Fun With the Family

The night before I left for PC, my dad gave me a game called “Left Center Right Dice Game.”  (Whoever created the game could definitely have used some marketing advice).  I’d never played it before, but it was compact, so my dad thought it would be good to take.

I was hanging out at my house one night trying to think if I had enough language skill for my brothers and I to play any of the games I brought with me.  A lot of nights my brothers sit around with me as I fumble around, trying to make sentences stumble out of my mouth, and I really didn’t want them to get tired of that and abandon me, or worse, continue to sit with me out of pity/obligation and miss out on fun of their own.  I happened to think of the Dice Game, and decided to give it a shot.  Coincidentally, we had just learned that day how to say the words “left,” “right,” and “center.”  How convenient!  So I pulled out this game and managed to teach my brothers the rules, and we started playing. 

It was such perfect timing; I was able to practice my new vocabulary while providing my family with some entertainment, a small return for everything they give to and do for me.  It was a hit!  My family loves this game, all the more so because for the first 4 nights, I gave out Jolly Rancher candy to the winners of each game.  (Sadly the JRs are gone now).  In fact, I think this game was the gateway to the hearts of my adopted sisters, who never seemed to like me before.  That in itself was something that has been bothering me, but after a few nights of playing together they finally seem to like me!  Even my uncle likes to play, and occasionally my aunt will also join in the fun.

After the first night of JRs, each night I would try to hide the bag of candy as I brought it outside to the game bench.  It never worked; my brothers always knew it was behind my back.  So one night I tucked the bag into the folds of my pagne against my stomach.  I walked outside and at first my brothers were confused – no bag behind me!  But quickly they noticed the bulge at my belly and tried to call me out.  I denied their accusations, saying, “Everyday you all tell me to eat more!  In the morning: ‘Damdje, eat more!’  In the afternoon: ‘Damadje, eat more!’  In the evening: ‘Damadje, eat more!’  Well, I ate more, and now I’m belebeleba (fat) like you wanted!”  I don’t think I’ve ever heard a group of people laugh so hard as they did when I said that. 

Later a girl sitting next to me was trying to tell me something, but of course everytime I told her I didn’t understand, she would repeat herself using the exact same words and going to exact same pace of lightning-speed.  When that happens, immediately 4 other nearby children chime in: “Damadje!”  “Damadje!”  “Listen to me!”  “I can explain!”  “Damadje!”  It’s like a never-ending round, and let me tell you, 5 people yelling at you is no easier to understand than one person.  So this was getting kind of out of hand this particular night, and I found myself, yet again, caught in the middle of several earnest voices all trying to explain the same thing.  Finally Moussa yelled loudly, picking out the one word I had actually understood, “Damadje!  ‘Kelen’…’One!’”  Now Moussa knows very well that I know my Bambara numbers.  I knew those even before I came to Mountougula.  And at this point I had had enough of people yelling in my direction.  So I turned to him and yelled back slowly and very pronounced, “N Y’A FAMU!” (I understand!).  Of course, the entire group started cracking up, and another danger-zone of frustration was avoided by laughing around it.

Another night, I had taken my evening bucket bath early and it was still light out by the time I was dressed again and sitting outside.  My 6-year-old brother, Papis, tried to make up for annoying me earlier by showing off his dancing skills.  He’s quite impressive!  Of course, all the other boys had to show off as well.  Moussa walked on his hands.  Lemin did cartwheels.  The little ones ran around trying to imitate the older ones.  Somehow this turned into a game of crossing the courtyard in a ridiculous manner: hopping like a frog, jumping on one foot, high-knees track-and-field style.  At first I just watched but eventually I couldn’t resist joining in the fun.  It’s probably not very appropriate for a 24 year old girl to be doing bell kicks across the courtyard with a bunch of little boys, but my family thought it was hilarious, and I wanted to play!  My American friend came over to study and just watched us with a slightly bemused smile.  Her family is mostly older and the only children are few and mostly babies, so courtyard races aren’t exactly part of her daily life.  I think she probably thought I was a little crazy for getting sweaty again after taking my bucket bath, but I thanked my lucky stars that I was placed up with Sirafa Doumbia’s family.