Some mornings everyone wants to talk to me, and some
mornings I am mostly ignored. This morning it seemed like everyone wanted to
say hello. This is how my walk to work went today.
I leave my flat and go to my tapalapa girl, Amina, who sits
on the street corner below my window.
I greet her; “salaam aleekum – naka suba si?” (How is the
morning?)
She say’s “uh uh Naffie – today we speak Mandinka not Wolof!”.
Ah… I haven’t officially been taught Mandinka, but have
picked up a little, mostly from her, her sister and her mother who all take
time to teach me something as I buy my breakfast. So I run through my Mandinka
greetings – Sumo lei? Ibi-jay! (How are you? I’m fine) and Kourtonantay? Tanantay-ay!
(Family is good? Yes, they’re fine). I’m not sure if these are correctly
written, but this is what it sounds like to me! Then she says “Iki ay ma ley?”
(Where is your husband). She always asks me this, so I learned to say “Abakonotaley”
(He is upstairs). But today she taught me “Atata Banjul” (he is in Banjul) so I
take my breakfast and walk off, repeating this to myself to try and remember
it. Atata Banjul, atata Banjul.
Next I walk past a lady sitting outside her compound selling
small bags of charcoal, and onions and chilli peppers from her garden. She has
been quite smiley over the last few days and today we talk – this time in
English. “How are you? I am fine. How are you? I am fine. Are you fine? Yes I
am fine!”. This goes on for what feels like five minutes. I don’t often speak
to women – they are the last to talk… men first, then the children. The women
are more reserved, they mostly just watch and listen, so when women speak to me
I try and make more effort. She tells me she is called Sirra, and I tell her I
am Naffie. She thanks me for talking to her, and I start to walk away. Then a
man who has been listening to our conversation from a few metres away calls out
“so Naffie, what is your surname?”. I answer “Sagnia”, smile and walk off.
Next up I have some ‘good mornings’ from men standing around
in the entrance to their bitiks, and a few cries of “yangee kuul?” and “yangee
fine?” (are you cool, are you fine?). One man shouts after me “where are you
going?”. I yell “work” and walk off, thinking ‘leave me alone!’ but trying not
to look irritated. I pass more women, walking back from the health centre with
their babies, and they say ‘good morning’ and smile at me. Then three school girls
say hello and shyly ask me my name. I tell them and get their names – all quite
unusual (not the more common Fatou, Isatou and Mariama for example) and the
only name of the three that sticks in my head is Mama. I ask them if they are
friends and they tell me yes, they are in the same class, and they are now
walking to the hospital.
I say goodbye and start to walk away, when a man starts
shouting out of a car window to me “hey hey, excuse me, hang on a second”. The
car pulls up but I continue to walk because I already have a feeling I know
where this is going. It sounds like he has something important to ask me, or
needs directions, but I know it will just be ‘hello, can we be friends, what is
your number’. Sure enough he gets out of the car and jogs after me:
Him: “Hello, my name is Alhaji, what is your name?”
Me: “Nice to meet you Alhaji I am Naffie”
Him: “How are you?”
Me: “I am ok. Do you want something in particular or is this
just a chat?”
Him: “Just a chat”.
Me: [silent groan] “Ok well I have to go to work. Goodbye”.
I get into the office and do all my greetings in Wolof, with
the security guard, Alieu, Ba Sarjo and Jankeh. Then I greet Ebou, who is back
from Dakar, with a sweaty hug and sit down feeling exhausted, with a handful of
new words and names going round my head, ready to start the day!
