I am sitting in a Bamako internet café pondering 19 months in Africa. Tomorrow I’m leaving on a jet plane back to Canada. I’m not sure if I’m happy or sad. I guess both, life and feelings don’t need to be an either or. Since my arrival I’ve had a love hate relationship with the Africa that I know. So much beauty and joy amidst so much suffering and sorrow. I have never been challenged like I have been here. I have never felt lost like I have here. Yet part of me is very found. I have a better picture of where I fit in the world and what I can do for its people. You know people are people everywhere. That doesn’t change. I was very much comforted when I realized that, guess what Africans are just people. It may seem obvious but after 23 years of Canadian media you can be convinced they are some other sort of thing that isn’t quite people. Or that they are people but they are different from me, somehow not the same. Kind of like how musicians aren’t really people either but superstars. Smiles, love, hope and fear cross cultures. Our common humanity has made me even more wary of fictitious borders, titles and segregations. I still see colour and sex but I’m working on increasing my blindness.
Ah, over a year and a half in Africa. I do have some small sense of accomplishment. The trouble is that it is not enough. In a world where 800 million people woke up hungry today a few little victories of empowerment for a young man in Mali seem somehow not good enough. Not good enough. For better or worse I’ve come to focus on this. Canadians think we are doing good enough in the fight against poverty and powerlessness. “I give $50 to Oxfam, oh and I recycle. I’m doing enough.” The burden of increasing freedom is weighing heavy on the backs of the world’s poor and it is their responsibility to cast it off. However, we are all people, divided only by fictitious constructs we use to convince ourselves we are different from our brothers and sisters around the world. We are not doing good enough. I’ve seen what we’re doing (or not doing) and it’s shameful. Knowledgably not taking action is in fact an action. I don’t like to focus on problems but as with my whole experience I am ripped in different directions of problems and opportunities.
One day during Ramadan I was coming back from a village where we had just installed a water pump and at sundown we stopped in a little community on the road to break the fast. All there was to eat was fried fish. So hungry and thirsty after a day of work in the sun without eating or drinking we swarmed the fish vendor. Me and colleagues all dug into water and fish and as the muzzin sounded the setting of the sun and the end of the fast for the day. In Mali you chew the bones of the fish and eat what you can spitting the rest of the chewed up bones on the ground. Slowly a small collection of chewed up and spit out fish bones begins to pile up in the sand in front of us as we chat. As soon as the last fish bone hits the dirt the garibous (little boys in Koranic school who beg for food) rush over in a fury and start picking our fish bones out of the sand. They fill their little buckets and huddle a few meters away liking the dusty chewed up bones as my colleagues try to chase them away. I don’t know if I’ll ever forget that. The reality we created has children eating chewed up fish bones that were spit in the dirt.
My love hate relationship continues. Mali is young. About half the population under 18 years old. A country of children. This gives me so much hope. Everything can be turned around so fast. I am convinced that despite the importance of technical issues in poverty (climate, rains, access to infrastructure etc.) it is the social that is more important. It is about power and empowerment. It is attitude. Everything can turn around in twenty years. I see so much raw potential in the youth of Mali. So much joy, tenacity and conviction. Twenty year olds sitting in grade 9 with people much younger because they want to learn and their parents kept pulling them out of school.
A friend in a small village named Sero showed me the reality of someone doing everything with great joy to make her life better. She is adventurous trying new things like when we had an opportunity for the village to try out a new method for shea butter processing she was first in line. Sparkling eyes waiting for anything that can help her do better. Her community collects seeds for a plant called jatropha that isn’t owned by anyone but shared by everyone. She collected 35 kg of seeds this year, the second most in her village was 10 kg. She is motivated. She does it all with a laugh and smile. Everything for her and her family will be alright. She gives me hope and encouragement.
Really I leave with a smile. I have hope and have been humbled by the Malians I meet on a daily basis. They work so hard to make things better. Convinced that a better world is just around the corner. I can’t explain it but for all the ups and downs I leave on a huge up. My heart beats as my lips curl into a smile I can’t explain.
I’m certain I will come back. Maybe not to Mali but to Africa. There is so much to do, so much raw potential. The barriers to empowerment are much higher than in Canada but I’m learning how to removing them and allow people to move forward.
I wish I had great words of wisdom on the eve of my departure that I could share with you all. I don’t. Just questions. About power and why it’s at the root of so much? About why Canadians don’t feel connected to each other or our neighbours around the world? About how we are able to create a world of security for some while other have their human rights violated on a daily basis. I have trouble sharing my experience. I think it is valuable for others but it so difficult to disentangle a multitude of experiences and ideas into understandable chunks. It is hard to really think about real base lessons I’ve learned and to share them. Anyone who knows me feel free to prod, I’m sure I have something to share if you ask a little and are patient with me. I can’t let all that has happened stay in my head alone, knowledge is meant to be shared.
As I stand on what feels like the edge of precipice ready to jump back into an old reality deep down I’m happy. Mali will be okay. The children will make sure of it. There is so much spirit and life here that for most people things already are okay. Mali has a soul, a rhythm that is very alive. I carry a little piece of that with me now.
Be the change, do it for the kids, make a break for the sunshine and see you in Canada.