Speaking Malingo, Being Malingo

Malinke is a funny language in that it has immeasurable meaning expressed through a limited number of words, the result of which makes it a little like Legos; blocks of standard size and color are put together in varying directions and quantities to create awesome masterpieces of art (“Everything is awesome!”). The example that I always give to non-Malinke-speaking Senegalese people when discussing the complexity of the language is the word “ba”. This one-syllable word means: father, big, powerful, goat, river, sea, and lake (potentially among other things). The contextualization is further complicated by the fact that both inseparable possession and description are formulated by lining up two words together. So, “ba-ba” could mean: big father (head of the household), big goat (goat of the household?), father’s goat, goat’s father, father’s river, goat’s river, river’s lake, lake’s goat, etc. Every phrase you create has some nPk potential of meaning. Thus, you really have to pay attention.

Recently as my ability to communicate has blossomed into a new level of fluency and comfort, I have been receiving what I believe to be one of the higher compliments of toubab-foreigners – “Diabou le kourata malingo!” Loosely translated it means, “Diabou is done with Malinke!” This is about a million times more encouraging to hear that the tired old, “Diabou ma malingo me foloo” or “Diabou doesn’t hear Malinke yet” that I heard repeatedly through my journey of learning and grew to truly despise as it was a confirmation of my weakness and insecurity.

I find the phrasing of the compliment interesting through. The word "malingo" is the Malinke word for the name of the language, Malinke, but it has another meaning. "Mali" is the country to the east of us where the Malinke ethnic group purportedly originated from, and "ngo" means "person".  So when they tell me that I finished "malingo", it can also mean that I finished becoming a "Malinke person".

This idea has been further corroborated by some other recent compliments from some of the same people who have told me, "Diabou mu malingo sayiin" or "Diabou is Malinke now" and have referred to me as "Malingo mousso" or "Malinke lady".

I don’t know whether there is some causal correlation between being able to speak the language and being accepted as a member of the tribe, or if both are merely the product of the same independent variable: time. But both compliments I accept with the highest level of internal flattery (because it’s taken so long to get here but it feels so good to have made it) and the highest level of external suppression or denial (because being Malinke, this is how one is expected to receive compliments publicly).

Recently I had the opportunity to show off just how Malinke I could be in celebrating Tabaski (known as Eid al-Adha in other parts of the world), the second, more important of the two holidays following Ramadan in the Islamic religion, and the biggest party of the year in village. The Malinke Tabaski celebration is a kind of combination of prom and Thanksgiving with religious undertones and a river of blood seeping from the sheep obligatorily sacrificed in every compound.

Preparation for the holiday begins several weeks before. Three to 5 weeks before the big day, budget permitting, everyone will go purchase fabric to have 1-2 outfits made for each member of the family and take the fabric to the tailor before he gets so overwhelmed that he has to turn away business. Generally for such an important holiday, the appropriate fabric is something called bazen that is kind of like a papery, starched silk and comes in a variety of solid colors. The tailors who sew your outfit will dress it up with embroidery in the shape of flowers or waves, or just in general blocks of color and patterns.  This year my toxoma (namesake), Diabou, my brother’s wife, Dande, and I were in cahoots to get matching outfits made together. I am not a big fan of bazen myself because it is expensive and hot to wear so I purchased a fancy cotton wax for us to share with bits of bazen to mix in to dress it up and Diabou and Dande conspired to design a classy Malinke outfit.

In addition to outfits, jewelry and shoes are of critical importance for Malinke women. Gawdy gold or silver and bling are preferred. Since I had recently been home to the US on vacation I was able to obtain some cheap, gaudy gold hoops and bracelets from H&M for the three of us, as well as some gold, dangling earrings and a super gaudy gold necklace for my host mom. They loved all of it. Shoes though, we purchased in Kedougou. They had to be heels, obviously, and they were bedazzled in little fake white crystals.

 With 2-3 weeks left before the holiday, Malinke families, again budget permitting, will purchase the ram they are going to sacrifice as a part of the religious ceremony. This sacrifice is an act performed all of over the world by Muslim families on this holiday because the holiday itself celebrates the willingness of Abraham to sacrifice his son at God’s command. According to the story, when Abraham went to cut his son’s throat, he found that God had intervened and that his son had been replaced by a ram. Sacrificing a ram, thus, is done in remembrance of this act of faith and devotion. Rams are raised all year for this occasion by people dedicated to doing so, sort of like the people that own year-round Christmas decoration shops. With what money you have you try to get the fattest, healthiest one possible. You may even get more than one if you can afford it.

