Oct 06 - Booko Didija

October, 2006

Here's a picture of what happens after a couple of years in the Peace Corps. :)

After the flooding of my garden three times, I replanted some fruits and vegetables. I recently ate my first corn and watermelon. The corn was decent; the watermelon was ambrosia—absolutely delicious. I also had my first home-grown coffee. I roasted it, crushed it in a mortar, and drank my first cup. I think I have a little to learn yet, but I was happy to find some reward for my work.

At the end of August, I helped “jasa” (yah-sah – fry, or in this case, heat up to widen) my first boat. The boat base is placed on stick supports, holding the boat a foot or so above the ground. Then, a fire is built underneath. The trick is to heat up the boat and loosen it but not to burn holes in it. After some burning, sticks are placed between the sides of the boat to widen it gradually. The fire gets very hot. I should remember to wear long pants next time, as the heat of the fire almost fried my leg hair. Occasionally, with the use of a banana tree trunk with one end loosened up to resemble a brush, some water is smacked on the sides of the boat to keep it from burning too much.

If the boat refuses to widen to what is desired, it must be removed and the thick sections thinned out with an axe and machete. Then, it is returned to the fire until widened completely. Another day, the sides and seats are placed on the boat. They can be painted or left in their natural wood color. Finally, a paddle is made or a motor is placed on the stern. It’s an amazing process. Before coming here, I tended to think very little about what goes into making a boat. Now, at least, I know a little about the Saramaccan way. It takes a lot of work, and it’s so satisfying to put one in the water for the first time. In a way, it’s a little like seeing a baby walk for the first time. You all feel so proud of your work.

I’ve described the burial process already in previous updates. At the beginning of September, we had another segment of the process called limba uwii (limb-bah oo-we – clean leaves). This lasts for three days. In preparation, we cleaned up a little around the village. Then, on a Friday, it all started. I was made a temporary basia (bah-see-ah – under-captain) for the process. Different people can be made temporary basias when help is needed for these events. The village honored me with the title. Granted, with the title comes a lot of work….but an honor, nonetheless. On Friday night, we started a Booko Didija (bow-ko-dee-dee-yah), which means “break the day”. For me, this entailed serving drinks all night to everyone who came, dancing, talking, and not sleeping. I stayed up all night.

The next day, there was a type of play acting, accompanied by drumming. By play acting, I mean that some acted possessed by spirits, some observed, some danced. I was convinced to participate in the dancing. I knew very little of what was being done. However, I, like the others, wore traditional clothing, rubbed dirt on my face, and danced. At a few points during the play acting, we went around the village collecting rice, coconuts, sugar cane, whatever villagers left out for collection. I couldn’t help feeling slightly self-conscious in not knowing what I was doing. However, at the same time, I felt very honored and fully supported by the Saramaccans surrounding me. It is amazing that despite history’s treatment of the Saramaccans through slavery/colonialism, civil war, and the struggles of rural life that continue in Suriname, they welcomed me in their culture with open arms. It left me inspired and truly humbled.

That night, we performed the traditional ritual of tuwee njanjan (too-way nyan-nyan – throwing food), and the next day we performed tuwee wata (too-way wah-tah – throwing water/rum), both in honor of the dead, the ancestors, and God.

The night following the tuwee of water, some of us washed at the river. We followed this with traditional seketi (she-keh-tee). In seketi, you clap, bend over slightly, and sing, while others dance in a traditional seketi fashion. This dance is a combination of moving your hands gracefully through the air and your feet playfully carrying you around within the circle of singers. At the end of seketi, the dancers are often hugged by the singers. I participated, to the best of my ability, in the clapping and dancing. Needless to say, I had a great time. Seketi turned into reggae and Surinamese music, and the celebration continued late into the evening, completing the festivities for the limba uwii.

Following on the heels of the limba uwii, some of us volunteers on the river, a couple from the city, and a few Saramaccans went on a trip to Gaama Konde (Gah-mah kon-day). Gaama is the word used for the leader of all clans, the chief Saramaccan. The headquarters are located in Asindohopo, a village further south, located on the Pikilio (pick-ee lee-o – little river). The Pikilio branches off from the Gaanlio (gahn lee-o – big river) at the point of Tapa Wata (Tah-pah wah-tah), a large and beautiful, cascading waterfall.

