Sex, Marriage, and Children
Sex
On Saturday I spent the morning with a French Canadian woman who has lived here for 3 years. She took me to Sadiola village where she was buying fabric. (There are some of the most fabulous tie-dye and batik patterns here, but I digress.) Nicole pointed out places she knew around the village as we headed for the home of one particular business woman. Upon entering the complex of thatch-roofed huts I took in all the activity I could see. One woman washing clothes in a basin, another taking a shower behind a 3 foot wall, and yet a third bathing a small child in a five gallon bucket. I wondered at the beautiful women living here who smiled warmly, skin glowing with perspiration as they set about their tasks. ( Trying to look, without looking like I am looking, is becoming an art form for me.)
As we wandered down the beaten dirt path between the two long, mud buildings, I noticed small doorways on either side roughly draped with tattered cloth. Small blue teapots set on worn metal trays sat outside and men’s voices came from inside these rooms. This is a brothel, a thriving one, with a ‘bush bar’ (no pun intended) in the back.
Turns out the women who work here are “illegal” Nigerian women. They stand out among the Malian people because they are wearing Western style clothes that “Malian women would not be seen in.” They reveal their assets subtly. They seem self-confident. What motivates them to make the trip to Mali? Is there more money? More work?
It is hard for me to imagine having sex on a thin, well used, mattress, on the floor of a mud hut Doesn’t sound sexy to me. It sounds dirty and diseased. This is the land where AIDS is rampant. But, perhaps some people don’t need sexy, just sex. Men who are here, away from home (away from wives and girlfriends), have needs and desires I’m sure. How else might these feelings be met? Seeing this place makes me even more pleased that I have come here with my partner, and he with me.
Marriage
Mohammed told me that his grandfather had four wives, each had many children. This has been the way of Africa in it’s past. His father has only one wife and she had only 3 children. Times are changing. And yet, Mohammed’s family has arranged for him to marry a girl in Sierra Leon. They have been eighbors for a long time. He tells me he must marry the next time he returns to his country. Therefore, he has decided not to go in December but to stay here and save more money first.
She is 16 years old, Mohammed is 29.
Children
Today the school custodian asked if he could receive an advance on his pay of 100,000 ‘cfa’. (An amount equivalent to $200.) He wants the money so that he can throw a party for the birth of his child due at the end of the month.
Turns out Keita is not married and has another child, from another woman, in another village. Interesting. Mohammed, translating for Keita who speaks Bambara, pauses to say “this is not what we want men to do in the Muslim faith but…these things happen”. “Indeed”, I say, “at least he is celebrating and taking part in the birth.” He intends to marry this mother. I wonder how much really changes with time.
On Saturday I spent the morning with a French Canadian woman who has lived here for 3 years. She took me to Sadiola village where she was buying fabric. (There are some of the most fabulous tie-dye and batik patterns here, but I digress.) Nicole pointed out places she knew around the village as we headed for the home of one particular business woman. Upon entering the complex of thatch-roofed huts I took in all the activity I could see. One woman washing clothes in a basin, another taking a shower behind a 3 foot wall, and yet a third bathing a small child in a five gallon bucket. I wondered at the beautiful women living here who smiled warmly, skin glowing with perspiration as they set about their tasks. ( Trying to look, without looking like I am looking, is becoming an art form for me.)
As we wandered down the beaten dirt path between the two long, mud buildings, I noticed small doorways on either side roughly draped with tattered cloth. Small blue teapots set on worn metal trays sat outside and men’s voices came from inside these rooms. This is a brothel, a thriving one, with a ‘bush bar’ (no pun intended) in the back.
Turns out the women who work here are “illegal” Nigerian women. They stand out among the Malian people because they are wearing Western style clothes that “Malian women would not be seen in.” They reveal their assets subtly. They seem self-confident. What motivates them to make the trip to Mali? Is there more money? More work?
It is hard for me to imagine having sex on a thin, well used, mattress, on the floor of a mud hut Doesn’t sound sexy to me. It sounds dirty and diseased. This is the land where AIDS is rampant. But, perhaps some people don’t need sexy, just sex. Men who are here, away from home (away from wives and girlfriends), have needs and desires I’m sure. How else might these feelings be met? Seeing this place makes me even more pleased that I have come here with my partner, and he with me.
Marriage
Mohammed told me that his grandfather had four wives, each had many children. This has been the way of Africa in it’s past. His father has only one wife and she had only 3 children. Times are changing. And yet, Mohammed’s family has arranged for him to marry a girl in Sierra Leon. They have been eighbors for a long time. He tells me he must marry the next time he returns to his country. Therefore, he has decided not to go in December but to stay here and save more money first.
She is 16 years old, Mohammed is 29.
Children
Today the school custodian asked if he could receive an advance on his pay of 100,000 ‘cfa’. (An amount equivalent to $200.) He wants the money so that he can throw a party for the birth of his child due at the end of the month.
Turns out Keita is not married and has another child, from another woman, in another village. Interesting. Mohammed, translating for Keita who speaks Bambara, pauses to say “this is not what we want men to do in the Muslim faith but…these things happen”. “Indeed”, I say, “at least he is celebrating and taking part in the birth.” He intends to marry this mother. I wonder how much really changes with time.
posted by Bronx to Timbuktu at 2:56 PM
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