Pharoahs

Jig Jum is a local historian and has traced the genealogy of Ngone's ethnic group, the Serere-Safin, back 28 generations. The Serere-Safin origins are with those who fled slavery in Egypt around 600 BC. A famous Senegalese historian (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cheikh_Anta_Diop) argued that the Wolof ethnic group of Senegal are true descendants of the pharoahs of ancient Egypt (check out that link for a fascinating discussion of his originally very controversial theories). However Jig Jum contends that it was not the Wolof but the Serere-Safin who are the true descendants of the pharoahs. The Wolof ethnic group was created as a combination of languages only around the year 1300. But the Serere, Bambara and Peul of the surrounding region of West Africa are true descendants who fled Egypt around 600 BC, and also more truly exhibit the respectful practices of the ancient culture. The Serere and Peul were of the same origins and lived along the Senegal River in northern Senegal until a group explored down to the coast south of the cap vert peninsula of Dakar, where they reached the Atlantic Ocean, stopped, and became the Serere-Safin. The oldest dated fossilized bones in Senegal are from the Serere-Safin region.

Jig Jum, Ngone's brother Abibou, and I visited a remote Serere-Safin village named Sipan to look at an agriculture project initiated by a missionary. After visiting the vegetable field we walked on out to the Baobab forest you see above. Ngone had explained to me that Baobab trees are the homes of the spirits, or ghosts. We looked out at dozens of mounds dotted throughout the forest. The elders explained to me the traditional burial process:

Up until a few years ago the Serere-Safin buried the richest amongst them in buried pyramids. They buried a person's home and belongings with them and each village would then come with all the men piling on a whole lot of sand all day long. At the end of the day that village would sacrifice a cow giving its blood to the spirits (drip into the earth), the meat for the villagers to eat, and place the cow's head at the top of the mound. Then another village would come the next day and repeat the ritual placing another cow's head at the top of the mound, until the mound grew larger and larger.

More about Pharoahs

Ngone, Kathleen Aiza and David Ibrahima's genealogy

Kindred Spirits

Jig Jum reminds me of my uncle Louis Savage. It would be great if they could meet but I don't think that day will ever come, except right here on this blog.

My grandfather commented that Jig Jum also reminds him of his Great Great Uncle Joe Walker.  According to Guv, back in the 1840s Old Joe was what was called a Mountain Man of the Rocky Mountains, which were then remote obviously. They mostly trapped beavers. When they had enough skins they would come down out of the mountains to sell them, spend all their money, and then go back to trapping.  They were fond of the Indians but wary of them stealing their pelts, guns, and knives.  Some of their friends married Indian women.  Old Joe was respected by all of his compatriots and he guided emigrant parties from time to time on both the Santa Fe Trail and the Oregon Trail.  The book The Oregon Trail, by David Dary, describes Old Joe Walker guiding a party of emigrants from Kansas to California, blazing a new trail through the Sierra Nevada Mountains using a newly found pass which is still called Walker Pass.  It is at about 5,250 feet elevation, south of Owens Peak in modern Kern County, California.  The book also describes Old Joe's encounter with Peg Leg Smith at his trading post in Idaho.  Old Joe held his foot while it was cut off after he had been shot by an Indian.

Baobab

This Boabab tree has been dated at 1,300 years old. The Baobabs are called the upside down trees because they look like their roots are sticking up in the air. They dot the flat landscape of West Africa. They are especially beautiful around dusk when the dust glows in the air. But in the day time they provide little shade from the oppressive sun. They produce a dry fruit which is used to make a tasty juice, which has medicinal qualities for digestion (it's an anti-laxative). When a fully ripe dry fruit drops from the tree and hits the ground it can spark a fire.

Missionaries from Costa Rica

We heard that two of Ngone's sister Aissatou's daughters are now living at an "American" school in Thies. So one day we went to visit them with Aissatou and Ngone's uncle Jig Jum Jon (also known Baye Fat, Mara, or Aliou). Jig Jum is also teaching me Wolof.

We entered a beautiful villa in Thies and soon started chatting in French with the Pastor, a missionary from Costa Rica. He has about 15 kids living in the home and they are teaching them French, Spanish, and English, along with computers, bible teachings and other life skills. They also attend the local public school. They will live there up until the age of 18, when he feels they will have gained a solid foundation for the rest of their lives. He explained his approach also as very purposely oriented around the concept of family. He told Ngone and I that his father was a "metisse" African descendant from the east coast of Costa Rica (originally from the freedom seekers who fled Jamaica), so he feels the blood connection to Africa and has always wanted to pursue that.

Jig Jum apparently met this missionary through a mutual friend and has also apparently arranged a number of the children to live there. As the kids filed out to shake our hands and say bonjour he proceeded to greet all of them in Ngone's family's local dialect. (In fact he greets almost everyone he meets in this local dialect). Regardless, I can vouch for the genuine need for Aissatou's daughters to receive assistance. When I first met Aissatou she was very skinny and frail and impressed me tremendously with her perseverance, kindness and honesty. She has had a very difficult life since her first husband completely abandoned her and her first four kids (he has definitely missed out). It is great to see her now much stronger and healthier, and much credit goes to Ngone (and my Uncle Tom) for encouraging her to leave her husband's village and go work in the capital. But just last night I learned that she still often skips dinner and walks a few kilometers home each night from work to save transportation money.

This missionary visit really made me feel better about the efforts Ngone and I have made to help her family. To see a group going farther than us with their work and sacrifice helps give us a positive vision. And the family focus of their work is heartwarming.

