underneath the mango tree

Last Friday morning our team loaded up on a commercial bus and headed for the city of Bougouni. The smell was interesting… we soon found out why. It’s a four hour trip with no bathroom stop. The Malian solution? Spray something equal to men’s right guard deodorant on all the seats.

I feel like I’m in Africa now. Bamako felt like a glorified Mexico with no truly unique buildings or drastic differences in life. Here in Bougouni our compound is surrounded by small villages, huts, and donkeys. On our walk to town we take the back way through all the “neighborhoods” and usually have a fan club of about twelve kids following us chanting tubabu (the Malian word for white person). Life here revolves around people and tea time under the mango tree. Tea is an integral part of the culture and it takes around three hours to get through all three rounds. In the meantime, people gather in chairs under the mango tree and socialize. It’s amazing how hard it is for Americans to just sit and be for three hours with no agenda. We feel so unproductive-- like time is being wasted. when Malians ask you how you are doing, they sincerely want to know whats going on. Life is shared and spent under the mango tree. Its a part of the culture that I love.

We are being hosted by the Camara family. There are three kids-- ages five to nine. The grandma and her other children also live with them so it’s a large extended family. My favorite is grandma. She’s so mischievous. Her smile is the best- it makes me laugh every time I see it. Joseph Camara is the head of the family and will be our professor for World’s Living Religions. He and his wife both speak great English and their kids are learning. It’s nice being able to communicate without worrying about acting something out or drawing pictures. This week we haven’t had class so most of our time has been spent exploring the countryside, doing laundry by hand, cooking everything from scratch, and taking tea. I’ve seen a scorpion, man eating bats, a 5 inch scarab, overgrown centipede, and more donkeys and goats than I ever need to see or smell again.

Things I miss: mozzarella sticks, carpet, popsicles, and Target.

In my time here, I have learned the value in sitting and taking tea for five hours, the importance of greeting everyone you see, and the delight that Malians have when they see someone attempting to learn their language. I have learned that people are more important than time. Most importantly, I’ve rediscovered that I am part of something that is larger than what I’ve turned it into and that my God and His people are infinitely precious.