Halloween, Senegalese Style

November 5, 2008

Let me begin by saying that it is rather odd to be in a place that is warm on October 31st. I remember hiking in the crisp clean air of Cold Spring back in New York this time of year, admiring the striking reds and yellows of the leaves and the carved pumpkins adorning most porches, then coming back down to the main street to watch the joyous faces of the children participating in the local ragamuffin parade. Here, if I were to carve anything, it would probably be a watermelon.

Here, also, I did what I typically do, from slathering on the sunscreen to going for a quick after-school dip in the ocean to unwind (though the temperature of the water has dropped considerably, another indication of Senegal’s little winter).

I then had to change and get ready to help hang black crepe and
prepare for our school’s Halloween bash. Most schools in Senegal would
not be celebrating, but as we are bilingual, it is one of the events
the students look forward to most all year. (Many of them even ended
up printing their admission tickets to the Nov 1 SAT exams in my
office while the party was in full swing, if that isn’t
conscientious!)

Items on the party menu included fermented horse piss, troll diarrhea
and warthog vomit (did I mention they are quite a creative bunch when
they put their minds to it?); one student had made delectable brownies
(cow patties?) and another wonderful spicy fattaya, which is sort of
like a Senegalese samosa, a deep fat fried patty containing meat and
onions and spices.

Music was all-American, mainly rap, not a bit of mbalax to be heard,
though if I am not mistaken I heard a strain or two of coupe decale
(pronounced ‘koopay dehcalay’, a happy and percussive rhythm from the
Ivory Coast).

The kids looked so great wearing something other than their drab brown uniforms that I honestly had trouble recognizing a few of my own students. The older students wore mainly red and black, with chains and boots or killer heels and black nail polish and feline-inspired makeup in a sort of Gangsta-meets-Goth style, whereas the little ones were happy to flaunt their pointy witch hats and grotesque rubber masks. There was also one kid swinging something resembling a scythe which almost took my eye out more than once, but he was so excited that it was hard to get very upset with him.

There was face painting for the youngest and even a haunted classroom,
too full for me to even try to get in, but I can tell you there were
some ear-splitting shrieks coming from the room in question, so
whatever the older students had cooked up seemed to have worked as
intended. We made sure the door to the roof was safely locked, as this
might have been perfect make-out territory for hormonal young men and
ladies who might have found themselves inspired by some of the very
seductive dance moves displayed during the dance contest. (Whether or
not they know the plural of ‘wife’ or ‘knife,’ – and despite my best
efforts many still do not! - all of my kids know what a ‘lap dance’
is, without my having told them. Scary, huh?)

Since the teachers had been up and at it since 7.30 am, we were
feeling less than inspired to do anything much more than stumble into
bed, groggy from too much fermented horse piss and bellies aching from
an overly generous plate of warthog vomit…

About the Author : Tamara-Diana Braunstein brings us her stories from Senegal every week. She was born in Brooklyn, New York. She is a restless wanderer who earned an MA from the University of Freiburg and has worked in a youth hostel in the French Alps, a law firm in Montreal, the Metropolitan Museum of Art as well as in university press publishing. At the moment her home base is Dakar, Senegal, where she is supposed to be teaching but is doing far more learning, as you will see by reading her blog at www.senegalschoolmarm.blogspot.com