once a day

While not an intentional part of my routine, I can count on certain things occurring every day in Garly. Here’s a taste:

-At least five times a tiny yet brutal “death star” will stick in my foot and I will pluck it out while saying “I’m dying” in Pulaar. (Death stars are little plant pods all over the ground- they are as small as a seed but serve no obvious purpose.)
-I will summarize my day’s events on a homemade calendar that I’ve created out of Sharpie markers and cardboard.
-The Moor boutique owner will remind me that we’re not friends anymore, since I stopped teaching him English. He ends our friendly chat in careful English, “Thank you very much.”
-I will grit my teeth at a baby crying in my house and fail at trying to think nice thoughts about babies.
- I will say “I don’t know” or “I don’t understand” about something concerning Pulaar.
-I will think about the food I ate in Paris.
-I will lie about somewhere I have to be in order to leave a house where I have run out of conversation topic.
-I will accurately guess the temperature and feel smug as I check the thermometer hanging on my clothesline.
-I will laugh about something no one else thinks is funny. I will say, “That’s sad, funny, good, scary…” (just insert any adjective) when no one else agrees. This shows despite my best efforts to integrate, my viewpoint refuses to conform.

bump in the night

A sample of things I’ve woken to in the night:

- A woman giving birth right outside of my house. I ended up strapping my headlamp onto Mariam Ba’s head and giving the baby its first bath.
- People crying and walking to the house of a recently dead villager
- Drums for my friend Atcha’s wedding. I roused myself out of bed at midnight to stand amid the dust and the dancing, holding babies while their mothers danced under the moon in the circle.
- The newest member of my host family’s first cries in the room next to mine, about five feet from my head.
- Countless people seeking medical help from Mariam Ba.
- Cars, donkeys, dogs barking roosters crowing and the ever-dependable pre-dawn prayer call.

My Fifteen Thousand Hours of Fame

You know you’re a celebrity when…

-People trade bits of information about you like facts on a baseball card. Competing for who knows your father’s name or what you ate for breakfast.
-Any physical ailment you acquire is pored over, every big (however personal) event is widespread knowledge, and people ask questions (about your recent whereabouts or market purchases) to which they already know the answers.
-Attention is easily thrown your way. You are constantly on the brink of close observation, judgment and being juicy gossip material. Any development from a loud laugh, to a speaking mistake, to a new outfit, and all present company leans in to be a part of the action.
-Your simple presence turns anything into an event. You sitting down turns an empty mat into a swarm of children. Your drinking tea turns a quiet conversation into a celebratory atmosphere. Doing what the locals do daily is magically interesting. Your hand is shaken for going to the fields, you’re exclaimed over for buckets on your head and henna on your feet.
- People pay 100UM to have a picture taken with you by the local photographer.
-In general, you sense an undercurrent of attention always on you. Eyes and ears are seemingly everywhere, felt in people repeating things you said or did. The idea of privacy feels like a distant memory.