Nothing like a Coup to make you think

The last few weeks in Mali and Ghana have been a glossed over blur of loss, anxiety, and unhealthy coping mechanisms.  Mali's sudden fall into what appears to be chaos plucked me cleanly out of the life I had planned to grow for the next two years in a fashion indicating complete disregard of all the preparation, both mentally and physically, that I packed in before stepping onto the plane that first time.  My ideas of preparation, control and ccertainty have been trampled a few times over in this long process, and I have somehow ended where I began. 

So where am I?  Physically, Asheville, North Carolina.  Mentally, in a state of release.  I am mourning for Mali and for Toumou, my little village.  I'm homesick!  And worried!  The chaos of my life has nothing on Mali, however.  Their government is scrambling to re-tie itself into a neat democratic knot again as every other nation watches; ethnic groups continue to wreak havoc in the north in hopes of creating Azawad, a new nation; and the hunger season looms, now fueled by last year's drought and this years quick withdrawal of all the world's aid after the coup d'etat last month.  (Back ground info: This coup was an effort by Mali's military to take their current president, known as ATT, out of power.  Unfortunately, this instability allowed for an ethnic group in the north, called the Toureg, to re-open a long disagreement about their right to Mali's northern most lands.  The last two weeks I was in Mali, the Toureg where in the process of capturing the cities in the north such as Gao and Timbuktu.  Most nations pulled their aid organizations out of Mali at this time.  Santions were also set on Mali to force the coup leaders to hand down power again.  Although most volunteers with the Peace Corps in the south were not in any kind of physically danger, the Peace Corps ability to serve it's volunteers would have been hampered.  Thus, we were evacuated to Ghana for one week.)

But all of that is an ocean away from me and out of my control.  So what I am left with are snapshots of my fleeting time in my little village:  Worokiatu, my homologue Youssouf's wife, dressed to the nines on her way to the market with an extravagant piece of cloth tied around her head and another around her middle to hold her new baby, Balakisa, on to her back; the beautiful kapok tree in our market looming over the stalls of tomatoes, onions and noisy vendors; the full body laugh of Youssouf when I told him I'd like to take three husbands since he could have three wives; and especially my last bike ride out of Toumou when I found my self completely lost in the bush of Mali, and then suddenly oriented by complete strangers on a trail beautifully lined by baobab and flamboyant trees.  All I can keep from Toumou is a bitter sweet little collection of memories and characters that flitted across my path for a short while.  Their transience is in part what makes them beautiful.  Its not all bad to have something good and to let it go, knowing you won't get it back, but happy you could have it for a little slice of its story. 

In the meantime, I'll be floating on to new adventures.  I hope to love Burkina Faso, my next placement with the Peace Corps (in June) as much as I loved Mali, but differently.  I'm sure I'll find new sights, sounds, and characters to add to my collection, each one more marvelous than the one before!

Until then, Alla k'an hamina ko nogoya, ka here di an ma.

May Alla quiet our thoughts and give us peace.

Amen!