Attaya

Making Senegalese tea (Attaya). The Process. Ready. Let’s Go. So I think that I can describe very well much you need to know about this ritualistic process from a tea experience that I had last Friday (March 6).

Ok, class ends. It’s five o’clock on a Friday. We are burnt out from a week of sitting in class and cultural immersion. Go get a beer right? Wrong.

“Hey Pete, you wanna go make some attaya. I’m really fiendin’.”
“Yeah man, that sounds so incredibly perfect. Cody you down?”
“Uh, yeah…I’ll help make, but I’m not going to drink. You guys are addicts.”

But let me clarify what Cody means when he says we are addicts. We are only addicts in the best way possible. And I know that I really sound like an addict in denial when I say that, but attaya is truly a great thing. It’s not just the tea. It’s the process. I will explain and then I will let you judge for yourself.

So after splitting GENSEN (our learning center), we had to decide where our tea session would take place. We decide on Pete’s and Cody’s house. The other option is my house. My house is perpetually controlled by three women and two crying babies. As you may guess, not the ideal location for three young males to ritualize and unwind.

Ok, so now we have to visit one of dozens of corner stores (there are literally about 5 stores in every 50 yard radius of where you are standing in Yoff that stock exactly the same things—its interesting: no one has an edge and they are all seemingly doing good business. Well, I guess it makes sense because there are no real grocery stores here. Everything food related comes from a vendor on the street, the bakery, or one of these little corner stores. There is a high demand) and pick up our ingredients, otherwise known as the big three: A small box of “premium” Chinese green tea, a bag of sugar, and bundle of mint. We don’t really have much of a choice to make (the sugar is usually in a generic plastic bag, and the mint is taken out of the fridge cut and tied and wrapped in newspaper). However, the one choice we do have to make is critical (or so I was told). This is the choice of the tea, of which there are multiple brands. However, there are only three that you should choose: Cheval (Horse) or Forté (Strong) or La Force (The Strength). Personally I prefer Cheval, but simply because the box looks cooler.

Anyway, we pick up our big three, and stroll down the sanded alleyway to the house with a sense of a deeply absorbed pleasure. Our hearts like a large, dry cotton ball for the golden-brown candy liquid we are about to consume. But when I say candy, I don’t mean anything repulsively artificial and gaggingly sugared. It’s more like the nectar from a bright and blooming flower that blissfully intoxicates the bee. Or drops of blood from a lover’s drunken heart. And while these over-the-top emotional descriptions might just be unique to me, something similar is evoked in many people. It is the power of the tea and her beautiful process. So let’s actually delve into the process that I keep talking about.

Firstly we had to choose our weapon: Gas or charcoal. For me, this is only a decision if time is a factor. If you don’t have a few hours to fully enjoy yourself, you should choose gas. But by choosing gas, you really miss out on the full and truly wonderful experience. So I am not going to talk about gas because that is not what we chose on this fine Friday afternoon.

So now we have to get some charcoal from one of the two charcoal vendors within three football fields of each other. The vendors make their charcoal onsite and all of the charcoal is stored (and I think made) in these 12’ high and 15’ diameter wood-woven cylindrical containers. It’s actually very impressive. The going price for 2 kilos (which will half fill an ordinary plastic bag) is 300 CFA (about 60 cents). So we take the charcoal back, put it in our charcoal cooker (a small contraption made of sheet metal that consists of an upside down cone (where you put the charcoal) connected with a grate in between to a cylinder that has an opening in the center to allow air flow (therefore giving the charcoal the ability to catch flame and burn). It is an extremely handy device that allows you to heat up anything of a modest size, just about anywhere (I intend on instituting it, and tea, in my life when I come back to the US).

Ok so back to our day. We got the charcoal going and we are all sitting around it on small wooden stools in front of the house on a sort of porch type area. Nothing could be better. The methodical process begins. So let me explain. There are three rounds to the tea making process. The premier, the deuxiéme, and the troisiéme. The premier is quite strong, but balanced by an equal amount of sweetness (By the way, the Senegalese adore their sugar and generally likes things quite sweet). It has been called diesel fuel (actually that’s mostly when I make it…). The deuxiéme is still a modestly strong tea (if you didn’t add the whole packet of tea to the premier, you can add the remaining to the pot for the deuxiéme). However, the deuxiéme adds a new wrinkle: mint. So the deuxiéme is of medium strength, sweet, and minty. It is my favorite. Next comes the troisiéme. It is the lightest, sweet, and should be quite minty (the decreasing strength makes sense logically and practically: you keep using the same tea leaves so the tea will become lighter and lighter, the more times you boil it. But it’s always nice to end on a light note, so boiling’s laws of nature work out well). It is the perfect way to end the process. And let me assure you every round was just right that Friday afternoon.

