Seliba

When the morning of December 21st, Seliba (Tabaski, or Eid Al Adha, the day of pilgrimage to Mecca) arrived, it felt a little like Christmas, minus the snow. The entire village was alive, with the crackle of frying furu-furu (fried millet cakes), and sight of brand new, pressed, specially tailored, colorful clothes only to be worn once, with stickers still firmly attached. The excited feeling you have when you wake up on Christmas morning and head to the beautifully lit Christmas tree was the same feeling that overcame me as I wandered around Kadiaradugu that morning. Excitement was everywhere, and I felt it arise in me when Géné, one of the children, came up to me with a big toothless grin and said “Seliba is today!”

For me, Seliba started the day before, when all of the women got dressed up to go to the special pre-Seliba market. Our markets are always on Wednesdays, but this was a special market, and what is normally a small, empty marketplace had turned into an almost saturated, bustling place. I walked with the proud women of my village to the market that day, their children strapped snugly to their backs and their empty buckets and bowls safely balanced on their heads. I greeted my usual friends, mingled in the market, drank some dégé (sweet yogurt with millet), and dublini (sweet hibiscus tea), and went home. That night, my friend Wasa came over to apply the jabi (Malian henna) I had bought in market that day. So began one of the best nights in village yet. We pulled my straw mat into my front yard and got to work. The entire process took a few hours, which were filled with the beautiful, distinctive laughs of my female friends. We spent the night chatting in Bambara, and pretending like I can speak Senufo, which elicited multiple howls of laughter from my lady friends. At one point there were four women working on my feet, all lit by the light from a single flashlight gripped between Wasa’s neck and shoulder.

Wasa applying Jabi
My lady friends helping out
Pre Jabi feet
Jabi feet
Post jabi feet

Mine and Wasa's

The next morning found me in bed with jabi, plastic bags and socks on my feet, with Wasa yelling softly to me at 6:30 to get up and remove the jabi. I washed it off, and mixed the rock salt consistency rat poison with ash and water, used to turn the red shade of the jabi into black. When my cuts were taped up and the poison application was finished, I proceeded with my daily activities of pulling water from the well for drinking, cooking and cleaning, and reading. Today was different, however, as I was to be at the mosque by 9 am for the big prayer. I didn’t have much time to heat my water for my bucket bath, bathe, eat, and get my clothes pressed before the big prayer. Luckily, musokoroba came to my house and gave me furu-furu mixed with water and sugar for breakfast, sparing the need to cook. When I was ready, I put on my best Malian outfit, and musokoroba showed up to give me her white shawl (again) and escort me to the prayer area. As I was walking up to prayer, an old woman approached me telling me that my skirt was too short. This skirt was below mid calf, so I was quite surprised, but utterly embarrassed, and after much chastisement, was on the verge of tears. What would happen to me if I disrespected their sacred place? Would I get kicked out, or would they just look at me differently from here on out? Some of the women agreed it was too short, but others said it was okay, so I proceeded to the mosque. Despite the fashion faux-pas, this trip to the mosque was less nerve-racking than the last one, and one musokoroba actually requested I stand in the back and take pictures first, and she would call me to prayer secondly. I snapped some pictures, and then joined in the group. It was much cooler and more pleasant than the first trip to the mosque, and I remembered to bring money this time. After mosque, I was only able to snap a few pictures of my villagers in their special Seliba outfits before they hurried home to change clothes and start preparing the meat for the feasts.


Prayer at the outdoor mosque area.

The old ladies (musokorobas) of the village in their finest clothing
One of the dugutigi's wives, Seitu
My host father, Bakary
One of my host mothers, Korotum
My friend Wasa and her husband, Yacou
Me, in my finest clothing.
Wasa and I
My language tutor, Sidiki and his family

I walked around the village and gave my greetings, and handed out the 5 chickens I bought to Hadi my supervisor, Lasina the village doctor, the dugutigi, Tahiru my homologue, Bakary my host father, and Sidiki my language tutor. I watched a few goats being slaughtered, skinned and prepared, and preceded to my house to prepare for the party I was set to host in the afternoon. Thanks to an EKI package, I had a ton of toys, including gliders, kaleidoscopes, balloons, stickers, jumping frogs, magic writing tablets, amongst others. I made banana bread in my solar hot pot, and a majority of the men and a few women came over, where we made tea and played a Malian card game called 151. It was a day full of laughter as I blew up 100 balloons, with the men watching me in amazement (they couldn’t seem to figure out how to do it). I watched the curiosity and creativity of these men as they looked through a kaleidoscope for the first time, put the gliders together backwards, watched the magic writing disappear with the swipe of a finger. I made many old men and women jump and shriek as I pressed the bum of the jumping frog, causing it to leap at them (there is a strong dislike and even fear of frogs here in Mali). They decided the best use of the plastic frogs was to glue them to their motos. They were equally as fascinated with the stickers of colorful cartoon fish (Finding Nemo?) They couldn’t believe that fish like this existed, and when I tried to explain that smiling fish with googly eyes didn’t really exist, they couldn’t understand the concept, and decided that they just didn’t exist in Mali, but surely they could be found in America.

Slaughtering of a goat
Skinning the goat is an amazingly delicate art. Some men and kids in my yard playing cards.
My homologue Tahiru and my supervisor Hadi have matching clothes on.
Some village boys all dressed up.
And the village girls all dressed up.

As evening fell, the party ended, and people went home, happy with their new toys, and amazed at the things they had discovered about America (including banana bread). When night fell, I went to Bakary’s house where I feasted on goat meat, including liver and who knows what other parts, but turning down the invitation to eat stomach. I went to bed full, happy and exhausted. It was a wonderful holiday, with Christmas just around the corner. Check your email in a few weeks for my Christmas adventures and more photos.