Keeping up with Kone-Coulibalys

Our first weekend in Bamako and we are being kept to a busy schedule! From 9am to 7pm Gie and I are on the road, with trusty Abou behind the wheel, visiting the dozens of family members around the city.  Since Gie has been away from Mali for nearly 15 years, it was important for him to pay respects to his elders and also present me for a sort of unofficial evaluation as his wife. 

Upon arriving at a relative's home, Gie leads the way and makes the introductions. We are greeted with hugs and handshakes. We take off our sandals at the door as a sign of respect. Then we take our seats as a younger member of the household, often a young woman, pours water into a communal cup and offers us each a drink. I smile alot following the exchanges as Gie speaks in a combination of Bambara (his local dialect) and French, exchanging some of life's biggest life updates with aunties, uncles, and cousins. We stay maybe 15 to 20 minutes at each home before offering our thanks and moving onto the next. 

These brief encounters offered so many impressions. From the unique blend of Islam and west African culture to the mashup between the rich and poor, Mali challenges all assumptions about what it is or should be. 

But most of all, I am finding Mali's culture to be overwhelmingly heirarchical, balanced by the nurturing of incredibly complex social relationships. By complex social relationships, I mean knowing and understanding everyone's standing within the family from sibling to great aunt and third cousins. Everyone has a role to play, especially in arbitration. While you may never outright question the decision or speak against those older than you, a wise Malién will regularly work the back channels to have their concerns expressed to the person in charge without suffering the consequences of dissent. In other words, if I disagree with a decision of the patriarch, one could talk with the aunties who talk with their husbands who then meet with their brother (a peer) to make those concerns known. 

To an American who was raised on a strong sense of individualism and direct often times blunt communication, this process still amazes me! Americans would likely find this cultural practice maddenly passive - yet I have a feeling the rest of the world would label it artful diplomacy.  And while it's not the first time I've witnessed this sort of cultural phenomenon, it is the first time it's personal. Gie's role as the first born son of the oldest child on his father's side puts him in a leadership position automatically, which vicariously means that as his wife I am also allowed some privileges. But those privileges also come with specific duties and expectations. Essentially, these first few days I am trying to learn all those unspoken rules, perform certain roles, speak a new language and avoid as much embarrassment as possible. 

Least to say I'm exhausted. 

Despite navigating a different social currency however, I must clarify that my various cultural bumbles have been treated kindly and gently corrected when necessary. My husband's family has truly welcomed me with open arms and incredible hospitality. Thanks to them the culture shock is much less than it would be otherwise. I will keep on smiling until I simply can't any longer. 

Bamako, First Impressions

Our first day in Mali, we arrived mid afternoon after 23+ hours of flight time. I felt such relief seeing the red dirt with cinderblock houses and specks of white sheep come into focus as we made our descent through the clouds.

At first glance from the ground, Mali is poorer than Mozambique and absolute chaos. And of course, opportunists look for, well, any opportunity. We got shaken down for bribes pretty much the minute we stepped off the plane even with Gie and Abou, his brother, speaking the local language. Apparently, customs suspected food in our bag and this guy offered to "help", grabbed one of our bags and led us to the customs guys saying "they are with me." Of course it was a setup. Immediately I got suspicious and started waving him away, telling the guy to back off, telling Gie to tell him to back off in Bambara. But he wouldn't leave us alone. He then demanded payment for greasing up the customs agent for us. When we refused to pay, he got irate and followed us all the way to the car berating and cursing us. I let loose some Portuguese/Xitswa reflexively, from another lifetime. Anyways, Abou got us in the car and pulled around to the exit but as we went to finally leave apparently we didn't get the "right ticket" to pay. So poor Abou had to walk back to the airport to get the ticket that allowed him to pay! A perfect TIA (This Is Africa) moment... and one heck of a welcome! 

We took a collective breath and put all that behind us though once we started driving. Gie and Abou were chatting nonstop making up for 15 years of lost time - pointing out things that were the same, things that had changed. I loved this homecoming moment for my husband. And it allowed me to just take everything in. So many things feel familiar - the humidity that leaves your skin constantly dewey, the contrasting red dirt and bright green of rainy season, the trash absolutely everywhere, and all the half-completed abandoned projects strewn across town - skeletal evidence of temporary, fleeting wealth bartered for dreams. As far as driving goes, the four lanes of traffic acted as mere suggestions rather than rules. It was not uncommon for Abou to tap the horn mildly, politely in the face of an oncoming vehicle crossing into our lane, or motor bikes buzzing past us in packs. I tried to imitate Abou's level of chill - if he's not worried, I won't be either. Still there's a reason car accidents remain to be one of the top causes of death. TIA.  

We finally arrived home, and it was the homecoming Gie had been dreaming of for so long! We pulled up to the big iron door gates and with an impatient beep of the horn we are let into the compound and immediately surrounded. Big hugs to brother Zanah, a firm handshake to his father, and a mother grasping her son in happy tears. "You really are a man now" she told him finally stepping back and taking him all in. I also got the universal mama bear hug. "Welcome to your home, daughter" she said and with that we all paraded into the house for a tour. 

The rest of the evening was spent eating supper and lounging in the living room, telling stories. I told them that I felt bad not learning French to communicate and it was waved off by his mother saying, "Don't worry, you need to learn Bambara instead, French is not really our language." Take that colonialism. Bamabara it is.

So here we are! This is bound to be a month of culture shock, integration, and adventure. But I did tell Gie when we married that I wanted anything but a dull life. He's certainly keeping to his end of the bargain. 

Mali: the prologue.

Well, hello again! I'm "dusting off" this blog for another adventure of a lifetime. Next week, Gie and I are headed to Mali, West Africa - a trip many years in the making. 

Life has been a whirlwind since the last time I wrote. I'm happily married. I finished nursing school and am entering my second year as a critical care nurse in a local hospital.  We've survived 2020 and the Covid pandemic (so far). All those big dreams I wrote about and agonized over in that little grass hut in Mozambique have come to pass. And now, I'm gazing toward the horizon of the next adventure - getting to know the life, language, culture, and customs of my husband's country. Most importantly I'll get to finally meet my husband's family in person - a much overdue tradition after Skyping them into our wedding almost five years ago. We'll be gone for around a month - a privilege that working so much overtime during the pandemic has ironically granted me. And I'm excited! But also, a little nervous? Uncertain? I expect many of the sights and smells I have stepping off the plane will feel familiar. After all, I will once again be attempting to integrate into a place in which I am blatantly an outsider. Not that my Malian family will make me feel that way. In fact, I expect quite the opposite.

That's my bread and butter though in so many of my international experiences - "cross cultural integration" AKA how-to-make-friends-and-build-a-life-with-minimal-social-competence-and-the-charity-of-others. Deep down, I believe I will welcome that lost and humble feeling again, even though this time there's more anxiousness attached to it than the care-free fearlessness (i.e. naivety) of my 19-year-old self who jumped on a plane to Zimbabwe so many years ago alone and only minimal planning (I realize now my parents were saints, let's be honest). 

At least this time, I'll have Gie. 

 So, watch this space guys. I will definitely be journaling, and I will try to post a couple times a week depending on the amount of connectivity we have. Would love to hear your questions and feedback.