Lekkal!

     The first Wolof you learn here is indubitably the favorite phrase of Senegalese mamans: "Lekkal," the omnipresent command to eat. And woe is you if you think that is a polite invitation you can demure; it is a true imperative.
The Senegalese culture, renowned for "teranga", hospitality, places an incredible value on sharing especially when it comes to food. Servings here are generous and seemingly unending. To the Senegalese mind, you eat when you are happy and content, thus our host families would love nothing more than for us to each gain a few pounds.
     In my family the children all eat from a communal bowl, a daily ritual I have come to treasure. Seated on the floor around the large platter, your serving is demarcated by invisible but strictly observed lines. You dig into what is front of you, never straying into another's space but freely drawing from the central pile of vegetables and meat. Conversation is minimal but the connection between the diners is felt. Everyone observes what the others are consuming. Has everyone received a piece of carrot? If someone is perceived to have been slighted, a subtle toss of the spoon will usher a morsel of meat or a piece of potato in front of him. Did you make the rookie mistake of finishing your food too quickly? Watch as your space magically fills again with rice. "You've barely eaten, lekkal! Mange!" There is a supreme peacefulness in this ceremony. You are connected with those who eat with you, nourished by the same shared food.
     The food itself is nothing short of heaven. Prepared carefully and lovingly, it tastes of hours of stewing and simmering and centuries of refinement. Rich tomato stews and smooth peanut sauces, crispy fried fish stuffed with peppery spices, flavorful and toothsome chunks of grilled meat, omnipresent and absurdly addictive caramelized onions. Each meal comes on a bed of rice, perfumed with curry and spices if you're lucky, or millet couscous, earthy and rich in its wholesomeness.
     And that's just dinner. The streets of Dakar have much to offer in the way of diverting snacks. The nearby corner store makes a mean omelet sandwich perfectly accented by Senegalese hot sauce. A few blocks away is a grocery store owned by a portly Frenchman that sells baguettes that would make any Parisian proud. Walk 100 feet in any direction and you'll find a fruit stand, a few feet more and you'll pass by a table adorned with nuts and roasted corn. A perennial favorite are the Café Touba vendors. This dark amber ambrosia is brewed with cloves and sugar and it is truly addictive. Granted, the coffee is instant Nescafé but for 10 cents you get what you pay for.
    In the mood for something a bit sweeter? You've come to the right country. Tooth-achingly sweet juices abound, patisseries are beloved, and you're never far from something deep-fried and powdered. Perhaps the most adored indulgence, though, is fonde, fat pearls of couscous floating in sweet thick yogurt.
    Most evenings in Dakar wind down with the household sharing ataaya. Green tea is brewed strong and dark with sugar and mint leaves. Before serving, the tea is expertly poured back and forth between two glasses from an impossible height. The tea will become lighter and more aerated with a thick layer of foam on top. The drink itself is delicious but the real draw is passing the time while the tea brews discussing the happenings of the day and catching up with any friends who may have been drawn in off the street.

"Viens manger! Sophie, lekkal!" That's my cue. Bon appetit.