On my second day in Nder, my French-speaking brother mentioned that his older brother had wanted to give me a coq (chicken) that night, but had been unable to find one.  However, he had ordered one from a neighboring village and I would have it the following night.  I smiled but then became a bit serious, sensing that my family’s hospitality might become a bit suffocating, “Please, it is really not necessary.”  He laughed and that was that.

The next day, I had a meeting with a group at the village’s center, next to the small boutique that sold local produce, seasonings, tea, meat, etc.  One of the small girl’s from my family compound appeared and was handed a large coq which she took by its feet and hurried off to the compound.  “There goes my dinner,” I joked.  I then explained to Kendall what my brother had said the previous evening.  “No way!”  She shrieked.  My family’s doting behavior had already become widely known, but a coq was supposed to feed an entire family, not just one small girl.  

But sure enough, when I arrived home, several members of my family excitedly told me that my coq had arrived and Thioro, my namesake, was cooking it.  I was horrified.  Did they think I was a glutton?  The family had been told that we could not eat rice for every meal as they did (this I did not resent), but my family had interpreted that to mean that, while they ate out of communal bowls outside, I should get what was essentially room service.  Thioro would cook a meal of deep fried hard-boiled eggs (yes), fries, tomatoes, and yassa sauce to be served on my very own plastic dish with a napkin draped across my lap.  Though the food was absolutely delicious, this treatment made me a bit uncomfortable.  And now I was getting my own coq!  I tried to explain to everyone (this was a bit hard as most of everyone did not speak French) that I really could not eat an entire coq.  But they would not hear it and even looked a bit hurt by my protestations.  

I was lead into the cooking hut where Thioro was preparing my coq.  “Cook!” my family urged me.  The little hut was dark and the smoke burned my eyes, but I took the wooden spoon and bent over the iron pot, giving the coq a couple of stirs.  Thioro handed me a bowl of spices.  I threw them in and stirred some more.  Thioro handed me some already cut and oil-soaked potatoes.  I threw them in and stirred some more.  Thioro handed me some yassa and that too I moved back and forth in the pot. By now what felt like half of the family had gathered around me.  Thioro indicated that the chicken was done and smiled her beatific smile.  

“You cooked it,” she said proudly.  

Oh boy, I thought.

The rest of the family murmured their approval.  “Thioro,” they addressed me, “you are a good cook.”

I tried to joke that I really didn’t do anything but stir the coq and I really shouldn’t be eating a whole coq in the first place, but they just shook their heads solemnly.

When Kendall stopped by a bit later, my family proudly told her that I was eating the coq I had cooked.  

My coq became infamous among the group and my friends were constantly teasing me, always addressing me as “Princess Emma.”

However, that was just the first of three entire coqs.  And then there was the fish, also served to me in its entirety.  Afraid of my family’s disapproving looks, I always tried to eat as much as I could, but they were never satisfied.  I would bring my plate out so the rest of the family could enjoy my sumptuous meals.  But far from happily taking the food into their own hands, they would make me walk from family member to family member and they would all inspect how much I had eaten and berate me for not having eaten more, insisting that I must not like the food.

I would insist that the food was nerhnah lo (so good) and I was sourgna (full), but inevitably one of the elder brothers would pull me aside and offer to make me some cous cous or eggs.  

I even tried to enlist the help of my friends, having them show up at dinnertime, especially on those nights that I had been promised a coq.  

But not only was my family hospitable, they were protective.  I noted one night, as Shannon and Kendall sat in my room, eager to try some of Thioro’s infamous chicken, that Thioro was no where to be found.  Thioro’s husband, Alioune, caught my eye and signaled me to come talk to him.  Even though we were out of earshot, Alioune whispered, his brows knit with concern.  He was afraid that I wouldn’t have enough to eat and wanted to know if the coq should wait until the other girls had left.

The father of the family died about eight years ago, his youngest daughter, my beloved Pindas, was only five at the time and barely remembers him.  From what I can tell he had two wives, Mama Soda and Mama Dieumb and no paucity o’ progeny.  Three of his sons (Amadou, Alioune, and Boona) still lived in the compound (others had moved to St. Louis or Dakar) and each, over the course of my stay, pulled me aside to say that now that their father was dead, he was man of the house and if I had any problems, I should see him.  

Each day, I would have to assure Amadou that I liked the food, Alioune that the children did not bother me, and Boona that the mosquitoes were not biting me.  But they never ceased their concerns.  

Each day, I also received a cooler of frozen mineral water ordered especially for me from a distant village with electricity.  When I started administering band aids to a small Chaco’s blister, Amadou, without even telling me that he had noticed the blister, went to the boutique and bought me a new pair of flip flops.

For my first week, I was put up in Mama Soda’s room, the nicest room in the compound.  It was decked out with mirrors and curtains and dozens of grigris (talismans) hung from the doorway, making it a very protected room.  The room was, however, infested with little critters that prevented sleep.  Afraid to offend the family’s hospitality, I explained that the room was hot (it was made of concrete bricks) and asked if I could move to the little banco (mud) hut to which Mama Soda had been displaced.  The hut was far more conducive to sound sleep, especially with the company of my two roommates, two of my little sisters who would role out large foam mattress for nightly slumber parties.

So how did I even begin to repay their kindness?

Well, that's a story for another blog.