We finally got into town and of course you could spot us from a mile away. The welcome we received from everyone was unbelievable. They were as happy to see us as if they had known us our whole lives. It was funny to me as they weren’t that thrilled to have us there to begin with. It made me think…if I could stay out of my village for two months maybe they would be as excited for me to come back as Muntugula kaw (peeps) were. Just a thought. Some kids helped me carry my bags to “my house”. No one seemed to be around but my host sister, who didn’t show up to say goodbye the first time around, was inside sleeping. The kids woke her up and she came out of the house in somewhat of a haze. It took her a moment to realize what was going on and that I was there. When she did realize she immediately started hugging me and crying. It was only then that I finally was sure that she didn’t show up to say goodbye to me feigning being sick not because she was an asshole and didn’t like me but because she didn’t want to cry. For Malians there is a taboo to crying and making a fuss about someone or something. It is shameful for them and they will be teased about it forever…or for a good long time anyway.
When she finally calmed down enough to think she put my stuff in the house and started locking doors. It took me a minute to realize that she was getting ready to take me out to the family garden where my host mom and younger brother were. Unfortunately my older host brother was in Bamako. As it turns out he is back in school, at university, and very rarely comes home anymore. I really would love to have rested for a minute. Traveling is a tiring chore, but I was excited to get to see everyone. So we started on our 25 minute walk to the garden. The mom saw me walking up and although wasn’t quite as excited to see me as Sitan was, she was excited none the less. My host brother was out moving a cow with a plow around the field with two other boys. He appeared also not as excited to see me which I was surprised about considering how he cried and cried when I left. But again, showing emotion here is not their strong suit. We sat, we talked, we ate and then started our walk home. Host mom and brother came back to the house later that evening. We ate dinner and hung out until I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore. They had set up my old room with a mattress and mosquito net. They really went out of their way to make me comfortable. I felt bad making them have to do work especially since I showed up unannounced. When I apologized and told them this they insisted that whenever I was able to come back that would always be considered my room and they are more than happy to make me comfortable.
It was a good visit but now it is Monday and time to head out. As soon as the others came by to get me so we could go and hitch a ride back up to the main road both my host sister and younger brother immediately started to cry. Sitan hugged and hugged me. I was really surprised how emotional it was since it was the second time. When we got to a waiting area by the road when I looked I saw my host mom crying as well. It touched my heart. We got a ride to the main road. Waited about a half an hour and finally got a basche (bush taxi) into Bamako to the gar (bus station). This is my first time on a basche. I have avoided them at all cost. There are the little buses that are made for about 10 people. They take out the seats, have could benches that go around the circumference of the inside and squeeze in as many people, sacks of rice and animals as they can. This bus had 17 people in it including the three of us that left at the same time. Not a comfortable ride but a ride. Got to Bamako gar which is a place I would rather never see again in my life. We were immediately approached by about six men that all wanted to “help” us get to our buses or get a taxi. I was the only one getting on a bus. There is a million (or so) people looming about. It is very overwhelming. Someone grabbed my suitcase and just started walking. The other volunteers I was with asked me why I kept following this guy. WELL for one, he has my suitcase!! On the way to the bus we parted company without even a good bye as I went in one direction and they went in another. It was all very overwhelming but finally I’m on a bus…still not to Bougoula. Between camp and Muntugula I felt that I still needed to decompress for a couple of days. I’m headed to Bougouni for a day or two…or four.
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