The End...?!

(Written on April 6, 2012)

As I sit here in the Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris, awaiting my flight home to America, I’m not really sure what to think. I had a family emergency that brought me home a few days before everyone else, but no matter my personal situation, “evacuation” is still a difficult word to digest. I am trying not to think about how the political situation in Bamako, the North, and the cut-off of international aid will affect the pre-existing food shortage in my village and my friends’ villages. I am trying not to think about what will happen in Bamako if gas really does run out, since the land borders are all closed. And, I am trying really hard not to think about the looks on my Malian friends’ and families’ faces when I only had a few hours to tell them goodbye, and that another volunteer would not be coming right away, as I had promised. So, instead of mulling about these depressing topics right now, I am going to share a story that will always make me laugh, and that will always remind me of my 21 months in Mali. I need some time to reflect on everything that has happened, and after all of my PC friends have returned from their “transition conference”, I will blog about my take on my last few weeks in Mali. But, for now, all of my faithful blog readers will have to settle for this story.

After being “coup-ed” up in the Sikasso Regional House for about a week, some friends and I decided to go to the one open pool in town. We walked thirty minutes to get there in the high-noon sun and temperatures of 100 degrees and humidity, only to learn that a wedding was being held at the pool all afternoon. Sweaty, irritated, and pained by headaches from the incredibly loud Malian music playing (for the wedding attendants), we looked at the pool, laughed because we remembered that most Malians do not swim in pools (or anywhere else for that matter), and decided to pay the three dollar fee to swim. Then, we went around back, whipped off our sweat-drenched clothes, and jumped in the pool in our bathing suits… with about 30 Malian men and children staring at us. To be honest, watching us was probably something like pornography to them, since Mali is a Muslim country and women cannot bear their knees, nevermind wear a bathing suit in public. But, we had a nice peaceful time (especially after they turned the music down), just watching the men, women, and children dance as they waited for the bride and groom. In Mali, you do not need an invite for anything, so we weren’t even crashing their wedding. Additionally, the bride and groom do not even need to be present for the wedding celebration to happen – you can substitute other people if the bride and groom cannot come, and on the first day, people just sit around and drink tea in honor of the wedding. So, we were not imposing on the wedding at all – if anything, maybe we gave them some more entertainment!

We were sitting in the pool, minding our own business, when a very large Malian man wearing very tight red underwear took a running start, flapped his hands at his side like a ballerina, and did a front-flip into the pool. We could not believe our eyes, and we could not contain our laughter. He came over and we all introduced ourselves, and he told us that he wasn’t part of the wedding party either. We talked for a few minutes, and then we all took turns jumping into the water with him. I wish I had brought my camera. Then, after my friends and I had returned to the shallow end to sit, our new friend swam over to us, picked up both of the male volunteers that we were with, and twirled them around in the water – it looked exactly like a parent playing with his kids, except that a large Malian man was playing with two full grown American men. He helped them float and even threw them up in the air and into the water. It was hilarious, and it was something I will never forget. Our pool date ended with our Malian friend taking some of the wedding food (chicken and fries!), sharing it with us, and then inviting us dancing that night.

We never went dancing, and now, we might never see ournew friend again. However, this story is indicative of Malian culture – you always make new friends, men are very friendly with each other, and, even when Malians have almost nothing to give, they will share their food with you, even if it means they are still hungry. None of this would have happened in America, and this story reminds me of the good parts of Malian culture that I will miss. I’ll be thinking of my new friend when I’m crying at home because I can’t afford or figure out how to work a smart phone, or when I awkwardly stare at someone eating just so s/he will offer me her/his food. I also won’t be able to just pick up random babies that I think are adorable (when I’m on a bus or taking a walk, for example), because I don’t want someone thinking that I am a baby-stealer. I will have a lot of adjustments to make, but at least I’ll be in the comfort of my own home, where crying is acceptable. I will miss Mali, and after I reflect on these past few weeks, I’ll put up a new post. But, we’re all safe and sound… I hope my friends in Mali stay safe and sound, too.

Allah ka Mali deme.