Cinema, Senegalese Style

Last night, as a Senegalese theater group was beginning to develop the night's storyline, folks from seemingly every corner of the village made their way in front of the small, 13" tv screen. Boys and girls sat up front as well as wedged into any free space available (including my lap). Others, the adults, found themselves a stool or plastic container to sit on, creating layers of dark bodies and illuminated faces filling the entirety of my family's compound.

As usual, I put full effort into the wolof words, spilling way-to-fast for my comprehension from the lips of the actors, in hopes to follow the plot line. And as usual, it wasn't long before my concentration on the film began to slip from the screen to the even more intriguing world around me.

To my right sat one of my host mothers. She was cradling her youngest child, Mama. Moments earlier I had been tickling Mama as she "researched" one of my eyeballs. Just recently Mama began calling me "yaay" which means mother in Wolof. In her eyes, I'm not a stranger, the "toubab", white, American, or a money-source, I'm just another mother. It's incredible the joy a two-year-old can bring a soul.

To my left sat a young girl, daughter of one of my favorite women in the village. She swayed back and forth, front to back, as her body surrendered to fatigue. Occasionally an annoyed friend would slap her awake as she played bumber bodies in her sleep.

A group of boys up front randomly scatter as a small dark creature scurries away from the realized blockade of bodies...they are scared to death of snakes, even the harmless types. Yet, it was probably a frog or lizard.

I smile a lot to myself here. There are so many unvoicable moments and even if I was articulate enough to voice them, with whom would I share? You, I guess.