Salaam maalekum! This means “hello” in Wolof. Technically, it translates to “Peace be upon you”—not a phrase you’re likely to hear outside of a religious setting in the U.S. However, in Senegal, “Salaam maalekum” and the corresponding “Maalekum salaam” (Peace be with you too) is an essential greeting every time I encounter a friend, family member, or even complete stranger. In fact, I think I say “Salaam maalekum” at least every 30-45 seconds as I walk to school each morning.
“Salaam maalekum” is merely one manifestation of religion’s omnipresence in Senegal. In the U.S., my family is hardly religious; we attend church perhaps once or twice a year for Christmas and Easter, and I was always more excited about watching the NORAD Santa Tracker and putting out carrots for the reindeer. While I can appreciate the impact of religion on many others’ lives, it simply has never been a large part of mine. Therefore, to my immense surprise, the prevalence of religion is one of my favorite parts of being in Senegal.
My host family is Muslim and belongs to the Mouride brotherhood. One morning, my mom told me about an upcoming holiday called Mawlid; it celebrates the birth of the prophet Muhammad. She told me there would be singing in the streets. What she did not tell me, however, was this: There would be huge white tents and colorful prayer mats completely barricading the street leading up to my house. Hundreds of people dressed in their finest clothes milled about in the street, in the house, or in between. Young children distributed water in plastic bags and carried all sorts of ingredients to prepare the dinner.
Never before have I been so aware of how white my skin is. I smiled my very American smile and said “Salaam maalekum!” to dozens of clusters of people speaking Wolof. I found my mom and greeted her, but she was clearly preoccupied with organizing all of the festivities. I set my backpack down in my room, returned to the common space, and took an empty seat.
At first, only the men were willing to talk with me. I chatted or just sat observing for perhaps half an hour before I saw my mom again and asked her if there was anything I could do to help. “Tu sais éplucher des carottes?” she asked. “Éplucher?” I asked. I didn’t know that word. She mimed peeling carrots, and I responded: “Oh! Enlever la peau des carottes?” I asked her if that meant taking off the carrots’ skin; I couldn’t think of another way to clarify it! “Waaw,” she replied, using the Wolof word for “yes.”
I cut carrots and cucumbers for the next hour or so before I was served dinner. Typically, I eat with my family around a large bowl, and we use our right hand—never the left!—with a bit of baguette bread to eat. Tonight, however, I ate by myself.
Feeling a little lonely, I decided to explore around the house. I found my mom and she told me to peek outside, and I finally saw the origin of the chanting I had been hearing for the past several hours. Perhaps 15 or so men walked in a circle, each of their right hands placed on the back of the man in front of them. My mom encouraged me to take pictures and videos, so I did!
I then returned back inside, hoping to find someone to talk to. I found many: a group of girls aged 9-13 who were very interested in my hair and couldn’t believe I didn’t speak Wolof yet (at this point, I had been in Senegal for less than two weeks). Over the next three hours, they hosted an impromptu Wolof lesson for me while simultaneously giving me a variety of new hairstyles. At around 1am, my friend from school Abby arrived with her host family to participate in the festivities. We ate a second dinner and so many puff-puffs (sugared beignets) at 2am, and then one of my young Wolof professors asked if we wanted to join the service outside.
We had to borrow headscarves (foulards) from my host mom in order to attend, and I had to change from pants to a skirt. We skirted around the tent to its main entrance, where we saw a hundred or so men sitting on prayer mats while the women all sat behind them in chairs. I watched and listened to the chants, starting to feel the fatigue of being up so late. I was offered coffee, which I accepted, but it had no effect. Sleepy but so grateful to have experienced Mawlid, I went to my room, locked the door, and fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow at 4am.
On a far more somber note, my family also recently hosted the reception for a funeral. It had a similar appearance to Mawlid: hundreds of people, large white tents, lots of water distribution and food preparation. This time, I had a slightly better idea of what the night would hold.
When I had left for school that morning, my mom told me that she had just lost her nephew, who had been in the hospital for the entire month I had been living with my host family. I told her I was very sorry for her loss and asked her if there is anything I could do. She told me it was God’s plan and to have a good day.
After school, I asked the Student Services Coordinator, Fatima, about what to do in the case of a death in the family. Apparently, in Senegal it is customary to give money to the immediate family of the deceased. However, my mom is not in the immediate family, so Fatima told me it would be best to express condolences and leave it at that. I mentioned that my family in the U.S. provides food and asked whether that would be appropriate. Fatima smiled.
My mom’s favorite snack of peanuts clutched in my hand, I found her. I expressed my condolences and offered her the bag. She smiled too.
The rest of the evening, I made small talk in French and Wolof with some familiar faces from Mawlid, and went to bed early in order to give my family the appropriate space.
Lastly, in a country 95% populated by Muslims, I have been so fortunate to have experienced another religion as well! Two of the ten students in my program are Jewish, so we had our own Rosh Hashanah celebration at school. We ate challah bread and apples with honey and a whole assortment of pastries we got from a Brioche Dorée expedition. Jews and Muslims and Buddhists and one Hindu and atheists/agnostics alike, we all celebrated together.
Despite not having religion be a significant part of my own life, I am so grateful to my host family and my friends for inviting me to participate in their own traditions. I am so excited to see what the next few months will hold!
Ba ci kanam / À bientôt / See you soon,
Caitlin
DU Abroad 