We actually stayed in a village called Semoisi (Seh-moy-see) for three nights. On the first full day after traveling, we went to meet the Gaama in Asindohopo. We sat down and talked with him for a while. He was made Gaama about a year ago. So part of what we did was explain Peace Corps’ purpose. Afterwards, we went to swim and play at Tapa Wata. The vegetation in the falls is amazing. There are long, green stems throughout the falls, preventing the stones from being slippery and dangerous while providing a network of flora rope ladders, enabling the adventurous to climb to the top. At the top of the falls lie large green leaves that reminded me a lot of lettuce and made me long for a hearty salad. Sitting at the base of the waterfall, the pounding water provided us all with a nice massage, easing all our traveling pains.

The following day, we met with some of the leaders and villagers of Semoisi, explaining the purpose of Peace Corps to them as well. We proceeded to walk around the village to the cool, crystal-clear creek back in the forest. Later that evening, we returned to the wonders and comforts of Tapa Wata before retiring for the night. The next day, we returned to our own villages, but I will never forget our journey to Gaama Konde. I am hoping to take another trip in the new year, to experience the distinct wonders of the Gaanlio.

A few days later, one of the ladies in my village, Baba, came up to me while I was eating oatmeal for breakfast, drinking tea, and reading an issue of our Peace Corps distributed Newsweeks. She said, “You have the same sickness I have.” Curious as to her meaning, I asked what she was referring to. She replied, in good spirits, “When I get up in the morning, I really need to eat, too.” I enjoy, as I understand more, catching the little pieces of humor the villagers choose to share with me.

Recently, we celebrated the birthday of one of the other volunteers. She is a city volunteer and wanted to experience a birthday in a village. Here, if you want to have a birthday party, you throw it yourself. We worked together, with the help of two others from the neighboring village, to host the entire village. Some of the villagers were nice enough to help out with technical issues, too. We made three cakes, a lot of popcorn, a meat bucket full of juice (like Gatorade), and a little bit of alcohol for those who cared to indulge. The children of the village helped decorate the meeting hall with flowers. When the birthday girl arrived, the kids sang to her, as is a tradition. They crowded around and sang practically every song they knew beyond the birthday songs. We then watched a music video provided by one of the villagers. Following that, we played music and danced. It all lasted for about 4 1⁄2 hours.

Some of the children got a little out of hand with all of the sugar consumed. It was not disastrous but, rather, truly humorous as the normally sweet children went from asking for food and drink respectfully morphing into sugar-saturated little monsters, as they bellowed out, “CAKE! CAKE!” and “JUICE! JUICE!”. I’ve never seen the effect that that much sugar can have on people, and, honestly, I hope, in the interest of safety and peace of mind, never to see it again. It was truly a frightening transition. As for the birthday party, we felt it was a tremendous success.

That’s about it for now. However, I’d like to leave you with another image from a moment in my life. Near the end of August, I went to visit the two volunteers in the nearby village. That night, the storm clouds rolled in. Not just any rain clouds. Dark, ominous ones. One man, who lives near one of the other volunteers, claimed the rain would not fall. He was extremely adamant. In fact, he took out his chair, set it in the middle of the cluster of houses, facing the thundering clouds and lightning, and stared the storm down. As he faced the impending onslaught, he bellowed out repeatedly, “It won’t fall. It won’t fall.” I got the image of Captain Ahab, very sure of himself, saying he would find and kill the white whale.

In the face of a fast-approaching storm and despite my meager claims that I believed the rain was coming, Biga (the man’s nickname) remained steadfast in his chair, determined to defeat the raging skyline with chest swelled and a forbidding stare. “It will NOT fall!”

The rain fell long and hard that night. At one point, he picked up his chair and retired into the shelter of his abode. However, I fancy that, when all the other people were wrapped in their bed sheets or swaying in their hammocks, Captain Biga returned to the storm front, cursing the skies, laying claim that he would, in the face of disbelief, defeat his white whale.