has taken a bit of beating this week. With the heavy rains, my hut flooded again this year. I have since re-dug last year’s drainage ditch, but was thwarted by flash-floods and am not too sure how to prevent it from happening again, except to pray for slow rain. I remember thinking last year “this is one of those laugh-or-cry moments” and I was able to laugh through it. This year, I thought “what does it mean that I neither laughed, nor cried, but just grabbed my broom and thought ‘well, better get to sweeping’?”. I think it must signal some sort of progress… or at least level of comfort. Tragically, in one of the floods (and by flood I mean only a few inches, nothing too dramatic), a group of baby chicks were trapped in my back yard. I had the unpleasant task of disposing of their dead bodies and cried a little as I did so. Surely something can be done to fix it. I’ll keep thinking and we’ll eventually figure something out.

My bed has presented me with another problem to resolve. I noticed a while ago (and especially when Erik came to visit) that termites have begun to get the best of my cheap and simple and unfinished wooden bed. My host dad and I reinforced the side supports with new beams a few weeks ago, but we missed the headboard-beam that faces the wall. I had my neighbor volunteers over for a sleep-over, which was really really ridiculously fun, but had not so good consequences for the weakened bed… three girls fit almost comfortably, but when I joined the bunch, the board cracked and left the bed at a steep tilt. So I moved out of the mosquito net and onto the cot. We weren’t really sure what to do, but soon had no choice because the middle beam broke under the weight of the three. So we moved my bed outside (in the dark, in the rain, by phone-light), and left the mattress on the floor. That works fine for now, but I’m just a tiny bit nervous about any heavy night-rains. I don’t relish the thought of being woken up by water pooling around my head. I could set up the cot, but I’m not sure what to do with the double-sized mattress, and you can’t tuck a mosquito net into a cot very easily. So I’m still thinking that one out, but no worries, this is not really a serious issue. It isn’t as bad as it might sound, and I’m not even half as bothered by it as I probably could be. The long-term solution is to take the good wood from my bed, make a new one, and then finish that one so it will resist the wrath of the tiny termite terrors… (have you read the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency? The ants get everything in the end… I’m grouping the termites together with ants.) The problem to be solved is what to do in the meantime, and as long as it doesn’t flood, the floor is not a bad option.

To everything there is a season: a time to laugh (breaking a bed at a slumber party is really funny), and a time to cry (poor baby chicks), a time to eat corn and beans and pancakes, and a time to lay on your bed and wish you hadn’t agreed to skip lunch. If ‘everything in its season’ is what makes up life, then this month, I am really living!