I spent this morning sitting on a stool across from Khady (a maid at the Samb house). I washed my clothes in two buckets. She cut onions and potatoes into bowls. We exchanged Wolof and French and English. She wanted to know how to say 'partir' in english (leave, to go). With this bit of knowledge, she called each family member in by name, then dismissed them.
Bachir? LEAVE!
Maam? LEAVE!
Lamine? LEAVE!
She laughed and cackled and cried, wiping her smiling tears with diced-onion-covered hands. For a few moments, she overcame her position as Khady, the maid, who responds to every call of every member of the family. She became Khady, the playful, but fed-up woman, finally expressing her wish (albeit in another language) for some peace and quiet.
No one did leave, as no one understood the order, but she winked and I giggled. I went back to scrubbing, and she to cutting. I wonder if that wish will ever make it into Wolof.