The woman who decides when the village eats

The first sound in Saré Yoba Diéga is not a rooster. It is a match, then a breath, then wood catching. Aïssatou has been doing this for nineteen years and she no longer needs light to do it.

By the time the sky turns grey, the water is hot and the millet is soaking. Nobody has told her to start. There is no schedule pinned anywhere. But if she started an hour later, the herd would leave late, the children would reach school late, and the whole day would arrive slightly behind itself.

A job with no name

There is no word in the village for what she does, because it is not considered a job. It is considered morning. Ask anyone here who organises the day and they will name the village chief, or the imam, or the head of the family. Ask them what time breakfast is and they will all give the same answer, to the minute.

Her eldest daughter is seventeen and has started lighting the fire on Fridays. Aïssatou says she is teaching her the timing, not the cooking. The cooking, she says, anyone can learn.