I shook hands with a guy who shook hands with the guy who shook hands with the devil

I am a boy hiding under a desk in a nuclear war.
I am looking down, walking through traffic.
I am a 4 year old’s question.
I am a writer’s block on a tight deadline.
I am the sideline on an in-bound call.
I am a chess match.
I am a split horizon between night and day.
I am a photograph, stuck in time.
I am searching for Carmen Sandiego.
I am a tug rope at the office pic-nic.
I am digging for a creative well.

One could say that I’ve been busy. In truth, I simply haven’t taken the time to sit down and write my impressions, especially of la fête de tabaski. Now, I’m afraid I will lose them.

At 9am, every mosque is filled to capacity by men who will then return home to sacrifice a sheep to Allah. This is done to thank Allah for sparing Abraham’s only son’s life when he was willing to sacrifice him. Well, if you’re wondering, I am not a sheep killer. My colleague Tounkara came to pick me up right after the prayers were finished at the mosque. I may not have killed a sheep but, from my apartment to his family’s house, I sure saw enough of them hanging from tree branches and being butchered.

Once slaughtered, the sheep is dissected by the men of the family. They work meticulously until each edible part is passed onto the women. It is now their turn to each prepare the meat in a different way. One could call this the Malian version of a “cook-off”.

After there was nothing left of the sheep, I wish I could say that there were exciting rituals of song and dance. However, the rest of the day consists of 2 activities: eating and resting. Just when the button of my pants popped, I’m told it’s time to visit some friends and family… where more sheep meat awaits.

As for the social side of these festivities, I can put it simply by saying that I now have an adopted family here in Bamako. Tounkara’s family, probably without realizing it, showed me why this is, for me, the most human place on Earth.

We now fast forward to December 24th, where I’m with the MFC Director Ibrahim, his wife (my supervisor) Johanna and their two daughters, Batoma and Sira. We celebrate Christmas with a succulent meal followed by the presents. The next day was much less quiet since Ibrahim invited about 20 family members to do what people here do best during the holidays, eat.

I can honestly say that I haven’t been homesick during these past few weeks, as everyone is spending time with their respective families. That, I think, is a testament to the family and friends I have made here (without forgetting my own of course!).

On a slightly different note, I can proudly say that I shook hands with a guy who shook hands with the guy who shook hands with the devil. Confused? My friend Adama recently took me out in a village called Kati, 15 km outside of Bamako, to spend the afternoon with some of his family. He introduced me to them one by one and last but not least was his uncle, “le colonel”. As I took a seat beside Le colonel, he quickly found out my nationality and proudly said that he served Lt. Gen. (Ret) Roméo Dallaire in Rwanda for 6 months. He was the leader of the Rapid Response Team that was directly under Dallaire’s command. Umm… words to explain this… wow?...

These things never happen with any warning or time to prepare the thousand questions that are floating in your mind. Just before I was able to grab a few of those questions, Le colonel politely asked me my age. Only men of 50 years or more were “allowed” to sit in this area so he kindly thanked me for coming to visit. Adama and I then went to have some tea and a delicious lunch with our demographic.

The following night, I went out with Tounkara and his friend, “le petit commandant”. Based on these two encounters, I’m convinced nobody in the Malian Military actually has a name. Le petit commandant is indeed a short man, but that didn’t stop him from spending a year in Darfur with the African Union forces. He recently returned in mid-November and, unlike my meeting with Le colonel, I had the chance to pick his brain. It’s the kind of experience you never really imagine because all of a sudden, a conflict that seemed so distant – physically and metaphorically – has a face to it.

So what’s next? I think I can only hope to, one day, shake hands with the guy who shook hands with God. His name is .

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