Naming Ceremony, Tobaski, Christmas, and New Year's
Greetings! The month of December flew by, and it already feels like January will follow in its footsteps! The next few months have a whirlwind of activity---attending workshops, going to Dakar, Senegal for an ex-pat softball tourney, helping with the new H/CD group's training, and possible visitors from America! Plus, I have my normal 'job stuff' in village to take care of, such as getting funding for the Women's Gardens, starting my Arts Club, teaching at the school, and other village activities.
The latter part of December involved quite a bit of activity. Upon my arrival home from my trip to Kombo last time, I was informed that my host cousin, Jonesaba, delivered a healthy baby boy. (I was told prior to his birth that if the baby was a girl, they'd name it Jalika, after me, and I have a 'too-ma', or a namesake.) However, since the baby was a boy, the family told me that at the baby's naming ceremony, they would be give the baby the name of my real father. Now, there is a baby in a medium-sized, Gambian village, in West Africa, named after a tall, Slavic rooted, American, named Raymond.
The family calls the baby Ray, well actually "Bray" because they can't say 'Ray'. So Ray turned into Bray, which reminded the family of Braima, which is like the Muslim name "Ebrima". (A baby still has to be given a Muslim name, even if named after a toubab.) When the baby's health card is completed, I will make sure that it reads, 'Ebrima Ray Bayo' or 'Ray Ebrima Bayo'.
Needless to say, my American father was very happy to have a little Gambian child named after him. Mom and Dad: Make sure you bring some cute baby clothes when you visit...
A few days after Baby Ray's naming ceremony, we celebrated Tobaski. While some Gambians celebrated the holiday on Thursday, December 20, the rest of us, mostly in the provinces, celebrated it on Friday, December 21 (it's a long story).
Admittedly, Tobaski was a difficult holiday for me. Not only did I witness the slaughtering of two rams, was forced to take a picture of the two rams (named Sarjo I and Sarjo II), and was handed approximately 4 pounds of raw ram meat by my host father and host uncle, I was incredibly homesick.
I realized my feelings of homesickness early in the day, but couldn't really grasp why because it wasn't Christmas just yet. Finally, it hit me as I was holding sleeping Baby Ray, while my host brother was gutting dead Sarjo I, that I was celebrating a holiday with a family, which has traditions and was excited to be together with family. But while I was with my host family for which I love and adore, I was not with MY family or with MY traditions. It's weird to go through similar motions and activities, but for a whole different purpose and for something, like Tobaski, that has a totally different meaning. I had my breaking point after my family handed me the 4 pounds of meat. I literally threw it in a plastic bowl on the table in my 'kitchen'[consists of gas stove on the floor and a meter tall table, minimumly stocked with cooking utensils] and ran to my backyard and sat on my bathroom bench and bawled for about 15 minutes until a Gambian friend of mine stopped by to greet me. I shook off the emotions and reluctantly cooked 3 pounds of the 4 pounds of meat (gave the remaining pound away to my visiting friend) and actually came to really enjoy the rest of the day. After members of my family had a special lunch, with ram meat, rice, vegetables, and other goodies, we sat around listening to music until the evening. After the sun went down, people dressed up in their specially-made Tobaski outfits and walked around the village greeting and asking for 'salibo' (prayers or money are given to those who ask).
At night, I danced like a champ (is there any other way?) with all my teenage host brothers, sisters, nephews, nieces, and cousins at the village's Tobaski dance.
Two days after Tobaski, I headed down-country to another PCV's site for Christmas. He lives in a Christian compound that raises pigs. So...my Christmas was a lot like home (minus the tree, church, and 24 screening of A Christmas Story), but we certainly did a lot of eating. Surprisingly, Christmas wasn't as emotionally hard as Tobaski had been a couple days earlier. I suppose being away from home during the holidays is a process and much like everything else, you get through it.
It was nice to relax and be near a more tropical part of the country (it was almost like an entirely different country). After Christmas, I visited two other PCVs at their respective sites and had a nice time, just relaxing and getting to know some other PCVs better. It's always motivating to return from someone else's site because we all do similar work here, but we all try different approaches.
