First Impressions
August 28, 2005
I have always sensed that we are slaves to our technology. I felt it in my bones. As I have worked and played in the outdoors I have encountered countless numbers of people that tolerate the outdoors until they can get back into the comfort of their inside reality. There are those who come closer to the outdoors. They purchase big RV’s with satellite TV, microwaves, and king sized beds. They have become closer to nature, but they still exist some distance away.
Our students are privileged. They want for nothing. They have Satellite TV, microwave ovens, washers and dryers, air conditioning, and Play Stations. They are overwhelmed only by their boredom. Nothing seems to please. They are wary of the outdoors, frightened by what might lurk in the bushes or the dark around the bend. Rather than face it, they retreat to the comfortable sterility of their homes.
We all live in the same small village, the same small village that houses Malian mine workers. They are our neighbors. They don’t speak much English and they don’t necessarily speak French. They have been provided housing by the mine just as we all have. Their houses have no satellite TV, microwaves, washers and dryers, air conditioning, or Play Stations. The children play outside. They ride bikes and kick balls and jump rope and build forts in the grass. They laugh and scream and yell and celebrate the day. They are a little wary of the Toubab (white folk) and continually ask us if we have chocolate for them. It is obvious that there are not many Toubab that stop to speak to them.
They wash clothes in a bucket outside. They gather together in the shade of trees and talk. They have tremendous gardens with corn and bananas. They laugh and work right next door and yet may as well live in the next county.
We were in the store yesterday. I went to the meat counter to see what there was. There is a Malian that works the counter. He is a friend of Mohammed and speaks a little English. We have a nodding acquaintance. I was waiting at the counter, admiring the beauty of the Malian woman in front of me. When she left, I commented on her beauty to the clerk. He replied, “You are an American aren’t you?” I laughed and confirmed his suspicion. He told me that he preferred the Americans. They are more accepting of others. We are all one people after all. He has no room for the South Africans. In his mind they work hard to create separation. I got the sense that South African men would never admit to an admiration of beauty within the Malians.
Indeed we have seen this separation. There are the ex-pats and then there are the Malians. The ex-pats are respectable whereas the Malians are pitiable. It places us in an interesting spot. Alas, we have only been here a week. Maybe my first impressions are way off base. Maybe I am not seeing the full picture. Maybe things are not what they seem. I sincerely hope so.
I have always sensed that we are slaves to our technology. I felt it in my bones. As I have worked and played in the outdoors I have encountered countless numbers of people that tolerate the outdoors until they can get back into the comfort of their inside reality. There are those who come closer to the outdoors. They purchase big RV’s with satellite TV, microwaves, and king sized beds. They have become closer to nature, but they still exist some distance away.
Our students are privileged. They want for nothing. They have Satellite TV, microwave ovens, washers and dryers, air conditioning, and Play Stations. They are overwhelmed only by their boredom. Nothing seems to please. They are wary of the outdoors, frightened by what might lurk in the bushes or the dark around the bend. Rather than face it, they retreat to the comfortable sterility of their homes.
We all live in the same small village, the same small village that houses Malian mine workers. They are our neighbors. They don’t speak much English and they don’t necessarily speak French. They have been provided housing by the mine just as we all have. Their houses have no satellite TV, microwaves, washers and dryers, air conditioning, or Play Stations. The children play outside. They ride bikes and kick balls and jump rope and build forts in the grass. They laugh and scream and yell and celebrate the day. They are a little wary of the Toubab (white folk) and continually ask us if we have chocolate for them. It is obvious that there are not many Toubab that stop to speak to them.
They wash clothes in a bucket outside. They gather together in the shade of trees and talk. They have tremendous gardens with corn and bananas. They laugh and work right next door and yet may as well live in the next county.
We were in the store yesterday. I went to the meat counter to see what there was. There is a Malian that works the counter. He is a friend of Mohammed and speaks a little English. We have a nodding acquaintance. I was waiting at the counter, admiring the beauty of the Malian woman in front of me. When she left, I commented on her beauty to the clerk. He replied, “You are an American aren’t you?” I laughed and confirmed his suspicion. He told me that he preferred the Americans. They are more accepting of others. We are all one people after all. He has no room for the South Africans. In his mind they work hard to create separation. I got the sense that South African men would never admit to an admiration of beauty within the Malians.
Indeed we have seen this separation. There are the ex-pats and then there are the Malians. The ex-pats are respectable whereas the Malians are pitiable. It places us in an interesting spot. Alas, we have only been here a week. Maybe my first impressions are way off base. Maybe I am not seeing the full picture. Maybe things are not what they seem. I sincerely hope so.
posted by Bronx to Timbuktu at 11:42 AM
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