Tong Burger

I have over the years realized that you can take someone out of American but you can't take the American out of their blood.

There is this thing we eat here called Tong. You take a tin of sardines and pound it into a cream paste. Then add garlic, onions, peppers and salt. There you have it TONG. People eat it for breakfast on a giant loaf of bread. At my house we eat it for dinner.

The other day Kno Kno, the youngest son in our house returned from his grandparents. He had been staying with them for about a week but heard that I was asking about him so he came home. But he came home with two movies he wanted to watch and zoned in on the computer immediately after walking in the door.

But for dinner that night we had tong. I was served a plate for Kno Kno and I of tong tomatoes, with mayonnaise and bread to eat. I proceded to show Kno Kno the art of making a burger/ sandwhich out of all the food you eat. So the missionary got to spread more culture by explaining:"First get a good slab of mayo going on the bottom of the bread, yes that's it, you want to be able to feel the pounds adding to your ribs. Now slap a piece of tomato on your sanwich. Not too much just enough to feel good about yourself in case you're frustrated later that you didn't eat anything healthy today you can remind yourself about those tiny pieces of tomato on the tong burger. Then put a good layer of tong on the bread. Make sure all the sardine bones are crushed up. And finally add enough hot pepper that you can't really taste the food anywyas and have heart burn later tonight so you can enjoy your meal later. And there you have it Kno Kno TONG BURGERS"

Where's the cheese please?

For being a French Colony Senegal is seriously lacking in good cheese. The other day I decided I was going to buy mozarella cheese and buy all of the African ingredients for a pizza. One green pepper, onions, a can of tomato paste, a can of corned beef and of course the cheese.

Here's the cheese adventure. I went to the supermarche in Ziguinchor to buy the mozarella and oregano. The guy at the cheese counter told me how much it cost in French and I had no idea what he said. So I said that piece is fine. One already cut and small. It cost almost $4 for that hunk. Hense why I am learning to cook local foods here not American. I then leave and head to the market to spend 3 hours
buying various other things for the training center. I then have to go to the station and wait for two hours till the car leaves. Then spend an hour and a half in the car home.

The cheese was making a serious sad face after all of this.

I then got to Oussouye but had to wheel my new wheel barrow through town to where Matt lives. I was truely a sight to behold. Every one said BRAVO Christiana, you can push a wheel barrow.

Then I finally get home 10 hours after buying the cheese and put it in the freezer to find some life.

I begin to look into putting something in Astou's oven. Now I have seen cakes that Astou has made and I guess I thought that she actually used the oven at our house; I was wrong. We got a flashlight and looked inside the oven. There peaking out at us was a dozen or so cockroaches. That's right. Their little antennas in the air looking at us waving back and forth saying, cook us we will survive and come to haunt you. So I abandoned the oven idea. But the sauce was made so I proceeded to make the best pizza hordeurves ever created.

In Africa always have a plan B

In your face

Animals are so cute in Africa

Vision

Bissop

Esoute

Lots of interesting things happened in Esoute this weekend. I went with Victorine who attends the Wednesday night Bible Study in Arlem. Esoute is her village. Anyways her brother died in a car accident several months ago and her mother is having a difficult time. I was able to minister to her on Saturday and prayed that God would speak to her in a dream. Then she had a dream that night that two angels visited her and washed her. It spoke to me of an end to a mourning period for her. We also were able to minister to the many children that were at the house. We stayed with her aunt and uncle who run a farm there. It was a really great visit. We ate cashew fruits and roasted cashew nuts, drank bissop, and ate lots of fish. It was very restful.

Carrier is Global

When I was in Esoute this weekend the girls I was with wanted to see the glace. I couldn't remember the word, glace, glace and finally I remembered, ICE. Esoute is a fishing village so the fishermen stop by this spot and guy glace. Well wouldn't you know the glace was stored in a Carrier freezer. You can take the girl out of the call center but not the call girl out of the girl. "thank you for calling carrier how may I help you."

Foreigners often find an African market stressful because of the bustle of activity that is found in the circle of stalls. I have found myself lost in many African markets and claustrophobic for release, finally finding an exit and gasping on the street for air. After many years and many African markets later I find that the chaos of the African market settles my mind and flurry of activity outside of my own world restful and intriguing. For those that love the American mall, the circus, or the state and county fairs may understand this love of activity and chaos.

