Journal entry- Tabaski troubles

ISA and CAROLINE- you might want to skip this one too. Well it’s the feast of Tabaski today, and though I’ve been looking forward to it as an opportunity for cultural integration, I’ve never felt like more of an outsider. Lately, the big joke in my family is “Aminata can’t do anything right!” They make fun of me for not being able to light my lantern or for not being able to change my bike tires- but really, they hardly give me a chance. Yeah it’s a funny joke but really, I feel like nothing I do is ever good enough. Especially today. Aside from this morning, when I got some beautiful pictures of the sunrise prayer, I can’t say I’ve enjoyed myself on the feast day. Pretty much all I’ve done today is sit around on my butt while women criticize me for not tying my pagne right, for the stain on my shirt, for my hair not being done correctly. And all day I’ve been force-fed every part of goat, sheep, and cow you can imagine- not to mention the fact that they were slaughtered right in front of my eyes. “Why don’t you like meat? Why don’t you eat it? Oh, well try this kind, try this kind. Come on, just try a little.” Alright, I tried a little. But I’m not going to suck the blood out of the bones like the rest of you. And my feeble efforts to tell them to wash their hands before they eat go unheard. This simple thing is such a big cultural barrier- they will not use soap. It brings bad luck. And they all wash in the same water, so they’re picking up even more germs. Even my homolouge and the most educated villagers refuse. And they laugh at me for being so dirty as to have a stain on my outfit. How the heck do they even notice? And why is it the one thing everyone keeps pointing out to me? I feel like I’m treated like a little child. No one can trust me to do anything by myself, everyone keeps pointing out my faults and talking to me like I’m deaf. They give me a long line of Tabaski blessings in which I graciously respond “Amiina” (Amen). And then they laugh at me because I don’t understand them. Alright, it is the first time a foriegner has shared their most sacred cultural feast. And I may not be doing everything right. But give me a break- it’s not easy. And they don’t understand.
So here, I’ve escaped in my hut for a precious few minutes before going to the big zylophone-dance place. All day music has been playing on the radio and people will say “Aminata, get up and dance.” And sometimes I do, and they get a kick out of it. It’s like I’m their little dancing monkey. Oh look the white girl is dancing, that’s so funny. So really, I’m not looking forward to the rest of the evening. I can’t blend in with the crowd. I can’t escape to go to bed at a decent hour without offending people. I’m Aminata. And as they like to say- I can’t do anything.