Bite Me

Lately I’ve become very wary of the consequences of eating on the go in Senegal.

Mornings when I actually have the time, I prefer to sit and mull over my bread and jam with the friendly Senegalese businessmen who have picked our family boutique as their regular ndekki (breakfast) spot. They’re quite a pleasant bunch and always enthusiastically jump at the chance to expand my Wolof vocabulary.

But if by some rare chance I’m slow to drag myself out of bed and can’t afford the time for a lingering morning chat, I’m forced to commit a major Senegalese faux-pas: walking (even standing) and eating at the same time. In my three months here, I think I’ve seen someone else do it once.

I’ve given some good thought to this phenomenon, and I think I’ve come up with some pretty valid explanations. Meals in Senegal are a major community time with everyone gathered around the bowl. The bulk serving size dish also makes the food harder to take along wherever you might be headed. The meals take such a long time and so much work to prepare—they shouldn’t be hurried or rushed through, but enjoyed. There’s very little hurry here, “on time” is more of a fluid concept, so there’s always time to sit and eat.

Well, as much as I’d like to say I always adapt and follow cultural norms in my time here, some mornings I just have to resign myself to being an American in Senegal. And Americans eat on the go.

Yes, I sometimes eat on my walk to school. The shame!

Despite the shame, I have actually found a bigger downside to eating en route: sharing. I try to cut myself a bigger chunk of bread those days because little children who beg will inevitably come up and ask me for some of my breakfast. I never give them money, but I can’t seem to justify holding a dispensable piece of food in my hands and keeping it all to myself when I see their open hands and empty tins. So they get some, too.

This afternoon on the walk home from my internship, after passing the infinite number of food vendors on the street before lunch, I finally caved and coughed up 25CFA (about a nickel) for a bag of my favorite sugar roasted peanuts. So delish! But I should have known better than to eat them right away, for soon thereafter I was met with an unusual amount of with pouty eyes and out-stretched palms.

But this afternoon I was confronted with a rather strange configuration of beggars—most of them were middle-aged women. These weren’t the typical middle-aged female beggars of Dakar who sit on the side of the road covered in children and call out for generosity. No, these women were straightforward, coming right up to me and begging. Very out of character based on my previous experience in Dakar.

The only problem was… I wasn’t totally clear on what they wanted, money or food. On one occasion, a much older woman approached me and held out her palm. I’m used to treating older folks here with a lot of respect, shaking their hand with both of my hands and curtseying. I felt very out of place, uncomfortable being the power-holder in this situation. I didn't know how to react, it was such a conflicting situation--we're told to respect our elders, but also politely shrug off beggars. Who holds the trump card here?

When this woman held out her palm, my first instinct was to revert to my old standby policy of giving food, not francs. Then I thought about it for a second and realized how insulting it would be to just throw the old lady a peanut! But then who knows…heck, maybe she did just want a peanut?

Such a dilemma. Hard to know. I ended up not offering either. Hoping I didn't offend. Unlikely.