Man Mothers: A Fantastical Look at the Reality of Cultural Differences

Conventional wisdom is not homogenous around the world.  How to even begin to approach the enormity of the cultural differences between Senegal and The United States?  To frame this topic, I turn to literature.   Since coming to Senegal, Pat and I have both read and LOVED, Patrick Rothfuss’ books The Name of the Wind and The Wise Man’s Fear.  These books are like Harry Potter for grown-ups and I can’t recommend them enough.  Although these books are in the fantasy genre, they capture many aspects of “real life.”  Since my real life has changed quite significantly over the course of the past three months, a part of the second book where the protagonist travels to a far-away land and has to figure out the cultural differences resonated with me on a whole new level.   Living in West Africa has allowed me to appreciate the vastness of the cultural differences that exist in this world.  Despite having traveled a lot before coming here, I was really clueless to how truly different two cultures could be, and how differently people from these different cultures interpret the world.  When I read the following excerpt from The Wise Man’s Fear, I was so struck by the way he captures these different interpretations of the human experience in the world. 

The following scene takes place when the protagonist, Kvothe, is discussing the differences between men and women with one of the women of Ademre.  At this point, Kvothe has already learned that in this culture, facial expressions are considered as barbaric as farting, and hand gestures take the place of facial expressions.  Here, something we don’t even think would be contested, like where babies come from, is discussed by people from two very different cultures.  This exchange is very reminiscent of many exchanges I have on a daily basis (not about the same subject of course), which I’ll discuss after this fictional cultural exchange.

“We teach,” she said.  “We give names…We plant.  We make babies.”  She shrugged.  “Many  things.”

“A man can do those things as well,” I said.

Penthe chuckled.  “You have the wrong word, she said, rubbing my chin.  “A beard is what a man makes.  A baby is something different, and that you have no part of.” 

“We don’t carry the baby,” I said, slightly offended.  “But still, we play our part in making it.”

Penthe tuned to look at me, smiling as if I had made a joke.  Then he smile faded.  She propped herself up on her elbow and looked at me for another long moment.  “Are you in serious?”

Seeing my perplexed expression, her eyes grew wide with amazement.  “It is true!” she said.  “You believe in man mothers!”  She giggled, covering the bottom half of her face with both hands.  “I never believed it was true!”  She lowered her left hand, revealing an excited grin as she gestured amazed delight. 

I felt I should be irritated.  “What is a man-mother?” I asked.
                “Are you not making a joke?” she asked, one hand still half-covering her smile.  “Do you truly believe a man puts a baby in a woman?”

“Well…yes,” I said, a bit awkwardly.  “In a manner o speaking.  It takes a man and a woman to make a baby.  A mother and a father.”

“You have a word for it!” she said, delighted.  “They told me this too.  With the stories o dirt soup.  But I never thought it was a real story!”

I sat up, growing concerned.  “You do know how babies are made, don’t you?” I asked, gesturing serious earnestness.  “What we have been doing most of the day makes a baby.”

She looked at me or a moment in stunned silence, then dissolved helpless into laughter, trying to speak several times only to have it overwhelm her again when she looked up at the expression on my face.

Penthe put her hands on her belly prodding it as if puzzled.  “Where is my baby?”  She looked down at her flat belly.  “Perhaps I have been sexing wrong all these years.  I should have a hundred babies if what you say is true.  Five hundred babies!”

“It does not happen every time there is sex,” I said.  “There are only certain times when a woman is ripe or a baby.”

“And you have done this? She asked looking at me with mock seriousness while a smile tugged at her mouth.  “Have you made a baby with a woman?”

I decided to take a different tack.  “If men do not help with making babies, how do you explain that babies look like their fathers?”  

“Babies look like angry old men,” Penthe said.  “Perhaps the old men are the only ones making babies then?” she smirked.   “Do you hear your own excuses?  Sex makes babies, but not always.  The sex must be at the right time, but not always…you keep sewing new threads, hoping it will hold water.  But hoping does not make it true…I can see you think this truly.  I can understand why barbarian men would want to believe it.  It must be comforting to think you are important this way.  But it simply is not.”

I tried to think of a convincing argument, but none would come to mind.

So what does this fictional cultural difference have to do with my experience in Senegal?  Nothing…and everything.  A great deal of the last month, I have been living my life having no idea what is going on around me, and trying to navigate a life with people who see the world so very differently than I do.

Speaking of where babies come from, pregnancy is an interesting place to start talking about these real cultural differences.   First of all, we learned during training that talking about pregnancy is taboo (which can be difficult when doing health work).  The reasons for and extent of this taboo are as of yet unclear to me, since people broach the topic of pregnancy with me all the time.  I have been told that I am pregnant for the following reasons: 1) I had a dream about a snake, 2) I picked up two toddlers at the same time (this means I’m pregnant with twins), 3) any kind of physical illness.   During a brainstorm about the causes of diarrhea at a community health worker training, it was suggested that if a young child sleeps next to its pregnant mother, the heat from her stomach can cause diarrhea.

Differing concepts of modesty is another one.  For women to show their knees is quite scandalous, but shirts don’t seem to be necessary.  Breasts are everywhere, from nursing mothers just not putting their shirts down after breast feeding to old women pounding millet in the heat.

I didn’t realize how little males touch each other in my own culture until coming here.  Men hang all over each other, while PDA between couples is non-existent.  I have even been told that I look at Pat too much, but he gets his hand held by men on a daily basis.

I’m sure at one point I’ll write a whole poem about superstitions (which I don’t think is a strong enough word to describe these beliefs), but I haven’t figured them out enough yet for that.  Here’s a couple I’ve learned so far:  You should avoid being out and about at dusk, around the time of the evening call to prayer, because that’s when the genes (spirits) come out.  I was physical pulled downstairs from the roof at my training host-family’s house because of this.  Also, if you don’t like jaxatu (a bitter tomato grown in West Africa that I actually don’t like), it means you are a witch.  There are other things that have to do with the evil eye, traditional healing (for example putting a leather amulet on your ankle to heal a sprain) and scary magical animals, but my language skills are not good enough yet to really begin to understand these things.

The use of the left hand is something I’m constantly fumbling with.  No one has gotten offended when I have forgotten and handed them something with my left hand (known by Peace Corps volunteers as the “poop hand”), but I always feel bad because I know you’re not supposed to do it.  The area where people have gotten mad at me is when I have neglected the importance of greetings.  A woman told me that we were in a fight because I didn’t greet her (I actually didn’t see her because she was sitting in an enclosed shad structure, but lesson learned).  I’m learning to budget three times as much time as I think I need to walk somewhere so I can have time to greet people without rushing.

This is all in addition to things I have already written about, like joking cousins and the caste system.  I am consistently failing at navigating these differences, consistently being laughed at, and, thus, consistently learning.  Maybe that’s one of the real goals here.  To challenge the conventional wisdom of both cultures in ways that can bring innovation and lasting positive change.