Its lovely to have an older sister.

Short Anecdote:
Especially within my host family, I've been thinking a lot about gender and poverty in Senegal as compared to the States. Lately a few young brothers have been spending a lot of time at our house. There's a rotation of other people's kids that spend much of their days in our house, most notably my Aunt Yama's five kids. I only met these new additions a few weeks ago; they are considerably cheekier than many of the other kids who spend time around the house. Their clothes are not particularly clean, nor are they in the best condition. The younger boys' faces are covered in the warts common on many of the young children in my neighborhood. (I looked this up once; apparently its a result of less-than-stellar hygiene).
Yesterday, one of the elder ones was being particularly cheeky. I'd guess he's a young to mid-teen, not sure if he's still in school. I came home from my weekend in St. Louis (for the world-famous Jazz Festival, more on that later) after dinner, so I was sitting with Bineta (my fabulous older sister) outside my room eating the massive amount of fish and avocado (avocado!!) sauce she'd saved for me while she made attaaya (Senegalese tea; I'm addicted).
So this cheeky young man comes round the corner from another part of the house and motions with his thumb to mouth that he wants water. While this motion is common in Senegal for "I'm thirsty" and I've observed its pretty customary for men to ask women to provide them a drink of water, I think even Bineta found this rude. For one, our young friend is nearly a decade her junior, and not an immediate member of her family. (Also, perfectly capable of getting his own water). She motioned to the fridge and handed him a cup without getting up from her seat. She then flashed me a fabulous facial expression of disgust at the rudeness of the exchange. We shared a silent laugh, which I enjoyed, while wishing I could rebuke the injustice of the demand.
He spent the rest of the evening teasing me in a manner similar to that many of the young kids take with me, the funny toubab lady. He would ask me repeatedly "Nanga def" (traditional Wolof greeting), in a mocking, singsong tone, to which I would politely and correctly respond "Maangi fi." A few times I tried to engage him in further conversation in Wolof, which only prompted him to poke his head into my room numerous times and ask "Ana sa xaalis bi?" (Where's your money?). Eventually, Bineta poked her head round the door and counseled that I shut it. She came back later to explain her advice, describing him as an irresponsible, untrustworthy youth. (Who, to my observation, she refused to acknowledge fully, perhaps explaining her neglecting earlier to rebuke his rudeness.)
In any case, its really lovely to have an older sister like Bineta. I have an infinite respect for her, and I only hope I'm able to convey that to her. Also, that I'm able to be such a figure at least sometimes for my own younger sisters back home. (Lots of love to you, Meghan and Susanna! See you in less than 4 weeks!)