Monday, January 3, 2011

Rat and a Christmas

Rat does in fact taste like chicken. This curiosity was put to rest a couple of days ago when a rat, close to two feet in length, head to tail, was caught by a woman who found it in her house. As we sat by the fire, chatting as usual every night, the commonality of the evening was jumpstarted by the furry rodent who's fate was sealed in the clutches of my host fathers' eldest son. Carefully, Calib laid the rat down, held it in control with his foot firmly on the body, and grabbed the back of the head. By exposing the neck while pulling the head back, Calib put it down with the touch of a knife. Once the rat expired, Calib's son took the rat in his hands, walking around with it, parading the once cunning animal that managed to elude captures , evidence by the shear size of it. Aside from the size of its tail and body, I realized the scope of its size by length of its feet, which were as big as my thumbs. It was mighty while it lasted. I asked if this was the biggest they have ever seen. While using their hands to show an example of how big the rats can get, I thought "my God" and cared not to imagine one in my house, ever.
So we ate it. While they prepared it, I meditated the what ifs, the whys, and the why nots to eating rat. You always hear others say, "ah, it tastes just like chicken" without any self conviction of your own. As the time came, my decision was "what the hell, just another kind of meat in Mali. Lets see if it tastes like chicken". Curiosity won and the cat is still alive. Next!
Christmas has come and passed and the wake of the three day celebration will always leave its mark on me. On the Eve, the anticipation, the build up grew as "Noelly" was just around the corner. Everyone prepared fro the festivities. Food was preped for cooking, women and men came from neighboring villages and distant towns. Christmas clothes were laid out for their unveiling at church, work was finished ahead for two days of rest, and the animals were gathered for what would be their last breakfast . In my neighborhood, a cow and a pig were offered fro the festivities. Enough said about that. At night was the Eve surman at the church. I arrived to see the inside decorated with balloons strung across the church, dangling like those chinese lamps at a patio party. These balloons had drawings on them, hard to make out except for one, a catipillar with a cane and top hat. The surman was relatively short, 1 and half hours, which was followed by a dance party in the churches courtyard. The music is raw, using this term loosely. A scratchy PA system, the mic way too loud, guitar complete with feed back that rattles the ear drums, volume at a deafening tone, and the composition out of timing as if the guitarist and drummers were soloing together. But its all part of the essence, the fascination, and spirit that draws me to experience more while testing my fortitude and will to take things as is, no coats of sugar or paint, just what you see, a beautiful thing. As we danced in a circle, sectioned by men and women, I try to pick up their style of dance. Its a shuffle with Malian rhythm, aggressive yet smooth in style complete with clapping and kicking. A harmonious sound comes from a group of women who clap and sing in perfect unison. Its choreographed so well that it draws your attention all the time. The night ends fro me as they keep going well into the night and the early morning.
Christmas arrives and everyone is up. I head over to my host family's house for breakfast, rice and pork with a cup of sugared coffee. Not the usual oats and tea in the moring and especially not a breakfast recommended by nutritionists, but when in Mali...do as they do, besides its only one day. After breakfast we head to church where I get to see everyones new clothes. I'm wearing the same shirt that I wore to swear in, accompanied by new pants which are pinstriped and dont match with the shirt. Their clothes are vibrant, patterns and cuts that create a fashion sense. Women especially pride themselves in the finest and with little disappointment. Their dress is by far more creative and exotic than the mens. Church concludes 2 and a half hours later and now its time to celebrate. We eat our fill of rece, meat, and dege, a porridge made of millet, sour milk, salt, sugar, peanut powder, oil, and water. We also rise many rounds of tea as we chat with each other and members of families that live in other areas. No matter if its Christmas here or the states, its about one thing: Family and here in Mali, it is no difference.
The day after is Christmas part two. Church in the morning to start. I decide not to go, which opened me to field a flurry of questions of why I did not go. I answer truthfully but they still cant comprehend why I don't go. In time I suppose they will understand that their are more than two religions in the world. We eat a lot, drink a lot of tea, chat, and say our goodbyes to visitors. The night ends with me sitting amongst some prominent elders, having tea and chatting. As the night fades, the radio plays late 1990's to early 2000 rap, in english. An odd way to cap the end of Christmas but fitting because I've been so enthralled in Malian culture the past few days that aside from talking to family and my girlfriend, the american rap was the one thing that brought a taste of america to this years Christmas.