The beauty of being self-published, is that I get to do exactly what I want. And right now, I want to post a thousand pictures and help you step into my day.
In breaking news, Miriam and Coumba sat me down and explained a fool proof method to “make a man fall in love with you”. Are you ready for this?
…cook him chicken. Chicken. I mean, Godiva Chocolate cheesecake, I might be able to understand. Something with cookie dough? Absolutely. Fudge centers and I? Till’ death do us part.
Well, shoot. Easy peasy! Somebody call Cosmo and tell them that they’ve got it all wrong.
These precious girls were at the market at 7:30 AM, and spent hours cooking for us. They paid for everything they used with money that they don’t really have-and spared no expense. The meal that they made for us today is a meal traditionally served at weddings and grand parties-every little piece of it, from the yellow rice to the chicken, is simply more expensive.
Washing the rice-a necessity if you’d prefer not to chip a tooth on the tiny rocks hiding amidst the grains. That, and there’s always the rat poo-poo. Western snob that I am, I prefer poo-poo-less rice.
I love this girl. I can’t wrap my mind around the idea that after two years, I have to say goodbye to her tomorrow.
Is this goat not the most pitiful thing you’ve ever seen? I wanted to take him home, name him Frank and never, ever eat him.
…but I don’t think they’ll let Frank through customs next week.
I’m sorry, Frank.
Plating the food! Senegalese women are all about presentation-which I love.
And this? This was to die for. You’d be amazed and what kind of damage a couple of Senegalese women can do to that much food. [And by “that much food”, I mean more than a pound of rice per person. Help me, Rhonda.]
Christy, Michelle and I got forks-but the rest of them went at it Senegalese-style and ate with their hands. Call me a weenie, but it’s the one thing I simply can’t stand! In Senegal, it’s the hostess’ job to tear off pieces of meat with her hand [a hand that she’s been using to squish rice into the oily balls she’s popping in her mouth] and place them in front of the guests gathered around her platter. Well today, each one of those sweet girls fancied herself the hostess-and for the life of me, I couldn’t scoop rice and chicken into my mouth faster than they were each throwing food towards my piece of the platter!
Swimming. Up. Stream.
It was perfectly lovely.
And tomorrow is goodbye.