Lunch-to-be

 In the last week before the big day, new clothes are fitted and picked up from the tailor shop and the final touches of beauty are applied. Women often apply henna to their hands and feet. Unlike henna done in the U.S. or India where henna is used like a pen to draw on patterns, Malinke women create the pattern in the negative space. Women use medical tape to create patterns and the henna is applied on top such that when it is all removed, the foot or hand will be mostly black with pattern the color of natural skin. I personally don’t have the patience for this since you are forced to sit with your feet or hands up and wrapped in bags, unable to use them for several hours while the henna sets in, but the other women and girls in my house did it. I just painted my nails instead which is also acceptable for Malinke women.

Additionally, men make a trip to the coiffure to get their heads shaved and women head to the salon to get their hair done up in extravagant braids and weaves. Ironically, while I use hair-dos to make myself look more Malinke to fit in in this context, many Malinke women use hair-dos to look more western since western style in a strong influence on perceptions of beauty and the long, fine, straight hair typically found on the heads of light-skinned women is central in that. They often have their hair braided in short, tight braids but sew in long, wavy hair pieces over it, or attach buns or long, faux pony tails to the back of their heads.  I on the other hand, go for the braids. I guess the net effect is we meet somewhere in the middle.

Upper Left: Saraya's own famous hairstylist, Aminata Sila, and myself - Upper Right: The finished produce - Bottom: A beautiful example of Senegalese-style henna (I don't actually know whose feet these are)

When all that is prêt (ready), we are set to fête (party).

Tabaski morning, unlike Christmas morning, is usually a slow ease into the day. People generally just mill about without doing too much until it is time to bathe and make your way to the mosque.  Who attends the mosque service varies by family and by religiosity. In my family it is often only my host mom that attends. Around 10am she puts on her finest bazen, lays a shroud over her head, grabs her prayer mat and heads for the basketball court where hundreds of women gather for the outdoor version of the service. My host dad would normally attend the service with the other older men at the mosque but he has trouble walking these days so he never really leaves the compound. The other adults in my house are either lazy or they don’t attend because they feel like my host mom is holding down the fort and has everyone covered already.  Either way, in her absence the rest of us don our first Tabaski outfits, the less-fancy morning outfits, along with our jewelry and our make-up and we await her return.

The Tabaski Trouble Makers (Dande, Diabou (me) and Diabou (original))

Toubabs in Saraya

Upon her return, my toxoma’s husband, Wujari, slits the throat of the ram and lays it out to let it bleed for a while before skinning it and removing certain organs. Much to my privilege (aka revulsion), this usually happens on the ground just outside the door to my hut.

Upper Left: The Slaughter - Upper Right: Onion-dicin' for days - Bottom: Girls helping out

The rest of the morning the women spend cooking. Together they dice up barrels and barrels of onions, peel and chop potatoes, and clean and carve the mutton. Some older women who are no longer in charge of cooking for their household and many of the men will go from house to house to greet friends and family members and bless them on this holiday.  The Malinke blessing ceremony between two people usually goes like this:

Friend:                Diabou, kori ñiima salita? Diabou, did you pray in peace ?

Diabou (Me):     Iyo, nñiima salita. Kori fanaa ñiima salita ? Yes, I prayed in peace. Did you also

                           pray in peace?

Friend :               Iyo, nñiima salita. Allah mu salii siyaala. Yes, I prayed in peace. May God give

                             you a plentiful prayer day.

Me :                     Amina. Amen.

Friend:                Xa jaritaa ita kendo la. May He grant you health.

Me :                     Amina. Amen.

Friend:                Xi se kee soto anin i se dindingolu soto. May he give you a husband and children.

Me:                      Amina. Amen.

Friend:                Xila baaro noxoyaa. May he make your work easier

Me:                      Amina. Alla mu salii siyaala. Amen. May God give you a plentiful prayer day.

Friend :               Amina. Amen.

Me:                      Xa jaritaa ita kendo la. May He grant you health

Friend :               Amina. Amen.

Me :                     Xa idingolu balula. May he grant your children long lives.

Friend :               Amina. Amen.

Me:                      Xa ining kee soumounta me la. May you and your husband enjoy a long time

                             together.

Friend:                Amina. Amen.

Me:                      Xa heero faa la ila luo ma. May peace fill your household.

Friend :               Amina. Amen.

Me:                      I xa yamfa ma. You forgive me (for anything I’ve done badly to you)?

Friend:                Nyamfata. Ite fana xa yamfa ma. I forgive you. You also forgive me?

Me:                      Nyamfata. I forgive you.

The prayers may vary from person to person but the gist is the same and you get really good at it because you have to say it to every person individually who enters the compound or who you see outside of the compound throughout the whole day of Tabaski, which is a lot of people. I tend to get a lot of compliments on my Malinke-ness in this ritual because I have an exhaustive list of prayers I go through that not even many native Malinkes generally say.

