We ran into an elderly village woman. Addi embraced her and exchanged
a very, very warm greeting. He showed us how they greet by holding her
hands, kissing her hands, his, hers, his, then the top of her head.
He proceeded to tell us this story: When he was a little boy, he and some
friends were being mischievous, laughing and shouting. Little Addi was
looking down through a hole at a man tending the fires to warm waters
for ablutions in the mosque. The man told them to be quiet and they
didn’t, so he threw ashes up at the hole. The ashes went into Addi’s eyes,
and this woman happened to be there. She grabbed him and washed out
his eyes with her breast milk. This made him a relative of sorts, as he was
then a milk-brother (awlad laban) to her children and meant he could
not marry her daughter. Milk bonds are taken as seriously as blood ties.
TUAREG RUGS
Later that afternoon, we were taken to a Tuareg rug place. Three huge
tents and one building in the desert greeted us. Inside the building we
found rugs, rugs, and more rugs! Huge strings of amber, carved wood,
and intricate copper lamps adorned the rooms. When we were seated,
the Tuareg men, wearing djellabas, sat down with drums
and started making music. Addi joined in, playing
various percussive instruments (small drums and large
clacky hand cymbals called “krakeb”). Addi put on
a blue djellaba and wrapped a long, tie-dyed cloth as
a turban around his head. I learned that’s what they
wear in the south. We were served tea with dates and
cookies. Amanda and Katia decided to help out the
economy and bought several rugs. The rest of us looked
Addi’s Milk-Mother
Musicians at the Rug Place