"The · darkest · thing · about · Africa · has · always · been · our · ignorance · of · it"

It occurs to me, that except for posting a lot about my hunger, I haven’t actually elaborated too much on the concept of Ramadan. I know I didn’t really know what those KRAZY Muslims were up to with that “Ramadan” business before coming here, so in case you’re as clueless as I was, here’s a summary:

Sawm (in Arabic) is the annual obligatory fast for the month of Ramadan, the 9^th month of the Islamic year. Mandinkas call it Sungkaroo, literally “the fasting month.” They get up before dawn to eat an uncooked breakfast (plain bread for most Gambians) and drink jii kandoo (literally “hot water,” but actually a mix of tea, coffee, milk and hot water). Then between dawn and dusk, they can’t eat, drink, smoke, or have sex. Sungkaroo is intended to make Muslims focus on prayer and avoid vices. At dusk, they break fast (Gambians munch on some bread and drink jii kandoo to deal with immediate hunger and thirst, then have a regular but earlier than normal dinner). Unfortunately, Gambian life requires a lot of hot, heavy work (especially during the rainy and harvest seasons), so doing this work on an empty stomach makes for a miserable month for Gambians, who spend every remaining second of the day laying outside, half-comatose.

Ramadan begins and ends with sightings of the moon. The moon has to be sighted to declare the month has started or ended. Last year, this meant the moon wasn’t sighted the night Ramadan was supposed to begin, so West Africa fasted one less day than other regions who sighted the moon. This year, my village could not see the moon the night Ramadan was supposed to end. People spent the evening disappointed, knowing they’d have to fast one more day. However, the international West African Muslim council made an agreement—because the moon had been spotted in some parts of West Africa, they would declare Ramadan over. So late that night, the announcement came across the radio that tomorrow would be Saloo (prayers, the end of Ramadan celebration) after all. Yet the next morning, it turned out that the Muslim leaders in my area, a 4-village cluster that is almost more like one giant village, decided not to listen to the pronouncement. They would not break fast. So while the rest of the URR, the rest of the Gambia, the rest of West Africa, and, in fact, most of the Muslim world celebrated the end of Ramadan, my little 4-village cluster spent the day hungry, tired, and slightly peeved at their religious leaders. (Muslim relatives from around the world made their traditional Saloo phonecalls to people in my village, who grumpily had to explain over and over that they were still fasting and couldn’t celebrate yet.) My counterpart came by and informed me he would not be fasting that day because he thought it was wrong for village leaders to go against the international council like that. “Religion is about submission and obedience!” he told me. I wanted to say, “is it?”

But at last, on October 2^nd, Ramadan was over and it was time for Koriteh, the post-Ramadan celebration. Traditionally, Koriteh (and the other major prayer day, Tobaski) involves all the men and boys going and praying somewhere central, generally under a large tree (in Africa, it’s typically a baobab tree). However, it poured for hours the morning of Koriteh, restricting early morning activity and soaking the ground so much that it was far to muddy to sit on and pray, and they were relegated to the mosque. The Gambians were disappointed, but I have to admit, I was glad. I was actually feeling a bit like the Koriteh grinch. My least-favorite host relative (PFHB, Puppy Framing Host Brother, who you may remember for trying to frame Minty for pigeon murder over a year ago) was back. Lamin and I have never really been able to stand each other, so it’s fortunate he lives in Kombo (where I’m pretty sure he’s a bumster, i.e. male prostitute in the sex tourism industry). He came back, as most relatives do, for Koriteh, and had spent the past several days singing made up songs about how he hates white people and muttering insults about me. There was also some random teenage girl I’d never met staying in our compound, who liked to spend her time yelling at me in attempt to get me to give her things and do what she wanted.  It was like being at a long, painfully drawn-out family reunion, only with people you don’t like AND are not even related to. So I was pretty tired of Gambians all together, and since they always make me parade by the Saloo tree (they tell me it’s to go watch the prayers, but somehow it just ends up that everyone’s watching me instead), I was pretty relieved that Koriteh was so low-key this time around.

The one thing that’s never low-key on Koriteh is the food. They go all out for all three meals, with lots of meat, oil and veggies (the three things so expensive my host family rarely cooks with them). The women from the compounds around mine always gather together at lunch, each one bringing a bowl of food they cooked, and we all share a bowl at a time.  I never eat more here than when that happens. I was beyond full but it was so delicious and rare that I couldn’t stop.

Now, I don’t think it’s in the Quran anywhere, but according to Gambians, it’s practically a requirement that everyone dress up in brand-new outfits for Koriteh. For men, this includes caps or baseball hats and sunglasses, and for women this includes outlandish hair braiding styles, black hennaed feet, out-of-control make-up and drawn-on eyebrows. My fantastic new outfit was made from fabric I bought in Basse (either hedgehog or porcupine print, depending on who you ask), and I French-braided my hair. I skipped the eyebrows and make-up, but got lots of compliments on my feet and hedgehog/porcupine paree.

The evening of Koriteh (as well as the following evening or two), children go from compound to compound to salibo. Imagine trick-or-treating, only instead you wear nice clothes instead of costumes, have no parental escort, say “salibo” instead of “Trick or Treat” and never, under any circumstances, say thank you. Some people give out money, others candy. (I prefer to go the candy route, and enjoy the leftovers.) Alas, there is no candy corn in Gambia.
All dressed up for Koriteh
Drawn on eyebrows--HOT for Koriteh
Koriteh Breakfast!