Have you ever said thank you and found it trite? Lately the word leaves my lips more than anything else. Perhaps it is no different than the rest of the words I utter, mere shadows and ressemblances of the true actions and feelings they are meant to express... Maybe gratitude can never properly be expressed, ironically, especially with the words most often assigned to it. Maybe it is only something to be felt...
I woke up on my birthday with a distinct feeling of gratitude for being on this earth, for having a chance to have this experience, for the education and wisdom imparted to me thus far that has enabled me to learn and grow from this experience, for the privileges I have enjoyed and for those I haven't. Whom to thank for all of this? God, family, friends, mentors, teachers, greater community? Would that expression of gratitude be received as deeply as it is felt?
Before we went dancing, Demba took me to his friend's house where his mother is staying while she is in Bamako and then home so he would know where to return that night to pick Andrew and I up for our club excursion. There were various children about the house and I belive that at least two of them belonged to Demba's friend. The youngest could not have been more than 3. She approached me as I sat down on the couch and just looked into my eyes silently, me not speaking enough Bambera or her enough French to converse. Usually kids ignore me after staring for a bit. Older ones will talk to me a little, but those are usally boys not girls. The girls mostly do not say much but they are very interested because they listen to the conversations I have with the boys.
Well this little one stood close and took me in visually and when words failed me I reached out my arms to her and she walked into them. I swooped her up and placed her on my lap where she stayed for a while until another child with a toy caught her attention a while later. It did occur to me that I wasn't quite sure how old she was, but it did not appear that she was wearing diapers. I wondered if she was potty trained and if I would know if she had to go to the bathroom in advance of an accident in my lap. At any rate, it wasn't a problem and I very much felt as if we had experienced a moment that needed not to be explained with words. But yet i tried anyway...
We ended up going to Club Privilege near the river and all told by the end of the night I was celebrating with 5 guys and myself. Talk about being queen for a day! Demba, Andrew, Demba's friend Abou, and Demba's cousin whose name I can't recall and his friend as well. The DJ kept giving shoutouts all night long to "Julianne" who hailed all the way from Oakland California. We literally danced for 3 1/2 hours straight and actually it was very easy to forget that we were outside of the States and indeed I did because I kept trying to speak to people in English. At first Andrew stayed on the couch while we danced and appeared to be sleeping, but cigarette smoke drove him from that position and he then proceeded to light up the dance floor. We danced salsa and then African dance and then to US urban music. Who knew one could hear Borchata(sp?) in Mali?
Mali at night ressembles nothing like Mali during the day. All the youth who are forbidden from showing their thighs during the day and remain modestly covered came out in full force scantily clothed...reminds me of a Whodini song...can you name it? I was literally shocked. It was like they were trying to compensate for the daytime. Moderation, anyone? And how did they manage to get out of the house dressed like that? And why were they so obsessed with dancing in front of the mirrors on the walls, literally rows of half-naked girls lined up smiling at themselves dancing in the mirrors.
I got home at 4am and the next day was rough since the power was out unexpectedly for almost 10 hours. No internet, no AC, no relief. I went with Coulibaly to a garage to talk to some mechanics and hand out condoms and since there was no other vehicle I went on the back of his moped and he drove slowly. (Mom, I'm ok. I actually told him to be very careful because if anything happened to me you would fly here and have it out with him. And he saw the look on my face and knew I was telling the truth.) I asked one of the mechanics who was fairly young where he had learned what he knew about sex. He said from going out to clubs and meeting girls there. Aiie! And there don't seem to be books of any kind around. The ones I have seen are the ones I brought or those that are in the possession of others I know. I have seen magazines and comics. Sex is a taboo here and no one talks about it, but youth do it and that creates problems. It is like they are learning everything on their own and taking all the hard knocks as they go. A thirteen year old came into the clinic yesterday to take a pregnancy test and it was positive...
We left work early and I was expecting the power to be on in my neighborhood but it wasn't. I stopped by a store...the one owned by the woman who once sucked her teeth at me when I didn't know how to respond in Bambera. She welcomed me and told me to sit down and gave me a Coke, some peanuts and a woven fan to cool myself with. Turns out she is Catholic and is from the area of Mali that is heavily Christian, Kita, the first Christian city in Mali, where people make pilgrammages every year. She puts a face on some of the statistics here. She has three children and a fourth who died at two months old, and one of her younger sisters died in childbirth. Reminders that life remains difficult for women and children here.
When I got home hours later, Andrew was sleeping and there was no more bottled water in the house. Since he gets off at 2, I knew he had been there for at least 4 hours and I seriously toyed with the idea of buying water for myself and hiding it in my room just to see what he would do since it appeared to me that he was waiting for me to get home to run the errand. As I left to get water I ran into my Togolese friend, the one who helped me buy the surge protector/extension cord, and as it was getting dark he offered and I accepted for him to accompany me to the store. Once we got there he convinced me to get a carton of water rather than a few bottles as it is cheaper that way and he carried it home for me. I told him I might charge Andrew double for the price for each bottle of water he wanted. He thought that was very funny. Once we got to my downstairs door he asked how I would get the carton upstairs. I said I would put it on my head like the Malian women. He laughed at me and said are you sure? I said yes and proceeded to do so, hearing his chuckling as I closed the door and bade him goodbye.
When I got upstairs Andrew awoke and said Oh my God, it's so hot and there's no water! I said well you knew that before you went to sleep didn't you? In fact, we knew that when we left this morning and took the last two bottles. He said yeah but I was so exhausted! I said well next time go to the market on your way home and buy water. If I come home after dark I don't expect to have to go shop for something so essential, especially if you've been here for hours. Silence.
I went back out and discovered that the sister of my Togolese friend sells Togolese food from a storefront across the street. I bought a plate of fish, porridge and a tomato type sauce and sat down to eat. (We had no food in our house and I wasn't interested in learning what Andrew was going to do about that since I cooked the last meal on my bday and the one before that). My friend asked what I thought about the food after my first few bites and I said it was good and that it reminded me of Ghanaian food. He exclaimed YES! they are very much alike. So thanks Shirley...the years of eating at your house have prepared me for world experiences. :) So then my friend says, you know after all this time knowing you and helping you, I don't know your name and you don't know mine. Indeed! I told him my Malian name is Fanta and my real name is Julayne. Then I asked, What's your name? Moses, he responds, I'm a prophet. This from the man who has twice saved my hide. I am not making this up!!
When I finished my meal, he walked me back across the street to my place and I said Thank you for the water and the food (which I paid for). He said I don't like this word thank you. I asked why. Why should you be thanking me for doing something that friends do for each other he said. I nodded and then said I say it because I want you to know that I know you do not have to do it and that I am grateful that you choose to. He nodded and said we come from different cultures. I said ok well I will try to say it less often so you should try to be less offended when it does slip out. He agreed and we parted ways.
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