Guilty

-- Esta vez sólo en inglés, para compensar --

Oh, yes, I'm guilty. And because I've been distracted I owe you Anglo-phones an explanation. I've been going to the church. Oh, yes. Every day I've been going to the church and I haven't prayed. My moral values are still impenetrable to the attacks of the pious, but my interviewing adventures take me to places I didn't think I'd go. Ever.

Like, say, where do you think I was on Monday night, up until 3 am? Well, I was not in church, no I wasn't. But I was celebrating the birth of the Profet (Muhammad)in the basement of the Palace of Congresses in Granada. They call it the Gamou -- Mawlid in Arabic. It's the equivalent to Christian Christmas, only the party-ing style is different (I wonder how it is in Senegal, the homeland of those who welcomed me that day). Granted, I can't say I was an camouflaged insider. I was more like Snowflake the day Heidi decided to go out with her Goth friends. So I probably understood about 10% of what was going on, which was as follows: first, a group of men took over the front table, equipped with microphones, and expressed their opinion about a specific aspect of Islam. This group of men rotated with another group of men, and those who understand Wolof had to choice to either listen or go about their own businesses. These businesses may have included selling merchandise brought from Senegal, feeding their babies, running after their children, closing deals, talking, praying, etc. The room did not feel like a place of worship, more like a place where things happened everywhere all the time. Then after a while, another group of men took over the microphones and started a prayer that sounded (to my uneducated ear) like a mantra with a marked rythm. The rythm kind of takes over your system, relaxes you, and it goes on and on for hours, until you can barely notice it. And all the while, children keep running around screaming, women and men show their best clothes, and not everyone pays attention. It is entrancing and beautiful, but weird in the sense that it doesn't feel like there's much religion going on.

Somewhere through the night, everyone goes to another room to eat. Groups of people crouch around a tray that is set on a tablecloth on the floor and eat lamb with their right hand. It requires certain skill to eat this way!! I've tried it and I've only partially succeeded (and yes, I ate a piece of lamb on Monday because I couldn't be the rude white person who refuses their food). It's hard. The woman beside me decided to piece the tiny portion with her fingers after the grease theatened to cover my whole arm.

So, ladies and gents, I don't really know how to deal with my own soul now that I am doing two things that I hadn't done in eons: 1. go to church / the mosque. 2. eat lamb (once and with a resulting stomach ache). I feel guilty.

And that may be the reason why I can't get around writing an entry: I'm spending too much energy doing therapy to remain and forgive myself, just in case. Because we know that too much church can hurt you.

At least I am making some friends ...

My friend Mbene with some children at the Gamou (they're not hers).