Korite
Korite is the end-of-Ramadan holiday, the first day of not fasting. The start and end of Ramadan are determined by the lunar calendar. The fasting begins as soon as the moon is visible after the new moon (1-2 days, depending on the clouds and the timing of the moon rising). The fasting ends in the same manner: as soon as the moon shows itself again after being absent from the night sky, the fasting ends. After the new moon at the end of Ramadan, if people in the village see the moon on Tuesday night, for example, Korite will be on Wednesday. If the moon is not visible on Tuesday, we search for it again on Wednesday night. If it is seen on Wednesday, Korite will be on Thursday. Such are holidays here: the date is still uncertain the night before a holiday might take place. Imagine if we knew in the US that Thanksgiving would be in late November this year but didn't know whether it would be the 22nd or 23rd or maybe even the 24th. It could be a Saturday, a Sunday, etc. We clearly plan a lot more in the US.
On a Tuesday evening June 4th after breaking fast with moni, one of my host moms spotted a small faint sliver of the moon between a couple clouds on the horizon. The fasting was over! I caught a quick glimpse of it before it disappeared behind the clouds. I was in a great rhythm with fasting, so I was not begging for the moon to show itself, but it was nevertheless exciting. The moon has never before affected my life so significantly. The end of Ramadan is not necessarily a life-changing event, but in the US I generally don't even know where the moon is in its monthly cycle.
My host dad said that Korite would be "only eating." We did eat more meals than a normal day, but the day--as do most days in Senegal--consisted of mostly sitting around punctuated by fancier food than usual. Chicken in oily macaroni sauce with bread for breakfast, peanut sauce with onion and potatoes for first lunch (I brought the onions and potatoes back to my family from the luumo), fonio with onion sauce for second lunch, and a normal dinner of rice and leaf sauce. During the afternoon we also had some bissap (hibiscus) juice and ice water; a guy on a moto drove through the village with a cooler of cold drinks he had purchased in Kedougou. And of course attaya.
After our fancy breakfast, I got dressed up in my nicest Senegalese outfit and went to greet my friend Amadou's family. Unbeknownst to me, the imam was in the process of walking around the village holding a trident calling the men to come to the mosque to pray. As the procession passed Amadou's compound, we joined and walked to the mosque with the other village men, everyone dressed in their best clothing. People pulled out clothing items that I had never seen them wear before. We crowded into the large hut that serves at the village's mosque and sat shoulder-to-shoulder waiting for the prayer to begin. It was a hot morning, so luckily the prayer was short. After praying everyone went back to their compounds to spend time with their families. My host dad made attaya. Back to business as usual.
In the evening, I joined the village men in their first post-Ramadan game of soccer. The last time I played a competitive game of soccer like this was when I was in India two years ago, so my play was a bit rusty. Wearing tennis shoes on the gravel playing surface definitely didn't help me make sharp cuts. I did have a header on goal, but no other good shot attempts. I had been jogging pretty consistently, but as my friend informed me when I told him I was tired after the soccer game, "playing soccer is not the same as running." It's a different type of fitness. Everyone in the village is also in better shape than me--this didn't help either. Being out of shape in the village is not an option; life here demands physical work. And nobody drinks soda or eats Cheez-Its every day.
Note: For an upcoming blog post I want to answer questions you (my thousands of readers) have about my life in Senegal. Please email me with anything you are curious about!
On a Tuesday evening June 4th after breaking fast with moni, one of my host moms spotted a small faint sliver of the moon between a couple clouds on the horizon. The fasting was over! I caught a quick glimpse of it before it disappeared behind the clouds. I was in a great rhythm with fasting, so I was not begging for the moon to show itself, but it was nevertheless exciting. The moon has never before affected my life so significantly. The end of Ramadan is not necessarily a life-changing event, but in the US I generally don't even know where the moon is in its monthly cycle.
My host dad said that Korite would be "only eating." We did eat more meals than a normal day, but the day--as do most days in Senegal--consisted of mostly sitting around punctuated by fancier food than usual. Chicken in oily macaroni sauce with bread for breakfast, peanut sauce with onion and potatoes for first lunch (I brought the onions and potatoes back to my family from the luumo), fonio with onion sauce for second lunch, and a normal dinner of rice and leaf sauce. During the afternoon we also had some bissap (hibiscus) juice and ice water; a guy on a moto drove through the village with a cooler of cold drinks he had purchased in Kedougou. And of course attaya.
After our fancy breakfast, I got dressed up in my nicest Senegalese outfit and went to greet my friend Amadou's family. Unbeknownst to me, the imam was in the process of walking around the village holding a trident calling the men to come to the mosque to pray. As the procession passed Amadou's compound, we joined and walked to the mosque with the other village men, everyone dressed in their best clothing. People pulled out clothing items that I had never seen them wear before. We crowded into the large hut that serves at the village's mosque and sat shoulder-to-shoulder waiting for the prayer to begin. It was a hot morning, so luckily the prayer was short. After praying everyone went back to their compounds to spend time with their families. My host dad made attaya. Back to business as usual.
In the evening, I joined the village men in their first post-Ramadan game of soccer. The last time I played a competitive game of soccer like this was when I was in India two years ago, so my play was a bit rusty. Wearing tennis shoes on the gravel playing surface definitely didn't help me make sharp cuts. I did have a header on goal, but no other good shot attempts. I had been jogging pretty consistently, but as my friend informed me when I told him I was tired after the soccer game, "playing soccer is not the same as running." It's a different type of fitness. Everyone in the village is also in better shape than me--this didn't help either. Being out of shape in the village is not an option; life here demands physical work. And nobody drinks soda or eats Cheez-Its every day.
Note: For an upcoming blog post I want to answer questions you (my thousands of readers) have about my life in Senegal. Please email me with anything you are curious about!
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