Well, when I say I managed to make Yaasa, I mean that I asked Mariama, our maid, who speaks Wolof, to show me how she made it. I’ve been wanting to learn some Senegalese cooking for a while, (as is the case with a few other things that have been tough to fit into the schedule) and I finally got my chance. Mariama laughed so hard when I got the question “Can you teach me how to cook Yaasa?” across in Wolof after a conversation about her family. (quelque chose comme “Ndax bëgg nga, mën nga ma jangale naka togg yaasa, s’il te plait?” which is a terrible attempt at a polite request because we haven’t learned that yet in Wolof class, and if I asked my host family, they would just ask her the question for me, and I wanted to try)
She and Gorgui, one of my host brothers who was around, found it hilarious that I followed her around the kitchen all morning with my pocket-sized notebook, watching and scribbling ingredients and directions in English while asking feebly constructed Wolof questions about the process. But in the end of the day, I minced two onions (soobleey? I think in Wolof) did not mince any of my fingers, and had a great time. Mariama is a patient teacher and found time in her busy cleaning schedule to talk to me, and I got the yaasa recipe, plus a few more words in Wolof.
After a while, I had to get out of the kitchen and let Mariama do her work, so I took an hour walk while the rice was steaming. It was a nice chance to get out (in general, midday is a great time to walk, because only crazy Toubabs with cabin fever (me) and those who have to be out working are on the sidewalks) Inadvertently, my path took me right by a mosque at the opportune time (Friday, for afternoon prayer), so I had to dodge traffic in order to walk behind the mats of people who were caught on the sidewalk when they had to start their prayers.
Back just in the nick of time for lunch, everyone liked the yaasa (which they claimed was my yaasa, even though I explained over and over that I cut two onions). This also brought about a new slew of Senegalese husband joking, which seems to happen whenever I do something right or make a new effort to be a part of the host family. I wonder what will happen next weekend when I attempt American food on our propane tank heating element.
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