Among the tables of the market place are sites of every color across the spectrum. Red habaneros, bright blue soap, iridescent fish, glowing and silvery in the sunlight, the brightness of women's dresses flash too and fro all around you. As you stand among the bustle your nose takes in the array of smells. Nothing seems familiar in this foreign place. In an American mall things have a new car smell and a mixture of perfume and Cindy's Cinnamon rolls. In the African market place the scent of spices permeate the air, along with the smell of overly ripe fruit, dried rotting fish, sewage dancing in the open gutter under the sunlight as the flies bounce on and off. There are the smells of the powders and perfumes for the ladies at the African wholesale “Perfumania.” I found a new powder the other day with a picture of the ugliest Indian I have ever seen wrapped in a towel on the cover of the bottle. Within all of these sights and sounds exists the hum of activity. Today in the market the price of fish was too high. The women crowded around the three tables with fish clucking to each other about the price. “800 cfa for 1 kilo absurd.” Ramale the cook and cleaner for the afluent Diatta family with whom I live, stands back and watches the sales of the fish. Considering what she will be unable to buy if she purchases the outrageously priced fish. She stands among the other women hoping that miraculously the price will drop. There was no weekly flier distributed to the women about the prices of the market. For them, each day is different, as far as I understand it no one sets the prices for the fish and the vegetables. Today everything just happened to be expensive, Ramele said even the onions were too expensive. Citing that Ziguinchor and Dakar are always cheaper. Yes its true, we hear this about everything, Ziguinchor and Dakar are cheaper.

Later after much discussion and crowding the women must buy the expensive fish, for meat is more expensive. So we buy less and use some of the fish from the freezer. We walk among the other stalls looking for okra for the soup we are preparing today. I do not understand the rhyme for which Ramele shops. She walks to a dozen tables only to return to the first one. When all the tables from the first to the last have the same items on them. At least to my eyes. To hers however she sees something different. We walk to the other side and purchase a spice, stop halfway in the middle for a couple of carrots. Return to where we started for bullion cubes. This dance between tables I do not understand. The moves are calculated and others understand their meaning. There does not seem to be offense to stopping at one table but not another. We know most of the sellers because there are only 35 sellers in the small hub in Oussouye. One woman lives next to our house and is the sister in law to Marcel, with whom I live. Her table appears to be our home base. We walk from her stand to others look and return. Ramale is plotting her purchases with great care. With purchases in had and $2 spent in the most careful way possible we have all that we need for the afternoon meal.

We leave the central part of the market and walk to the outer circle of stalls where household goods are sold. As far as I can tell most African markets are set up this way. The inner circle is the food portion while each concentric circle outward the goods get more expensive. On the very farthest circle towards the road and the shops in the surrounding buildings to the market are wholesalers of goods. Then in front of these wholesalers along the road you find the lowest on the totem pole of sellers, those with small roadside tables. Each evening all will disappear inside the shops and the only thing that will remain is the rubbish accumulated from a long days work buying and selling.

Estude Biblique

This is where we have the Bible study on Wednesday night. There are roughly ten porches on this side of the building. Florence has a double porch so we meet on hers. Florence is the lady in the yellow and is becoming quite a good friend to me. Victorine is holding the baby, Rosine is holding the Bible. Harriette, in the corner with her head covered, has known us at UCF for several years. The girl in the orange and the child on her lap is Harriette's daughter and son. Mary Louise is the girl in the pink and she lives with Florence. We average about 12 people a meeting depending on the schedule for school and if there is a funeral or anything.

Rooftop view

These women are working in the Cashew orchard making cashew juice and wine. Apparently when the palm wine runs out at the end of the season they switch to drinking Cashew wine which just isn't quite as nice. Or so I have heard! :)

Market Views

I BELIEVE THE CHILDREN ARE OUR FUTURE

The new roof

This is the framework for the porch roof. It has been completed now and will make the veranda a very cool place to sit and chat with people.

Fetish

This is a photo of the traditional Fetish alters on the homes of people in the Cassamance Region of Senegal. This one is used for dedicating children to the fetish when they are born.

I learned the other day that when a person dies they also bring wine to the same alter and pour it over the alter so that the spirits know the person is dead!

More Kabrousse

The group photo is brothers and sisters of Gabrail. The photo of the three men is the men at the fetish festival who wanted their photo taken. I am standing with Jeanne and Susan in the other photo.

Kabrousse Photos