Delicate trust: An encounter with domestic abuse

Despite having a very good couple of weeks, there was one dark night that I’ve had no choice but to try to push out of my head. I must face it one of these days, I know. I just haven’t figured out how.
Since I’ve been here, I’ve held dying children, I’ve seen a child dead on the side of the road from an accident, I’ve watched unconscious women be carried to try to seek medical care for malaria, only to find that they were too late. But what I had yet to see is violence between fellow men. Until now.
I’ve written about my “subtitle guy,” my English-speaking language tutor, the courageous secretary general of Dombila who has given up his rich life in Kati to give to the more lowly people. He’s a man that more or less, I trust. He’s someone I’m excited to work with and owe so much thanks for all the selfless help he has offered me so far. That’s why it was particularly painful when I saw such rage coming from him.
After a meeting in Kati, he took me to meet his family. Nice people for the most part, but one teenage boy was silent. “You don’t greet people?” Mamadou, my tutor asked. The boy did not respond. “You don’t greet people?” Still, no response from the boy. I saw anger growing on Mamadou’s face as he wrapped his arm around the boy’s throat and dragged him in the back room, not shutting the door.
My instincts told me that this was playful brotherhood behavior. Maybe he was going to give him a “nuggie”. Mamadou is a large, strong man. Even a nuggie would demand merci, but this was not that. He punched, kicked, choked, threw all his strength on the boy. Right in front of me. Right in front of me. I turned my head, another man grabbed a whip and entered the room. I left without looking back. I left with angry tears, without even saying goodbye. Started down the road, had no idea where I was. Only imaging what was happening behind me. Hearing the sounds of the beating from the thick mud brick walls. It lasted a long time. A long time.
Mamdou’s family came chasing after me, assuring that everything was fine and trying to coax me back. I refused. But then I realized, it was dark and I didn’t know my way back. They said Mamadou would walk me home, and I waited cautiously for him outside.
The whole way back he tried to explain himself. The boy does not behave, he will never learn, this is Africa and this is the way we do things. Yes, I think, this is the way some people do things. But it is wrong and I wouldn’t expect it from a good man like you. He wanted to talk about it, to make me understand. I just wanted to go back to Hunter’s house and get away from him. We’ll talk about it later, I can’t speak to you now. I’ve seen him twice since. I still can’t speak to him. He’s someone that deservingly won my trust, but then showed me more frightening rage than I have ever seen in my life. I want to pretend it never happened, and I will forgive him. But at the same time, how do I turn my head and pretend it never happened? How do I smile and greet him and act like I think this is ok. It’s not ok. And it is a great puzzle to me why good Christians, Muslims, people do not understand this.