Notes from the Field 2007

You could be sitting along a dirty, muddy, smelly roadside, scooters whizzing by emitting choking fumes, and the women will be dressed to kill. Vibrant blue silk dress, emerald green head scarf wrapped high, chin up, poised with grace. There is a pride in this country that goes beyond riches, class, education, politics. It is embedded in the culture—the food, the music, the life. In one of the world’s poorest countries, there is hardly any crime. The people are decidedly content. Striving. But content.

And then there is this paradoxical collision of two worlds: the ancient and the modern. On one side of the street, you could see a BMW—air condition full blast with the base shaking the ground. On the other, a man carrying beams of sheet rock on the street, sweat dripping from his forehead—his main means of transportation: his own bare feet. A young shepherd boy can be bobbing his head to some Ali Fakir on his iPod, tapping his brand new Nike tennis shoes in a wagon pulled by a mule, SUVs whizzing past him on a dirt road, lined with huts made from clay and cell phone towers. A friend of mine once noted, “there will be internet in the villages, before even the roads are yet constructed!” Thank you, mon petit chou chou, for pointing out these things.

I have been threatening to leave Bamako for the country, to visit Timbuk2, just to say I visited. Maybe even ride a camel in the blistering desert. Unfortunately, as time would only permit, I decided to visit a mosque made entirely of mud in 1902 ish. A trip that may have taken a 7 hour straight shot, ended up taking 3 days. Well, something about the rain, flat tires, drivers not driving in the dark, and some sluggish starts produced such a result. It is interesting, how much we, in the US, are so attached to time…time….time….And we like to be in control of our destinies. When things fail, we look to blame ourselves or someone else. But here, the ticking of a clock is irrelevant. The unfolding of life’s events are not dictated by a man made object. Here, one may make a plan, and if it rains, then it is God’s will, and the plan halts, changes, disappears. No one strategizes on how to conquer the rain, how to conquer the fate of a flat tire. It is accepted in stride, and the time can be spent enjoying a moment—a moment that can change a life.

We were all just sitting in the Toyota—counting the minutes that were lost, as the tire mechanic searched for the break in rubber that let our air out. Slightly frustrated, slightly hungry and tired. Then, creativity struck. I had brought candy. All I did was stand outside, with the bulging bag, offering it to the nearest kid—and boom, they all came out of the woodwork! Soon, Fanny (the French physician), Angie, and I were swing dancing with the lil munchkins—dancing to Elton John blaring from the car’s stereo. I assure you, we caused quite a spectacle. And for half an hour, we cherished a moment of communicating in the universal language of music and laughter. That moment was the best yet. For weeks, I’ve been working long hours in the lab and computer rooms… training, evaluating, calculating….but this moment reminded me of who it is I work for….. it is for the children.

I am thankful for African time to remind me.