Malian Hospitality

I had just had a big fight with another volunteer and wanted nothing to do with anyone, especially those I can't actually communicate with. I locked myself in my room and would have been perfectly happy to sleep away the morning, but for some reason the Malians thought this wasn't healthy. As I was awaken from a deep sleep at 11 am, I cursed my new found friend making skills. Things were so much easier when no one really knew me, no one really expected me to leave my house! I reluctantly dragged myself out of bed, threw on whatever was hanging next to me and walked to my friend's house to have tea and stare at each other, again. I was surprised by her humor and energy. It was impossible to be in a bad mood. We made tea and I lost track of time. Before I knew it I was rushing off to my homologue's to try to get some work done. And to think I wanted to just mope in my house all day! Malian hospitality is easy to be welcomed by. Most is not expected to be paid back either. Last week my worst fears were realized. When taking public transportation in Mali, you don't pay until you are almost at your destination, making it difficult to run back or ask your friend that you are leaving for money if you, for example, forget your purse. Of course the Malians found it hard to believe that the only white foreigner on the bus didn't have any money. I was in the process of trying to ask a friend in a passing bus at the station for some money by yelling, "Wari bana, my money's out" when someone paid for me. The guy didn't tell me his name and got off at the next stop. Thanks Mali, I owe you one.
Other Malian hospitalities are harder to get use to. My homologue feeds me lunch and dinner everyday I am in my village and I feel the need to pay her back. She refuses to let me give her money and the gifts I bring back after going to the capital seem too small and culturally required even if she wasn't feeding me. I was told that just getting a lot of rice is a good gesture as most meals are rice based. That failed. Her husband, instead of thanking me, joked that I must be really hungry and that's why I brought all the rice. I brought back wood that I gathered with one of the other women in the village, but that too was met with, "Massaba, why would you bring us wood? Look at all the wood we have!" Strike 3. I was about to give up and resign myself to feeling like a burden when the Peace Corps came up with the universal global currency, Obama. They had fabric made with Obama's face printed on it and the phase, "Yes we can!" on it and it was for sale at the office. When I gave my homologue enough fabric to make a "complete" outfit she did an Obama dance. As I was leaving after lunch her husband was saying goodbye and, almost as an afterthought, said, "Oh Massaba, thanks for the fabric, it looks really nice." Yes! Finally I got the pat on the back that I was so desperately looking for. Of course then my homologue bought me an entire outfit for the women's day holiday. Homologue one million, Massaba 2.