A Departure

It's funny, at times I feel as if nothing ever really changes around Dombila, but when I came back I was suddenly faced with the biggest change of my Peace Corps service. After a warm greeting with the family, (Malians don't hug, but I couldn't help myself- talk about awkwardness!), I announced I was going to greet the people at the CSCOM.
“Irene's gone!” Shaka told me. I didn't believe him, they always like to joke around like that. “No really,” he insisted, “a car came yesterday to gather up all her stuff.”
Sure enough when I reached the CSCOM, I found Awa's daughter, Noellie, and all the crew. They're still here. Of course they're still here. But Irene was on her way to visit me, to explain to me why she had sent her things to Kati and was leaving Dombila for good.
Now Irene is someone who would pack up her things and leave over a quarrel or a big whoop-la or such, so I was glad to hear that was not the case. A relative of her was opening up a private health clinic in Kati. As head matrone, she'd make a better salary to support her kids, plus she'd be closer to all her relatives that reside in Kati. She couldn't turn it down. “I've been talking about leaving Dombila for a long time, but I really wanted to wait until your two years were up.” I assured her that I understood. It's best for her. Kati is not far, I can still visit. But I'll miss her. And boy will I miss little Noellie.
I went with Awa, Irene, and the kids to Dio where they would leave with the last of their things. We waited for a car and talked about how different things would be.
“You know what you're doing now, you don't need me to teach you any more,” she said. True, she's not really directly active in my projects, but she's always the first person I go to for advice, and her advice always seems to work.
“But who am I going to eat rice with at lunch?” I asked. Even though I can get sick of rice every day, if anyone can cook great Malian sauce, it's Awa.
“You could eat with Bouare, or you could even cook yourself! You've been watching me long enough. You should be able to do it.” Confidently, I bought a new pot that next Saturday at market. I showed the rice dish I made to my host mom and she was quite disgusted. She tried to feed the leftovers to the dog. The dog wouldn't eat it.
It wasn't too hard to shed a few tears. I could have held back but it was the only other way I knew to show my respect and affection. “I couldn't have done anything, nonetheless stayed in Dombila without your guidance.” She assured me we would still be in close touch, and that I would be the “denba” (god-mother type figure) in Awa's upcoming wedding. She better explain that role a little better to me because as I saw in that last wedding she took me too, it's quite confusing.
“Be good. Don't fight,” she said through the rusty car window. She knows I don't pick fights, but maybe that was the most motherly piece of advice she could think of to give me at the time.

A few days later a new woman came- Mariam Diokote. Middle-aged, strong and well-built, friendly and welcoming but somewhat reserved. She seemed very occupied with settling in to have any time to chat so I did what I could to help her- sweep up, take out the trash, little things. I have no idea what kind of relationship I am going to have with her, or how she is in the work-setting. Only time will tell. May it work out well for us here in Dombila!