Honored guests

Last day of March. Starting tomorrow, I can say, “I’m going home next month.” That will be good. I’m not miserable or anything, but I’ve just had my fill for now. I’m feeling stagnant. I need a change of scenery. But I’ll be off to my village on Thursday, and then back on the weekend, then next week my colleague Steve will be arriving in Mali. I may go to Mopti that weekend or Ngouma, but in any case, I’ll be moving around, doing things.

Yesterday was a good cultural integration day. I worked for a little bit in the morning with Ramata, went to the internet, then ate lunch with Ramata. A couple hours later, Ashley came over, and the three of us (Ramata, Ashley and I) started walking over to my jewelry friend Fatimata’s house. We crossed her en route. She was all dolled up in her finest, a flowing white boubou and big gold jewelry, looking even more beautiful than she usually is. Apparently there had been a wedding.

She walked the rest of the way back with us, instantly greeting Ashley in that warm way only Fatimata knows how to do. And the bits of Fulfulde I had learned were already coming in useful. I could already talk to her more.

When we got to her house, she ushered us into her bedroom, then brought us food on her finest plates and gave us ice water out of little tea cups. We were indeed the guests of honor. The four of us plus her little sister or someone hung out in there for a while, speaking a mix of English, French, and Fulfulde, but generally making ourselves understood. Fatimata is a riot. She just sat around in her bra for most of the time, totally casual. Then at one point, she went over to her little armoire and pulled out a vial of something, and before we knew it, she was sticking her fingers in Ashley’s armpits, rubbing this fragrant paste in there. Then it was my turn. I don’t know if we smelled bad or she just wanted to show us the stuff. In some way or another, she explained that she puts this stuff on everyday, otherwise she doesn’t smell good. It was fairly hilarious, this beautiful Malian woman in her bra sticking her fingers in the armpits of a woman she’d just met. In line with her usual generosity, she gave Ashley a woven pot cover, since Ashley’s Malian last name is Sankare and apparently the Sankares have been making such pot covers for as long as anyone can remember.

After hanging out a while longer, we got up to go home. I’m going to try to start going to her house more often, since she has such good vibes and she forces me to speak Fulfulde.

On our way back home, we took a swing through the market, and I bought some white eyelet lace fabric to make a sundress. Ashley had to go to work, but Ramata and I brought it over to my tailor. Hopefully he’ll understand my drawing, but he’s been pretty good before.

At sundown, I hopped on my moto and went up to the highway to buy some sheep meat. I think I’m pretty anemic here, and I was craving meat. I went to the butcher that Dave knows, who also speaks Tommo-So. We conducted the entire transaction in a combination of Tommo and Fulfulde. (“I don't like fat.” “Okay, do you want bones?” “Yes, some bones are okay.”) I took the little pile of meat, wrapped in brown paper, over to Ashley’s house to share. We ate it all (save for the rogue fat bits), then headed to our favorite restaurant for our obligatory salad and plantains. Finally, we rounded off the meal with a bottle of cold, delicious yogurt. It was one of the more satisfying meals I can remember.

I finished my chef book yesterday and am now reading “Monique and the Mango Rains”, written by an ex- Mali Peace Corps volunteer. It’s a compelling story, well written, and captures the feel of Mali really well. So if any of you wonder what village life is like, it would be a good book to read.