What if the Hokey Pokey really is what it's all about?

Growing up as the daughter of my high school’s yearbook advisor, one of my favorite times of the year was when the Seniors would turn in their glamorous photos and the words of wisdom they had selected to go with it.  I loved getting a sneak preview of what was to come and watching my mom roll her eyes at some of the more ridiculous senior quotes, debating whether to make them change it.  It’s funny what nuggets of childhood memory stick with you, but I remember being really tickled with one senior quote, which simply asked, “What if the hokey pokey really is what it’s all about?”  Well, based on an experience I had this week, I have decided that that just might be the case.

When looking at Senegalese and American cultural differences, one thing that stands out to me is the differing views of children.  While children are very much loved in both cultures, you might say that it is not expressed the same.  Respect for elders is very important in Senegal.  Barely anyone knows their numerical age, but everyone seems to know their relative age to each other.  This puts kids at the bottom of the totem pole.  Anything you don’t want to do, you can just have a kid do it.  I have often marveled at the nonchalance with which a mother will balance a baby on her back to strap him into the cloth.  It is the opposite of helicopter parenting.  Corporal punishment is common.  I have been told to hit kids that were bugging me and had to try to explain in limited Malinke that I just couldn’t.

Another thing is that adults don’t really play with kids.  (Well, I guess that’s a generalization, but in my three months here, I haven’t observed any intergenerational playing.)  There are eight kids in my host family’s compound, ranging from (I’m completely guessing here because they don’t know) about one and a half to about ten.  Besides my host father cuddling his two littlest granddaughters in the hammock, which is the sweetest thing in the world, the primary adult-child interaction in the compound is that of reprimanding.  Don't get me wrong, there is much love toward children, it's just not typically expressed through play.  Being someone who wants everyone to like me and lacking the language skills to immediately ensure that with the adults of the family, one of my first moves upon arriving was to try to get in with the kids.

The gang's all here: These are the middling age range of kids.  Khalifa, Jelemba, Samuro, Kounadi

Kounadi is crazy-excited about the camera that my parents sent in the mail

Getting my hair braided

 Getting in with the kids played out through several different strategies:

S1.  Singing American songs by request.  The most common requests are Shakira’s Waka Waka (known here as Tsaminamina) and Rhianna’s Rude Boy, which is so dirty that I feel super weird singing it to kids, but they love it and have no idea what I’m saying.

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22. Duck, Duck, Goose.  I translated this classic into Malinke as Frog, Frog, Snake, since I have no idea how to say either duck or goose.  I actually think it might be more fun and exciting to get chased by a snake than by a goose.

33.      Hide and seek, a la Senegalaise.  The version of hide and seek that was taught to me by the kids involves everyone hiding together and yelling out when the group is ready to be found.  This is my least favorite game because it involves leaving the shade structure and venturing out in the hot, hot sun.

44.      Most recently, Hokey Pokey.  This has been a hit with the kids as well as the older students from surrounding villages. It has been good practice for reinforcing the vocabulary of body parts.

In the last few weeks I’ve actually had to do some learning regarding the setting of boundaries.  It turns out the kids like playing games so much that they come over to my house morning, noon and night hoping that I’ll play with them (also just watching us seems to be a fun activity).  Since I deal with a lot of “hut guilt” (feeling like I should be out integrating with the community at all hours of the day and feeling guilty for being in our hut), if I’m at my hut, it means I really need to be there, either to do work in peace or to get some rest.  When Pat was in Dakar, I had an emotional breakdown about feeling overwhelmed by the constant presence of a herd of kids at my hut and not knowing how to tell them they couldn’t come over and thus not knowing how to preserve my sanity.  Eventually, I just told them (in front of their grandparents and parents) that (literal translation here) their house was the place of playing and my house was the place of resting and working only.  This was actually quite effective, and I think the adults in my family had thought that this was a long time coming.  The kids still come over, but they understand the boundary and don’t get mad if I ask them to leave so I can get work done or rest. 

So we do a lot of playing at the Cissokho compound.  And lately I have even heard adults singing the hokey pokey in a hinting way as if to request it.  Then, a few days ago, something magical happened.  We were playing our afternoon round of Frog, Frog, Snake, and it was Alamuta’s turn.

Alamuta is the cutest.  She is captured here at one of the rare times she is wearing clothing.

Alamuta highly enjoys Frog, Frog, Snake, but she doesn’t really get it.  As she was walking around muttering and hitting about every third person on the head, Diounkounda, the mother of four of the kids, came over and took over from Alamuta.  Every single kid squealed around the circle squealed with the purest delight as Diounkounda ran from the snake she had chosen.  She was then chosen every time as the snake.  This was actually quite hilarious because she was breastfeeding Oumou who kept trying to hang on to her milk source for dear life as Diounkounda scampered around the circle of giggling kids.

Oumou trying to get in on the camera action as well

At Diounkounda’s request, we switched to Hokey Pokey, and sang and laughed until we ran out of body parts.  It was beautiful.  As we were walking back to our hut later in the afternoon, Pat said, “You know, we could leave tomorrow and feel good about our service after what happened today.”  I am in no way trying to paint myself as the patron saint of playing with kids or make any commentary on Senegalese parenting styles. (I am not a parent, despite the wishes of our entire for us to have a baby so they can give him or her a Senegalese baptism,  and I can only make these observations as a childless outsider who finds it easier to say “Frog, frog snake” than things you might say when conversing with adults.)  All I know is that, on that afternoon, the smiles of those kids and their mom made me wonder, “What if the Hokey Pokey really is what it’s all about?”