When the mutton-onion-potato stew is ready, generally not until 3 or 4pm, it is served into a number of bowls of various sizes by the lady chefs along with chunks of bread. Traditionally the meat is supposed to be divided into three parts; the family retains a third while the second third is given to relatives, friends or neighbors and the last third is given to the poor and needy. In practice I don’t believe that the division is so precise but we do share it with a lot of people. Before anyone can sit down to eat at the bigger of the bowls, the little bowls are dispatched with small children to be delivered to specific people around town.  When one does sit down to eat, it is with whatever gender/age group that person belongs to. I eat with the middle generation men and women in my family, all between the ages of 18 and 40, like I do for my normal meals. My host parents eat together along with the grandchildren. This isn’t a particularly normal food bowl division by Senegalese standards which usually demand men and women to eat separately and the male head of household to have a bowl to himself, but it works for us.

Hungry hands finally digging in

Unfortunately this year, our food was not good. I don’t know whether the meat was not cleaned well enough or not cooked enough or what, but nobody seemed to like it. After just a few bites my toxoma’s husband excused himself with the excuse of being sick and being unable to eat a lot. Next a guest excused himself saying he was full. Then my host brother declared “this tastes awful” and got up and left. I found myself alone with just Dande and Diabou left at the bowl, the two women who had slaved the most over the food all morning and my bestie Tabaski partners in crime. It is not in the Malinke culture to tell a white lie in order to protect someone’s feelings but I couldn’t stand the level of ungratefulness after they had worked so hard. I insisted that the food was delicious and forced myself to eat 4-5 whole potatoes that tasted like arm pit, just to prove the point. 

When we’ve stuffed our faces (or pretended to), someone usually buys some cold, sugary drink to share – often orange Fanta or Sprite or juice of some kind. It is bought in 1 liter bottles and little bits are poured into plastic coffee cups that are passed to someone in the group and then refilled before being passed to the next person again and again until everyone has enjoyed some.

Now into the late afternoon as the food and drink is cleared away, people generally rest. They may make traditional tea with friends. They may go visit the households of friends and family. Eventually they will bathe again and don their second outfit, usually the fancier of their two outfits, and get ready for the evening greeting tour. I generally take this time to go visit with friends from the hospital and enjoy a second, more lavish, Tabaski lunch with them that generally has way more vegetables and way less scary meat. This year it was perfectly roasted chicken (a Christian midwife had prepared it), french fries, onion sauce, tomatoes, bell peppers, cucumbers, carrots, olives, bread and no trace of arm pit. It was magnificent.

Arm-Pit Food

Magnificent Food

When the heat of the day breaks, nearly everyone ventures out to go greet the people they haven’t seen yet. I went out with Diabou and Dande on their rounds after dark. As most of my friends know, I am in no way anything beyond proficient in my ability to walk in heels but walking with these two ladies made me feel like a supermodel. They so badly wanted to wear heels but were very awkwardly chunking along in a sort of a stiff waddle-walk. We had an adventure navigating the uneven terrain and dirt trails, giggling at our obvious ineptitude, and called it quits after visiting just two of the more important compounds.

A casualty of our short adventure on rough terrain

At the end of the day, those who are still hungry may have a light dinner in the form of leftover mutton-onion-potato stew or basic rice porridge. Teenagers that come alive in the dark make their way to the community center for a dance party soiree. Everyone else retires to their rooms, a day well spent, ready for a break from the hype and a return to normal life until next year.

Obviously I don’t think that I speak Malinke perfectly yet; there are plenty of times I find my vocabulary to be lacking or I can’t understand what someone is trying to communicate to me. And I know I’m not actually Malinke all of the sudden either; I am about 50 shades too white (ahem, not gray), I’m not Muslim and I am still the daughter of a “Mollenkopf” and a “Kogon”, not a “Tounkara” or a “Danfakha” or a “Cissokho” or anything else.  But I do appreciate the honorary title. And it’s pretty fun when holidays like Tabaski come around to pretend like it is true, to abandon my American aversion to too-too, gawdy jewelry or matching shirt-skirt outfits with poofs and frills and bright colors, to don the otherwise preposterous hair-do and crystal-studded heals, to make house calls to wish the best to friends and family through prayers in a religion I don’t belong to, to eat arm-pit potatoes and scary meat for the sake of tradition and community and to generally go all-out celebrating like a true Malinke with my Malinke family in a Malinke community. It is a singular experience.


Also, I've had a lot of attention on my hair style and a lot of opinions shared about my doppelganger. I'll leave it to you to decide. Let me know what you vote for...