SPotlighT
Yaay means “mother” in Wolof. Mine is wonderful, unique. I don't know who arranged for me to live with her family, but they have my eternal thanks. Jerejef, waay!
Ndeye Diaba Top is possibly 45 years old. She doesn’t really know – sometimes she says 40, or 45, or 47, or “Yallah rekk xamm na” (Only God knows). She has had six children, from ages 6 to 18. Of those six, she says she can only count five as “truly hers,” as she had to give away one daughter to a daughterless sister. Any time Yaay sees Diama, the daughter she gave away, she tears up. She can’t have any more children, for which she says she is grateful – she loves and is thankful for her sons and daughters, but when they were small, she was exhausted rekk. Now that they're older, she's glad that she doesn't have more, because now she is able to pay attention to and care for each one.
Yaay is beautiful – high cheekbones, full lips, and deep, clear skin. Like most Senegalese women, she is strong. She can carry a 30-liter tub of water on her head while leading a child by each hand. She pounds peanuts for hours, rarely stopping to rest. Her smile is shy, but it lights up her face and the space around her. Other people’s babies stop crying when she holds them, and many village children come to her with their wounds, bumps, and bruises so that she can nurse them in her gentle way.
I don’t know how much schooling she received – she often tells me she can’t do things: can’t write beautifully, can’t read, can’t speak English. However much she got, though, it was enough to give her a sense of the importance of education, which she's instilled in her children. My brother was one of just four students from our village to receive his BFEM, my oldest sister is graduating high school at the age of 17, and my youngest sister has the highest moyenne (average) of anyone – all genders, all grades – in our school. These are the things that bring Yaay joy, that she reports on the phone to relatives and friends who call.
Yaay’s cooking is just right -- Fati, my sassy and short-tempered second mom, always makes her food a little too spicy, throwing hot pepper or salt into the pot with an unmeasured hand. Yaay Ndeye’s is always carefully made and delicious. Similarly, spicy Fati is more likely to get into an argument with my father when her playful yet incessant teasing crosses the line. Yaay keeps the peace, reins Fati in when she's pushing my baay's buttons, and speaks quietly but with strength to my dad if he is being overly harsh or strict with Fati or any of the children.
I’ve seen her raise a hand at a child, but never bring it down. If she shouts at someone it’s due to distance, not disagreement. During last rainy season, the family went out to work in the fields every day. At the end of the day, the donkey cart was so full of bushels of peanuts that all the family walked home, except Yaay, who drove the cart by herself. The field is over four kilometers away, but the walkers got home first. As Yaay Ndeye rounded the corner near our house, everyone standing and waiting for her laughed – though she had the whip raised, she wouldn’t hit the donkeys, who had taken their sweet time home.
On Yaay Ndeye
By: Rebecca Verlaque, 2nd year
Linguere Health Volunteer
17