Celebrating Ndut in Mount Rolland: Last weekend Duma and I were invited by my work colleague, Serigne, to come to his village to celebrate the codification and formal recognition of his local language, Ndut, as the 19th national language of Senegal. Ndut (pronounced nn-dout), is a Sereer language - Sereer is one of the many ethno-linguistics groups in Senegal and my Senegalese name, Maty Ndao, identifies me as a Sereer. Over the past year Serigne has been on a committee working on the codification and formal government recognition of this language in order to apply for funding for literacy programs and other educational and research-based projects. Achieving the status of a national language is an immense accomplishment, worthy of a three day celebration.

We left Dakar in Serigne's car on Friday afternoon; Serigne and his wife Khaita , Duma, Omar (Serigne's nephew), Maam Khady Madelaine (Serigne's regal mother), and I all fit snugly in the car. After passing through Dakar's congested and polluted suburbs, the lush green countryside was literally a breath of fresh air. We arrived in Mount Rolland, a central hub for 18 surrounding villages, in the early evening. From there we carefully maneuvered Serigne's poor mud-stained car through a maze of corn fields (at one point a group of young men playing soccer had to give us a push), to Ndiaye Bopp, Serigne's homestead. After meeting and greeting Serigne's family, we sat under the stars (a short distance from a tree filled with screeching bats) in a circle of plastic chairs listening to the mixture of French, Wolof, Ndut and chiming in with our limited vocabularies where we could.

At one point Duma got up to get something from our room and returned to her chair. Not realizing the unstable position of the plastic seat on uneven sand, she sat down rather heavily and sent the chair reeling backwards to the horror of our hosts. (Sorry Duma, I had to mention it) Of course I couldn't help but laugh as I checked to see if she was okay. She was fine and laughing as well. I have to hand it to her - there really is no better way to break the ice!

The next day we attended a workshop with Serigne. As part of this three-day celebration, various workshops were organized surrounding different aspects of the Ndut language. This one, attended by a range of invested professionals from the area and us, was the 10-year plan for the future of the language and its use. We were given a handout in order to follow the discussion, which had commenced the previous evening. Interestingly enough and luckily for us, the handout and the discussion were all in French - the language of 'formal matters' in Senegal. Again we sat outside in a circle and listened to the somewhat philosophical debate about which 'actors' should be ultimately responsible for the realization of Ndut educational programs, research on the linguistic group...etc: local collectives with incentives and political mandates or technical organizations on the ground with the skills to actually carry these actions out. Although the discussion was somewhat circular, it was heartwarming to witness this ground-up development in action after being so often disappointed by the common top-down attempts.

Though the conversation was interesting, Duma and I decided to leave and walk from Mount Rolland on the winding paths back to Ndiaye Bopp. It was a nice hour-long trekk. We greeted every person we encountered on the way with our 4 phrases in Ndut:
Wul te - good morning (oy ye -afternoon, yel ne - night)
Oww - response to greeting
Yil te - how are you (i think)
Yil te thies - response (still unsure of literal meaning)

<-- The official celebration shirt: Mi Bap Ndut, May Wone Ndut (I was breastfed Ndut, I will speak Ndut)

The spelling above is probably all wrong - but hopefully some day you will be able to look up the correct version on an online reference site. Anyway, some folks were delighted by our attempts; others stared blankly either because they didn't speak Ndut or, the more likely explanation, we had rendered the pronunciation unrecognizable.

Once back at Ndiaye Bopp we did a lot of lounging around. I realize that the main difference between life in Dakar and life on this farm isn't the farm animals, outhouse and outdoor bucket bath, or even the scary bats - it's really the fact that there is not much to do to pass the time but chores and chatting. The kids, of course, like kids all over the world, find things to keep themselves busy. Our main hosts, Juma and Jam (Serigne's sister and sister-in-law -again, not sure about spelling) were constantly cooking, cleaning, drying crops, feeding chickens and children, and when everything else was done they would sit outside on the plastic chairs and chat. Duma kept saying that the whole feel of the place reminded her of her grandma's farm in Poland. I like to think of the plastic chairs as the Mont Rolland version of the rocking chair or swing on the all-American front porch. I guess no matter what country you're in, country life is country life.

Saturday night, dressed in our taille basses once again, we piled into Serigne's car and headed back to town center for the cultural showcase. When we arrived we were escorted to our seats by a member of the hired security task force (uniformed in black t-shirts boasting 'Security' and camouflage cowboy hats). The outdoor arena was set up how I would imagine (from countless period pieces) a feudal lancing festival in the European Middle Ages would be. There was a ring, around which "the masses" were seated. The master of ceremony was in front of the gathered crowds at the top of the ring, where he was joined by a series of singers, griots, and a band. Then behind him, a covered bleacher was set up to seat all those who were involved in the fight for Ndut to begin with, including us, as Serigne's guests. We sat on the last bench of the 6 level bleachers, while Serigne and other important dignitaries sat in plush velvet armchairs at the front (well deserved, but unfair nevertheless). We knew from the moment we arrived that the ring in the middle of the arena meant we would be treated to a traditional wrestling match. Of course nothing here happens right away, so after a few hours of song and energetic dance, and then another hour of introducing the different wrestlers (who all danced around the ring in their respective unique and entertaining outfits), the fighting began. Now I am not a fan of boxing, Olympic wrestling or WWF craziness - but watching a guy who calls himself Rambo in tiny speedos with a pink head band get taken down by another guy in an uncomfortable looking loin cloth, all live, surrounded by a completely entranced audience, is curiously captivating. We finally left around midnight because we were all worn out - but I hear the party continued till 4 am.

On Sunday we had a late breakfast of coffee, bread with delicious home-grown beans, bread with chocolate, and more bread. Then we headed out once more for the closing ceremony at Mount Rolland. It was long and hot, but very entertaining. Again we sat in the bleachers of honor where I was able to take great photos of the dancing below. After a few closing speeches were made, we headed to lunch with the other VIPs, and eventually set off for home. It took us a full 4 hours to get back to Dakar on what should have been a 2 hour drive. Poor Serigne survived the bumper-to-bumper traffic, Duma slept soundly, drooling on my lap, while I finished reading Eat, Pray, Love (highly recommended). All in all it was a very memorable weekend!