It’s obviously not the same introducing your future wife to your family here, as it is in America. I mean, we walked up to the house and Baba didn’t even tell me it was his Mom’s house and so some greets us, but I have no idea that it’s his Mom and finally he says, “Oh, this is Oumou.” Thanks, Baba. Despite my limited vocabulary in Bambara, we spoke a little bit, but her accent was different than what I’m used to so Baba was our translator for most of the weekend. I also met Bafi, his older brother, Mah, his older sister, his younger sister and Drissa his younger brother. And a whole lots of Aunts and Uncles who I will probably not remember the next time we’re there!
This is Oumou, Baba's Mom, shelling a fruit called sebe.
Me and Kadidja, Baba's father's first wife. She's really old and really sweet.
Baba's little sister and big sister, Mah, and I doing the meet and greet. Mah and I are best buds. As you well know, I don’t get the opportunity to spend extended periods of time in small villages, so to come here I was excited. No cell phone reception, millet and toh everyday. Ahh, it was going to be great. Except literally from the moment we arrived there, everyone knew there was a white woman in village. And the “important” people to Baba’s family knew who I was and why I was coming, but not everyone did. So, I was a spectacle for awhile and finally people got used to me. But, the women had no confidence in my being able to work as a village woman. For example, every woman who entered the concession greeted me but then told me that I couldn’t draw water from the well, or pound millet or make toh, and I ensured them all that I could. I mean, if it had been 2 or 3 or 10 women who said this, I would have been fine. But over the course of 4 days, 40 women must have said this to me. So finally, one day, in the middle of a rainstorm, I think it’ll be a bright idea to go to the well and pull water. Well, I totally underestimated the amount of mud and the slipperiness of my sandals because halfway back to the house with a 20 liter bucket of water on my head, I almost wiped out. Again, it wouldn’t have been bad, but some women saw me, and just started busting out laughing. I almost started crying, but composed myself. I made it back to the house with my water and was urged by the women to just sit and relax. I wasn’t in the mood to argue so I sat quietly in the house listening to the rain.
The next day though, I did help make toh, which was fulfilling in both senses of making it and eating it. I know that most American’s have never eaten millet, but I’m addicted to this stuff. It’s only because I haven’t been forced to eat it everyday for two years, but moni (a millet porridge) and toh (polenta-ish stuff) is just delicious. And luckily, that’s all I got to eat in Boidié. People were nice enough to give us chickens as welcoming gifts, so I ate toh and chicken (no better possible combination!) and was quite content.
This is me stirring the toh, which is really thick and hard to do. Finally, people were impressed and felt I was worthy as a housewife.
We walked through the village and it was cool to see the different places that Baba grew up – the school he attended, the soccer field they played in, and meeting different family members and friends who’ve been around forever. We made our way out to the fields today and met Bafi and Drissa who were working to weed the millet. So labor intensive and there is no technology here for farmers. It’s really kind of depressing how much time they spend in the fields just to eat, not even to sell the food they’re sowing. Hopefully the agricultural sector in Mali can improve, but I don’t expect it to make any leaps anytime soon.
Baba's older brother, Bafi, in the fields.
He's a city boy now, but Baba sure knows how to farm. He's using his daba - Bambara for hoe - and weeding the millet.
Baba said he would do this as a child - go into the woods and collect branches and leaves to sell to people as goat feed.
Back in the day, when Baba was a little kid, an old, crazy, mystical man lived in this tree. He was outcast from the village. We went to see if he was still there.
I think everyone liked me, which I wouldn’t normally care about, but this was an important group to make a good impression on. I’ve seen Oumou since and she seems as smitten with me as I am with her (though she was telling strangers of my fateful day with the bucket of water and mud!). I think it’ll be a good family to being a member of.
Ba, me and Hamsa, two of the cutest kids in village!