There are details about exactly how much water, sugar, tea, and mint to add. As well as, how hot your charcoal should be and how long you should let your tea boil. You can also get specific about when you should add the sugar. I am not going to get into these details for the fear of boring you. Also, as with anything else, there is no universal rule to making attaya. Everyone has their own technique and preferences, which makes for more fun and flavor.

But I do need to inform everyone about another aspect of attaya. This is the presentation when it is served. First of all the tea is served in small glasses that are reminiscent of shot glasses. They are filled halfway with tea, but with the best of presentation, the glass is completely full. This is because of the mousse (foam): a process in of itself that is essential to the overall process. The mousse is achieved by high-powering the tea from one glass to another causing the formation of bubbles, which can (if done correctly) turn into half a glass of foam. Mousse equals style points.

As you may have noticed, a lot of this reflection has been focused on the details of making attaya. The details and cultural specificities are important and a piece of the beauty of the process. However, another piece of the beauty is the absolute lack of details. It’s a sweeping tranquility. It’s about sitting back, talking to your friends, listening, reflecting, and soaking life in. These are things that don’t always happen in our hectic and technologically centered lives. It’s a break from the current paradigm. It’s brings us back to our roots as reflective, inventive, processing, social creatures. And it’s never individualistic, never selfish. Always inclusive, always selfless. The one making tea offers the tea to passersby whom he may not know before he himself drinks. It is truly a beautiful process. A beautiful human-connecting process.

The Village

So this post doesn't really follow my adventure chronologically, but this is a reflection that I wrote about my first week-long trip to the Village of Geude Chantier (a very very very rural agricultural village in the desert of Northern Senegal). I was there about a month ago, I am going again next Friday for a week, and I will be there for three weeks in April. It is in this village that we are doing our Independent Study and Service Learning projects. Two other students and I are working on helping to design and implement and organic school garden (that will hopefully last indefinitely into the future). For this project I have to talk to experts and become an expert myself in the educational garden field (which includes becoming an expert in the inputs such as compost, seeds, plants, etc. that are effective for the region in which I am working). It's a lot of work and research, but it has been very rewarding thus far and will only continue to become more rewarding. We really don't have the time needed for such an ambitious project. But that's life. We will do our best to lay the groundwork for a long lasting educational garden.

Oh and you guys are gonna need to know that touba means "white person" in Senegal. And you guys should know that even though this reflection is somewhat critical, I had a incredible time in Guede Chantier!! The people were very welcoming and friendly. It was by far the most different place I have ever been. It really opened my eyes. It was a different lifestyle. It gave me a whole new definition of rural. No one speaks English. A lot of people don't speak French. I had to go fetch water in big jugs. I skinned a goat. I illegally crossed the Senegal River into Mauritania in a dugout canoe. Enjoy!:

“Touba, touba, touba, touba, touba!!!!!!!!!” This echoing word, along with the pattering feet of the ever present little boys and girls, has been forever branded in my memory. While this chanting may have sounded like a taunt, for the most part, the Guede Chantier children were simply excited to see this strange, white skinned mythical creature. However, there is an underlying negative connotation to these seemingly innocent screams that became apparent to me in other arenas of the village as well…

When we were all gathered in the small community meeting building with many of the village leaders I believe that it was Fatou Sec (the well respected lady who preserves vegetables and maintains the knowledge of many traditional recipes) who said that us outsiders should feel at home because this is “Our Community.” I found this statement quite uplifting and reassuring. I had been wondering how the community feels about a group of outsiders with 6 white American students coming into the community attempting to help solve a wide array of problems. According to Fatou Sec’s statement, it appeared very positive. However, as my stay in Guede Chantier continued, I realized that this was not always the case…

