October 14, 2011
I’ve been home for just over a week. Oddly enough I’m feeling a little melancholy...homesick if you will. Maybe things didn’t turn out the way I had wanted and maybe I wasn’t 100% happy but I was fulfilling a dream of mine. I was having the experience of a lifetime. I was living in another country, with new friends (american and otherwise), learning a new language and living in a culture so far out of the comfort of most of our boxes...I was living in AFRICA!! For goodness sake who gets to do that? How many people get to live their dream? How many people get the opportunity, again good or bad, to live in another country for a time? I was doing it, and I left. I left early and not accomplished much of anything. It has been harder coming home then it was leaving.
Most people don’t know this as I didn’t make a big deal about it there or to my friends and family here, but I had a boyfriend (I hate using that word at my age, but what else is there...male friend...LOL) in Mali. He is Malian, I won’t divulge his age as I don’t want to set myself out there as a “cougar”, he lives in Bougouni the city that I would go to on the weekends to get food, recharge my rechargables, talk to family and friends and relax with other english speaking persons. He is an English teacher in a small village about 80K from Bougouni towards Bamako...putting him that much further away from the village that I lived in. But it is summer and he was home (Bougouni) every day until the first Sunday in October when he moved back to his school village (he left for his village the same day that I left for Bamako to start my journey back home). Once he does that he will only return to Bougouni to visit with his family the last weekend of the month. So even if I was staying I would only see him one weekend a month. But, at least I would still be in the same country with him.
I went to the post office one weekday that I was in Bougouni to pick up a couple of boxes. I didn’t know they would weigh so much. It seems like such a long way back to the house when your arms where full. Just when I thought I’m never going to make it back a guy walked up to me, oddly enough that spoke English, and asked if I needed help. Of course I need help. My arms are falling off. So he took one of the boxes and walked me all the way back to the transit house. His name is Mamadou. I was so grateful.
A few weeks later, in July, when we had to report back to Tubaniso, the PC training camp, I took the bus into Bougouni where I would spend the night and then leave with other volunteers in the morning. Because we were going for 2 weeks I had my carry on suitcase and my backpack. Of course it was well over 110 degrees. As I’m dragging this stuff down the street here comes Mamadou on his scooter (vespa type moto that everyone drives in Mali) to the rescue again. Do I need help? Of course I need help. So he put my suitcase in front of him and me behind him and we’re off to the house. This time he stayed and chatted for a few minutes and then we exchanged numbers so we could be text friends and maybe hang out a bit here and there when I was in Bougouni. This is the story of how I met my friend, Mamadou.
He is handsome, funny, young (hehehe) and he speaks English. What more could a girl ask for? We started texting back and forth right away. He said a couple of things that made me think he wanted to be more than friends. Being old enough to be his mother I thought it appropriate to nip that in the bud and let him know that we would be better to stay friends because of the above age difference. He seemed OK with that. But I would see him here and there when I visited Bougouni and then thought, “what the heck, if he wants to date an old lady who am I to argue”. Thus blossomed our short, fun, interesting, heartbreaking relationship. I say “heartbreaking” because of the sad feelings when we finally had to part ways. If I stayed our relationship would not have progressed much further than it already was. For goodness sake...did I mention I was old enough to be his mother?? Not to mention once a Malian man always a Malian man and Malian men and American women should not be any type of long term relationship. They are so archaic in there thinking...from making sure the women they marry are virgins to thinking it’s OK to hit their wives if they are not behaving properly. They may not all do it but they do believe it’s OK to do. I’m old enough to have a relationship and move on. I’ve done a lot of that over the years. I guess the difference being I never left the country so there was always a chance if I changed my mind... I didn’t think it would matter much to me. Apparently I was wrong.
We spent my whole last week together before I left...and he left. Mamadou is an english teacher in a village about 80K from where he lives. Once he goes out there when school begins he only returns home one weekend a month. So we were both getting ready to leave only when he returned home that once a month I would not be there to see him. We had a good week. We spent every night together. Then finally came Sunday morning. It was time for him to leave for his small village and for me to leave to spend then next few days in Bamako until my departure date. Saying goodbye was harder than I had imagined. How do you let go of someone knowing that chances are you would never see that person again. Again, I knew our relationship would never go any further but it did not make it any less painful. I cried and he got teary eyes (more unusual Malian behavior). He told me don't cry, don't cry. Everything in life happens for a reason. Then he left.
A few hours later I received a text from him. "Hi my baby. Please do not weep. It has always been the fate of lovers that they may part. It is through you I learn a deep sense of love. I never forget. I love you. XOXOXO"
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