I made sure to return to site for New Year's and passed up attending a PC party nearby. Instead, I stayed in my village and rang in the New Year with another PCV friend who came for a visit, coloring books, colored pencils, and my fellow PCV's iPod. Happy 2008!
The latter part of December involved quite a bit of activity. Upon my arrival home from my trip to Kombo last time, I was informed that my host cousin, Jonesaba, delivered a healthy baby boy. (I was told prior to his birth that if the baby was a girl, they'd name it Jalika, after me, and I have a 'too-ma', or a namesake.) However, since the baby was a boy, the family told me that at the baby's naming ceremony, they would be give the baby the name of my real father. Now, there is a baby in a medium-sized, Gambian village, in West Africa, named after a tall, Slavic rooted, American, named Raymond.
The family calls the baby Ray, well actually "Bray" because they can't say 'Ray'. So Ray turned into Bray, which reminded the family of Braima, which is like the Muslim name "Ebrima". (A baby still has to be given a Muslim name, even if named after a toubab.) When the baby's health card is completed, I will make sure that it reads, 'Ebrima Ray Bayo' or 'Ray Ebrima Bayo'.
Needless to say, my American father was very happy to have a little Gambian child named after him. Mom and Dad: Make sure you bring some cute baby clothes when you visit...
A few days after Baby Ray's naming ceremony, we celebrated Tobaski. While some Gambians celebrated the holiday on Thursday, December 20, the rest of us, mostly in the provinces, celebrated it on Friday, December 21 (it's a long story).
Admittedly, Tobaski was a difficult holiday for me. Not only did I witness the slaughtering of two rams, was forced to take a picture of the two rams (named Sarjo I and Sarjo II), and was handed approximately 4 pounds of raw ram meat by my host father and host uncle, I was incredibly homesick.
I realized my feelings of homesickness early in the day, but couldn't really grasp why because it wasn't Christmas just yet. Finally, it hit me as I was holding sleeping Baby Ray, while my host brother was gutting dead Sarjo I, that I was celebrating a holiday with a family, which has traditions and was excited to be together with family. But while I was with my host family for which I love and adore, I was not with MY family or with MY traditions. It's weird to go through similar motions and activities, but for a whole different purpose and for something, like Tobaski, that has a totally different meaning. I had my breaking point after my family handed me the 4 pounds of meat. I literally threw it in a plastic bowl on the table in my 'kitchen'[consists of gas stove on the floor and a meter tall table, minimumly stocked with cooking utensils] and ran to my backyard and sat on my bathroom bench and bawled for about 15 minutes until a Gambian friend of mine stopped by to greet me. I shook off the emotions and reluctantly cooked 3 pounds of the 4 pounds of meat (gave the remaining pound away to my visiting friend) and actually came to really enjoy the rest of the day. After members of my family had a special lunch, with ram meat, rice, vegetables, and other goodies, we sat around listening to music until the evening. After the sun went down, people dressed up in their specially-made Tobaski outfits and walked around the village greeting and asking for 'salibo' (prayers or money are given to those who ask).
At night, I danced like a champ (is there any other way?) with all my teenage host brothers, sisters, nephews, nieces, and cousins at the village's Tobaski dance.
Two days after Tobaski, I headed down-country to another PCV's site for Christmas. He lives in a Christian compound that raises pigs. So...my Christmas was a lot like home (minus the tree, church, and 24 screening of A Christmas Story), but we certainly did a lot of eating. Surprisingly, Christmas wasn't as emotionally hard as Tobaski had been a couple days earlier. I suppose being away from home during the holidays is a process and much like everything else, you get through it.
It was nice to relax and be near a more tropical part of the country (it was almost like an entirely different country). After Christmas, I visited two other PCVs at their respective sites and had a nice time, just relaxing and getting to know some other PCVs better. It's always motivating to return from someone else's site because we all do similar work here, but we all try different approaches.
I made sure to return to site for New Year's and passed up attending a PC party nearby. Instead, I stayed in my village and rang in the New Year with another PCV friend who came for a visit, coloring books, colored pencils, and my fellow PCV's iPod. Happy 2008!
posted by Stephanie at 3:27 AM
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