I LOVE THE HURLEYS

The Bamako airport is full of travelers and eager Malians swarming them with luggage carts and little trinkets for sale, trying to make a buck. I have decided to come all the way here to bid farewell to my uncle Steve, cousin Matt and sister Katie. I just wasn’t ready to say goodbye at the hotel. So I hugged them goodbye before they weaved through the crowd to catch the night flight to London, promising that the months before my Christmas visit would go by fast. It was a good week, and a great experience for all of us.
Of course, I was overjoyed to see my Boston relatives. The fact that they came all the way here to spend some time with me in the middle of nowhere, well that’s about as cool of relatives as you can ask for. But when I saw my sister, I gave her the biggest hug ever. My mom later asked on the phone, “Did you cry when you saw each other.”
“No mom,” I said, “I was just so happy.” I looked at Katie, expecting her to comment on how mothers are overly-emotional. But instead Katie said with her little honest smile, “I cried a little!” It took about 5 minutes after we were reunited for me to say, “Katie, I feel like I just saw you yesterday.” It had really been 13 months, but we were so comfortable with each other, having fun already. Man, I have the best sister in the world. She really is my other half, and all week, I felt like whatever might have been missing in my day to day life out here had been filled.
A big red bag, like Santa’s sack, came with the crew. All filled with goodies. Birthday presents like new clothes and mountains of granola bars from friends and family, magazines, homemade jam and applesauce… (Thanks everyone!) Uncle Steve even came with a solar powered flashlight and a new tent that he would leave with me after they left. It was incredible! We stayed the first two nights at the fancy Radisson hotel, the next night in a little motel in the city of Segu, then we moved to a business hotel in Bamako (mainly for its incredible pool), spent a night in village, and then another night in Bamako.
I’ll let them tell you about the adventures through their own eyes. (Katie, Steve, Matt, you’re welcome to write something for me to post as well). They braved the Grand Marche the very first day, they spent hours in little Malian cars so we could see the port of Segu and make our own Bogolon fabric. They took the broken old bush road to Dombila where they danced with the xylophones, tried Malian food, and mingled with the locals. Uncle Steve even went for a peaceful morning run with me and Shaka! Matt was the star of the dance party, showing off his disco moves, and Katie impressed the kids with her back-handspring and also sported the traditional Malian garb along with henna painted on her foot. (Only ONE foot though, to the great confusion of the Malians).
Katie and Matt also had some great skills at the rock climbing/ rappelling hike in Siby. They are fearless! They even got on Malian transport to return to Bamako. That was after we gave up waiting for hours for our driver to come back with something to mend a flat tire. Uncle Steve got a bit worried when we showed up 4 hours late, but all was good.
Aside from the adventures, we had significant R&R time. The pool at the hotel was paradise, we ate some really nice meals out, and I even got to work out a couple of times in the hotel gym! I feel like I was treated like a princess. Nice showers, clean all the time, air conditioning, a great bed, great company, great food. It was more of a vacation for me I think! At first, I was really uncomfortable being in these fancy hotels spending a lot of money, but then I started to get used to the high-life. It’s strange, you know. And now I feel like an American again, needing my daily dose of the internet and drinking bottled water. I’m going back to village right now, with that site guilt on my shoulders. I’m living between two worlds, and I’ll never fully be a part of either of them for the next year. I was feeling Malian, now I’m feeling like an American. But whatever doubts and worries I have, about status, about rich and poor, white and black, though they may always be in the background isn’t the essence of my identification, my relationships. Katie, Steve, and Matt reminded me of my roots, my home, and the beauty of it. But now I take a deep breath, push aside my doubts and know that no matter what my roots, today, I have another real home, in Dombila. So as much as I was tempted to hop on that plane in the Bamako airport last night and reunite even more fully with my roots and with the “comfortable life”, that time has not come. I’m heading back, and trying to figure out what the heck I can do for this poor little village.

PS- Matt has an incredible camera and great photography skills. He will send me his flicker site to post so that you can see some more pictures of Mali.