The sixty cent shave pt. 2

Mmamb (pronounced bomb), I am tempting so say something like "Man, that place was the BOMB!" Get it? Even if it wasn't the best place, didn't draw more tourists than anywhere else, didn't have the most exciting beaches, or any that I saw, it was the bomb. Not in some crazy-wild-party-beach-madness-running-adjective sort of way, it was chill, cool, relax, in a way only a small Serer village could be. Our descent into mbamb was the end of this choatic trip, this trip that took a whole day to travel the distance between Milwaukee and Madison (usually a two hour trip). It took us one day, and I had to hold a rag against the roof of one of the buses we took in order to avoid getting soaked from some brown colored water that poured in from who knows what on the roof. When we finally got to Mbamb, it was dark and we were tired and hungry and I didn't know what to expect.

Walking through Foundioune, the bigger tourist village just on the outskirts of Mbamb, reminded me so much of Joal. Things were lively, and people spoke more Wolof than Serer. We headed through this choas, these mad streets, walked through the darkness down a long road that led nowhere, and at some point in this nowhere we arrived at point.

We, but for the others this was a return, a sort of homecoming, both Ellen and Madelyn had been here, had lived here, so for them the giant trees, the fields, all of this was a memory. We marched through this darkness and they pointed to a tree: I sat under that tree and read. They pointed to a fence: In that fence I helped herd the cows. I don't know these things, these things are like the shadows all around us, these indistinct blurs that you can never fully see, that always exist because of the abscence of clarity.

We wake up and the village is exploding, at least that is what it sounds like, this machine gun fire like procession choking the air. We head off into the midst of it, walking closer and closer to this commotion. We stumble upon a herd of humanity, the whole village is assembled in a circle under a giant mangoe tree, all staring at the old women dancing. The same bullhorn loudspeaker is set up and high pitched singing along with metal toned guitar music drowns out any thoughts, its surprising how people still are talking through all this sound. The drums. The guitars. The singing. The excited cries of the old women as they dance in a circle. We get special seats.

Its a celebrationg, and its Serer style. A French foreign aide organization just finished constructing additional classes at the local middle school. The military is there. The village chief is there (who Madelyn makes the impossibly hillarious comment that his voice sounds exactly like the puppet, the old female one, from Mister Roggers). We are led to seats among the old men with their boubous, dark glasses and scarves despite the warm weather. We just laugh and watch the music, and watch everyone come and go, people pushing their way closer, pushing their way through this circle. We leave once the speeches start.

We head off into the sun, out of the giant shade of the mangoe tree. We leave this vibrant circle of pulsing humanity and head into town. Mbamb is Serer and you can just feel it by being there. Things take on a more basic form. Most of the houses are fenced off with the branches that have fallen from palm trees. Most of the compounds don't hold one giant house but a series of smaller huts, with grass roofs and twisted branches holding them up. Just like Marlodge, this place has a feel that is Serer, a sight that just inspires a lifestyle. We spend the day touring the town, Madelyn and Ellen catching up with all their old friends in town. When I say old I mean old,most of them are old women, joyously crying about how great toubabs are. We walk around this place, sputtering Serer and just living in it, speaking with Djin Thiarry, a Senegales man that never stops smiling and refers to me constantly as his big brother. There are more mango trees than I have seen anywhere else, and you can see all of the small mangoes ripening on the branches. The second mango season is coming, or at least they tell me.

Describing places like this is so hard, I tend to leave out so much detail. People come from thousands of miles away to see places like this, to live exoctically, but after seeing it so much it doesn't shock you. Seeing donkeys, horses, chickens roaming around the courtyards, often into the houses, have ceased to surprise me. The houses, which are often put together with any used material they can find, all of this seems so hard to describe. Once you have seen a small Serer village you have seen them all. That doesn't mean that you know them, that you can write all of the other ones off, its just seeing grass huts looses its appeal after you see them weekly, if not daily.

Even though most of the time in Mbamb is spent catching up, or is spent on Ellen and Madelyn catching up, we enjoy ourselves. Mbamb is an eco-village, a village that is dedicated to using agriculturally sustainable techiniques to develop. They reuse everything, have a string of meetings about new initiatives, about new ideas, about their future. Its all about organizing, organizing and trying to change their state. They have a biomass project, solar ovens, solar panels, and a whole new string of ideas. This is Mbamb, and the funny thing about it is things like this are typical of many villages, even if they don't call themselves eco-villages. The reuse, the fact that everything short of plastic bags, and even those most of the times, can be reused is a reality of most small villages here.

More to come on Toubab Diallo.