To live with Fati

”For how long do you want to stay here?” Fati asked there we sat on the floor in the saloon. She served djiboudjen and well longed for cold water.
“A week, five days I think.” I answered and wondered when I actually had to be back in Nouakchott.
“No, no, that’s way too short. Stay a month, many months. Stay forever,” she said and my heart boiled over.

My extra-mother.

My extra-mother.

She is fifty-three and live with her mother, two brothers, two little children, her brothers’ wife and their two kids. The house consists of five rooms; grandma Korka’s room where she spends all her time on the thin mattress on the floor since her legs aren’t usable anymore, three bedrooms and saloon with four beds.

In the evenings we all slept outside, inside is simply too warm. So every evening we hung mosquito nets from the washing line that sat across the yard. It was perfect. Boghé is a small society with not a lot of electricity, so in the night the stars shone bright and the full moon woke me up from time to time by shining in my eyes. But I haven’t slept as good as in Fati’s house for a very long time.

Every morning at nine water was boiled over gleaming coal and we ate traditional bread still hot from the stone oven, baked just a block from there. Fati made tea with milk to the children, I made coffee.

Every forenoon was spent with little excursions and at three we ate lunch. I don’t think there is anyone cooking as good food as mama Fati, we had rice, couscous, fish, meat (schhh I know…) and vegetables from her families’ garden across the river; in Senegal.

In the evenings neighbors and family came to visit, pulaar was the language mainly spoken and I am so fascinated by that language. But, I will learn fluent French before I start with a new language.
We went to bed around midnight and woke up with the call for prayer in the morning. Though the most of us fell back asleep and took a couple of hours more sleep.

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