Once again, I'm doing a lousy job keeping up with this blog...but I have a story to share that is cool enough to draw me back into the blogosphere. Apologies for the long absence...I would pledge to do better, but I'll leave the empty promises for the candidates in the Presidential debates. My schedule is about to get a lot less crazy, so maybe November will be a more prolific month of blogging--we'll see.
Anyhow, I got back to Dakar last night from a week-long excursion to the southeast corner of Senegal. We spent most of our time in a town called Kedougou, but we were also fortunate enough to have a three-day stay in a village. The group was divided between six different villages, each representing a different ethnic group. I was assigned to a village called Baxo 1, where four large families of the Diallonke ethic group live.
I stayed in the compound of the "chef du village," Hady Keita, with two other SIT students, Megan and Renata (side story: there was only one small bed for all three of us, so in the rural African spirit of sharing, we got cozy for two pretty hilarious nights...I think I was the envy of every man in the village, but it was less a male fantasy and more just...crowded and sweaty. But fun nonetheless.).
The village was gorgeous, situated on a narrow plateau between the Gambia river and a small mountain. Our second day there, Megan, myself, and one of the elder men of the village named Mamadou went on a long walk on a dirt road that connects a string of tiny villages running all the way to Guinée.
When we returned from our hike, we were informed that while we were gone, a baby girl was born in our family! The baby, born in the hut next to our cramped quarters, is the daughter of Hady (the chief) and his second wife, Ramatouleye. We went in to visit the beautiful, healthy baby, who was delivered by her grandmother on the dirt floor of the hut. It was truly a miracle.
As if that wasn't enough, immediately after we met the still-unnamed baby, Mamadou carefully explained to us that traditionally, if a baby girl is born while guests are staying in the home, it is the privilege of the guests to name the baby. Thus, it was up to us to choose the name of the baby--"What she will be called until the day of her death," as Mamadou told us.
What a responsibility! We were pretty stupefied--I couldn't imagine entrusting three strangers to name my daughter. But Mamadou and Hady insisted, telling us that we should choose a "vrai nom Américain" so that as the baby grows up, she can recount the story of her three American "parents" who gave to her her foreign name.
We considered the matter overnight, and finally, we decided to name the baby, KARINA, after my sister, which is pretty thrilling. We chose Karina for a number of reasons: first, it is a pretty name, and it will not be unreasonably difficult for the baby or her family to pronounce in Diallonke--she won't get laughed at for having a goofy name like "Ashley" or "Elizabeth." We also thought it would be cool to give her the name of one of our most beloved family members, to deepen our connection with her and her family.
Neither Karina nor her family are aware of the name yet. In West Africa, babies are usually named at a ceremony one week after the day of birth, and before that day, nobody is supposed to know the name. Thus, we wrote the name down and put it in an envelope along with an explanation and a photo of Karina Walker (Karina #1), and on Friday, the family will open the envelope and proclaim the name at a big party "with lots of meat," as Mamadou told me.
Unfortunately, we had to come back to Dakar, so we won't be able to be there when Karina hears her name spoken for the first time. I'll be able to call one of the young men in the village later in the day for a report, but I'm really going to miss being there.
It's an overwhelming feeling to name a baby, and I still can't believe that Hady and his family gave us the honor of naming his daughter. Luckily, we were able to name her after somebody pretty wonderful. Again, I'm staggered by the generosity and openness of Senegalese people, and I hope that it will be possible to maintain a connection with my "daughter" Karina as she grows up in her remote village. Her life will not be easy, and she probably won't have many choices in a poor area where women are expected to get married and start having children at around age 16. But her family is gentle and generous, and I pray, optimistically, that she will find joy and peace there.
So there's another Karina in the family, halfway around the world, and she's as beautiful as Karina #1. Pretty cool.
2 comments:
Blake, What an amazing story. Knowing Karina 1, and what a beautiful person she is inside and out, gives me hope for this new little Karina. Funny isn't it. She probably won't ever meet her, but you could not have a better example for new little Karina to follow. We are proud of you and continue to pray for you. You are getting your money's worth out of life and that is as it should be.
K.C.
That, my friend, is quite the story. Have a safe trip back to the States, if you're not already there. Hopefully our paths will cross sometime in the near(ish) future...
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