J ray giff
I learn "j ray giff" means "thank you" in Wolof, the official language of Senegal (besides french, of course. Interesting how most Senegalese are at least bi-lingual if not tri, etc., lingual).
Our food appears magically on the coffee table in Bah's living room. The kind and quick generosity of the womyn here is mind-boggling. It seems we are provided things before we even know we want them, let alone ask.
So "j ray giff" is something we've all already learned.
"Non ga deff" means "How are you?"
We go to yet another beach, this one a "local" beach - but we don't stay there. Instead, we catch one of the long, open, colorful boats paddled by several local young men, jammed with people of all hues, sizes, and shapes and head across the ocean to an island.
It is a short ride, one that Jasi doesn't appreciate. He wants a bigger boat that he can stand up in, walk around in, not one where you can reach your hand out and trail the water, I guess.
But he loves the beach when we get to the island - it is warm, so very clear, and lots of children playing and swimming, with gentle lapping waves that don't scare him.
When he falls asleep on the towel under the umbrella that Bah has rented for us, Bouba takes me on a tour around the island. There is a path that winds through the ancient angular housing the conquerors built in the same stone and style of Dakar (or vice versa maybe), and dips down to the ocean at intervals, circling back through market allies and other beaches.
The girls happily accompany us, as does another friend or family member (I didn't understand exactly who he is, except someone else to help us get around) carrying his 2 year old child.
We explore the tide pools on one side of the island, and stare in awe over the huge expanse of beautiful ocean at another point.
All around us are empty mansions that Bouba explains in his limited english and my extremely limited Wolof, were built by the french and portuguese colonizers and are now occupied mostly by the rich tourists that own them, for about a month every year.
They stand empty most of the other time.
Empty while 4 million people crowd the dirt streets and hills of Dakar, seeking shelter under discarded cardboard and tattered tarps, shored up with other re-claimed debris.
But, Bouba points out, some of those people come & occupy the servant quarters each of these mansions have and work for a month, insuring an income they & their families might live on for the rest of the year.
We rush to take the last huge canoe/boat back to the mainland, pile in the jeep, and return once again unscathed and almost adjusted-to-this-crazed-driving to Bah's.
At sunset, out comes the tea with the ritual pot, tiny clear shot-glass size cups, sweet peppermint tea and a couple of dates.
Celebration accompanies the setting sun as people share with each other the breaking of their fasts. Chocolate and french bread quickly follows.
All accompanied by the amplified voice of the inman calling people - men I believe - to the mosque to pray and listen to his sermons.
We end up eating dinner anywhere between 9 and 10pm, as women begin preparing the meal after breaking fast.
We are so very well taken care of - our meals appear three times a day, regardless of the fasting of most, as do mangoes! We eat mangoes with every meal, much to our delight. It is mango season!