Every morning I open my front door to a neat pile of fresh yellow-green mangos on my front step. Almost like breakfast-in-bed, Senegalese style.
My youngest brother, Abibou and nephew, Jiby (both around 12 years old) are harboring huge crushes on me, and have been in competition for my attention for the past few months. For awhile they would fight over who would get to pull my water from the well, or find a plastic chair for me to sit in, or who could keep the small kids away from me when I am reading. But last week, they saw me eating a mango and concluded that I must love mangos.
It is Abibou and Jiby’s job to climb the mango trees in our yard and shake down the mangos, or to use a huge stick to knock a ripe mango down to the ground. And every time they do this, they save the biggest and best mangos for me. If I am around, they make a big show out of handing them to me (and I make a big show out of telling them thank you). Or if I am in my hut or away working in town, they leave them in a nice pile in front of my door. They are in a feud to see who can pick me the most big and ripe mangos, and I am content to let them fight, as long as they keep the mangos coming…