So here is where I describe the negative undertones. While my experience in Guede Chantier was overwhelming positive and full of friendly people, I also felt that I was not always taken seriously and that I was not seen as an equal member of the community. For example, Sydney, Youssouph, and I are working on the school garden project. First we talked to a teacher at the primary school who was previously implicated in the school garden. We then talked to a natural science and math teacher at the secondary school. What I found from both conversations was the sense that I was being talked down to. Both men definitely proved that they were quite knowledgeable about the local environment. Both men implied that they were more than capable in organic agricultural practices. And both men talked to me as if I was mainly the means for the materials they lacked. I felt that I was looked at as a tool, instead of a mechanic. That I was not there equal, but simply a naïve touba that may be able to help with money but not much beyond that. It was disheartening. I felt as an object in their plan, not as a collaborator.

But, I feel that there is hope. (I am Barack Obama). This hope comes from another experience that I had. One of the days, my host brother El Hajj and I were expressing our manly capabilities through taunts, jeers, and muscle flexing. Sooner than later, he ended up challenging me to a Senegalese wrestling match. I got pumped. He started to chuckle. He backed down saying that he would hurt me basically because I was a weak and inexperienced touba. So we sat back down, but continued to stare each other down (in a semi-joking manner). And finally, I got the moment I was waiting for…a chance to prove to this villager that I was not a weak touba!!! So we started at it, and to his surprise, I was much stronger than he had expected. He ended up winning (because my back touched the ground), but not before I had flipped him over and roughed him up more than he did to me. After the fact, he kept saying how impressed he was with me and that we would have to wrestle again next time. It was a glorious moment for me, because I went from being a weak touba to a strong village warrior (ok maybe not quite). But anyway, the point is that I was initially looked down upon, so I had to prove myself to gain respect. This is what gives me hope. Even though these school teachers look down upon me now, I will hopefully prove to them my commitment, knowledge, and fortitude so they will have know choice to view me as a community collaborator instead of an outside tool.

PHOTOS

Some Paris photos are on facebook. If you don't have access to facebook, and would like to see them, let me know and I can send them to you.

Oh boy Senny!!!

Well, I have been in Senegal for a month now and I have seen, done, experienced, and reflected upon waay too many things to possibly describe in a blog (remember, I am taking classes, doing research, and just living it up Senegalese style). So basically...I don't have as much time for you guys as I would like, but I will try my gosh darnedest. :)

Hmm, mmm. Let me clear my throat. Let's begin... To be honest, I didn't really know what to expect when coming to Senegal. I knew that it was in West Africa, I knew I would be on the coast near the capital and biggest city Dakar (I am in a sort of suburb of Dakar known as Yoff), I knew Senegal was predominately Muslim, I thought the people of Yoff's livlihoods revolved around fishing (which in fact it really doesn't--and I will get into fishing a little later), I knew I would be living with a traditional Senegalese family (but I couldn't tell you who), and I knew that it was going to be different. But I really didn't have any concrete idea of what I was throwing myself into. And I had no idea how different/similar life would be from home or Paris or anywhere else I had experienced. And let me tell you, it really is different. And I experienced culture shock(and still am everyday) like I never had before.

So first off simply arriving at the airport was an experience. Basically, from what I saw, Dakar's airport is not much more than a building that houses a small baggage claim area (mind you Dakar has a metropolitan population around 3 million). It was a battle to get out because hundreds of people were trying to shove their bags onto one x-ray conveyor belt just for the heck of it (I don't even think that the x-ray machine was working). So ok, I'm out of the hot, humid airport. It's gonna be smooth sailing from here on out. Wrong. Right when I get out all kinds of people try to get me to give them my bags and to get into their taxi (Side note about taxis: Taxis rule Dakar. They are owned by individuals and are everywhere. I mean like 7 out of 10 cars on the road are taxis. And get this. Instead of you calling for a taxi, the taxi calls for you. The driver honks at you and sticks out his head inquisitively as if to say, "You need a taxi? Please get in my taxi. Pretty please with sugar on top. Ok, you don't want a taxi. Fine. I'm leaving!") Anyway, it was actually quite overwhelming and somewhat alarming outside of the airport because I didn't know what the people who were picking me up looked like. Ok, phew! Found my peeps and pushed my way through all the cab drivers and hustlers. Next task: Get into a taxi and make it to my anonymous host family...my adventure will continue shortly. Don't worry, I am still alive and well.