One of the girls working there for a few months is from Milwaukee. She's shown in the picture above. She was an Americorps volunteer and never thought she would do missionary work but here she is. She is a member of the church in Milwaukee.

Black Magic

As I mentioned earlier I was excited to sleep on my roof under the stars. Well little did I know the controversy I would stir up with this seemingly simple act. No one in the village sleeps outside. They believe that at night the evil spirits come out. Ngone was so scared in the tent that she was shaking and couldn't sleep. She was the first person of the village in hundreds (or thousands) of years to sleep outdoors. So I broke some longstanding traditions to say the least.

Ngone's mother is a traditional medecine woman specializing in fertility. She became a medecine woman back in 2001 or so when she started having visions. She is able to communicate with the spirits. But there are also other traditional medicine men (called Marabouts) who do bad things against people with these powers.

Ngone's mother was told about a new Marabout in a nearby village who came from Mali. So she took us to visit him. He looked like a young man but was actually in his 40s. He said he has a son in the United States, but he lives in a small rented room in a village house with no furniture except for two floor mats. He told us that he couldn't sleep the night before because he knows there is a gris-gris (like a voodoo charm) planted in Ngone's mother's house. He proceeded to read our futures in the sand. Then that night he walked to the house (he doesn't take wheels). He sat in the middle of the compound with Ngone's brother. Then he got up and walked next to the entry door. He pointed at a place in the ground and told Ngone's brother Abdou to dig there. Abdou dug down a few inches and sure enough hit a small thing which looked like a cut goat's horn with things stuffed inside. It looked old. I wouldn't believe he knew exactly where that gris-gris was buried if I didn't witness him point to its location myself. And Ngone and her brothers are almost as skeptical about all this stuff as you and I. He proceeded to say special prayers to cancel the evil effects, including flipping two shells that happened to land open side up, whose openness ensured freedom from evil. The two pictures above are him digging a new hole for the new gris-gris he planted to protect the house.

I also included a picture with the eldest Imam of the village. He prayed at every baptism and funeral, but is now retired and Ngone's mother's husband has taken over that task. The elder's wife is Ngone's father's (he died when Ngone was a few years old) sister. The other pictures are of her (the lady smiling with Ngone) and Ngone's mother.

Ngone's younger sister

We visited Ngone's younger sister Khady where she lives in her husband's village, Cinquante (Cinquante means 50 in French and denotes 50 kilometers from Dakar). She cooked a chicken and rice dish for us called thiebuginaar. My sister Julie had given $20 to Khady as a Christmas present, so we gave that to her. We also gave her the tricycle we had bought for Kathleen Aiza. She was so happy to see Ngone and very appreciative of the gifts. Her husband tried to buy a piece of land to build a house, but the guy who sold it ate his money and sold it to someone else. So they are still living in a room in his mother's house in the village. Khady loves her inlaws. She is so happy there and they love her too. She now speaks their dialect of Serere. She certainly reminds me of my sister Julie, and my wife Ngone.

When I was in Peace Corps in Kayes with Ngone back in 2002 we heard by telephone that Khady was having twins. Ngone was so jealous because she always wanted to have twins. When Ngone was visiting her family before we left for the United States, the twin boy Adama, a big strong little boy, was sick. He got so sick Khady, Ngone and their mother took a taxi to the hospital. But on the way he died in Ngone's lap in the backseat of the taxi. This was a very tragic event for the family of course. But after that she had another baby boy. And since then she's had another girl and boy. She now has four kids: Awa, Papa, Ngone (named after my wife), and Mor, and she's the happiest, most innocent young lady in the world.

The goat sacrifice

We sacrificed a goat to celebrate my sister Erica's graduation from college. Ngone's brother Lassy and Kevin took turns carrying the goat on their shoulders from the nearby Pulaar village. I performed the halal ritual with the eagle knife my grandfather gave to me to take to Africa. Ngone's brother Abibou butchered it masterfully. As I cut its neck I said, as instructed, "Bissimilah, Allah Akbar, God bless America and Erica!"

Car broke down in Saint Louis

The first shot is of the car broke down in Saint Louis. We had to jump start it and then it started overheating while we were stopped to eat breakfast on the side of the road. So I couldn't turn off the car until we got somewhere where we could get it started again. So I got in and drove in circles around downtown Saint Louis as fast as I could to get it to cool off (with the kids in the backseat), while Ngone finished her breakfast. Then I did a drive by and picked up Ngone and Kevin and we hit the road across the bridge to the gas station. Luckily traffic wasn't backed up at the bridge construction as it usually was. This shot is at the mechanic across the street from the gas station. He asked for 5 dollars for repairing the radiator hose and recharging the battery. Then we were off to Boukhou, where we push started the car to get to the baptism in a remote village where you saw me trying to get a push start in the previous post. Once we got back to Dakar we figured out the problem was the alternator, and got that replaced for 40 dollars. Car parts and labor are two of the few things that are still cheap in Dakar.

The other pictures are from the baptism, which was in the village of our nieces Nana and Oumya and nephew Pape's mother, Ndeye Diouf. Ndeye has run restaurants in the streets of some of the roughest parts of Dakar. Nana was always the waitress and cook's assistant, and the food was always excellent. Now Ndeye cooks for a Lebanese family. She's a very hard working and very nice lady.

Bye Kevin

Here's a shot of me getting a push start when our car broke down in a remote village, with my wife looking on in amusement.